#all while her own trauma is still gathering dust in the corner

[genericpuff]

i have nothing to say about the newest episodes of LO

so I'll let past me from the year 2022 say it instead

because everything they said a year and a half ago ironically still applies today and i don't even know how that's possible but it's where we are 💀😭

[lovestruckay]

Request: "Please make a fic where the reader (female or gn) is new to the Fire Force as an unpowered person and they become attached to Viktor"

Pairing: Viktor x Unpowered Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you sm for the request, @thesolarflame​! I really flip-flopped on what position to give the reader considering she is unpowered. I thought about making her a member of the science team, a fighter like Obi, and even making her a sister. I think everyone will enjoy what I landed on though!

When Vulcan first joined Company 8, he had done an inspection of their matchbox and all of their fire fighting equipment. Once he had finished going through their arsenal, he had explained to Obi that there was just far too much for him to maintain on his own while simultaneously developing new technology to assist them in battle.

Just maintaining the matchbox was a task in and of itself, let alone the fleet of weapons and armor that Obi donned every time they were called to the scene of a fire. He was a talented engineer, surely, but there was only so much one man could do.

Vulcan’s solution: he knew a girl.

He had wasted no time in gathering up Lisa and Yu and going on a little “family outing” before returning with the mysterious mechanic in tow, the woman receiving a warm - if chaotic, as per Company 8’s usual demeanor - welcome.

She was an engineer just like Vulcan, a talented technician who was nearly as famous as he was in their close knit junk-rat community. While Vulcan was renowned for his skill at creating unique and nearly indestructible machines, she was famous for her ability to keep machines going far passed the point they should have fallen to pieces.

Vulcan frequently tried to pick her brain on her uncanny ability but her answers were something that befuddled him more than anything else.

“It’s love. You can spend years building the most flawless, indestructible machine the world has ever seen but, without love, she’ll break down as surely as the sun rises. Love keeps things going when they should fall apart.”

Vulcan scoffed at her sentimentality and she laughed at his stubbornness, the two always returning to their friendly rivalry despite their differences in opinions. They would rag on each other and goad each other on but, through it all, he respected her skill and she respected his ingenuity.

As for the rest of the company, she got along well with the crew of fire soldiers. Despite her easy comradery with the others, however, she always felt out of place. After all, she wasn’t a fire soldier or even a pyrokinetic so suddenly getting wrapped up in all this business with infernals and the White Clad was disarming.

She had gone from her humble machine shop to a Fire Force cathedral, surrounded by people who could control bullets, who could make swords out of plasma, and who could even fly. She was just an engineer - and unpowered at that - and, despite how fulfilling her work was, she felt like she had lost her anchor joining Company 8.

Initially, she had latched onto Vulcan and Lisa for some sense of normality but the feeling of being a third wheel quickly overcame any comfort that came from their companionship. After all, the two mostly stuck to themselves, the two very much in love. More than that, with Lisa still dealing with her trauma from her experiences with the White Clad, Vulcan was even more unavailable than ever.

Feeling lost and out of place, she was surprised to find an easy companionship with Company 8’s one and only science officer.

Viktor had been the one to initiate their first real conversation, the man as curious as he was out of the ordinary. He had approached her while she had been having a conversation with the matchbox, praising her girl for doing such a great job during their last mission.

“Do you think the matchbox understands you?” Viktor asked, peeking down into the inspection pit beneath the vehicle where she spent a fair amount of her time. Despite how bluntly he phrased his question, there was no judgement in his tone. Just simple curiosity.

“I’m not sure if she understands my words but I think she understands what I’m saying, if that makes sense,” she answered with a friendly smile, already used to conversations like this with Vulcan.

“So, it’s more of you trying to get across your message and your intentions rather than believing you are having an actual conversation with a machine?”

“You could say that, although it still is a conversation. I listen and she tells me what’s wrong, so I fix her. Then she listens to me when I praise her and ask her to keep going. We talk, just not like you and I talk,” she explained, pleasantly surprised when he simply nodded in understanding.

Their conversation continued well into the afternoon, to the point where - after she had finished her tune up - the two had perched themselves on the bumper of the matchbox to continue their chat. It wasn’t until Vulcan had come out to collect them for dinner that they realized how long they had been talking and laughing, a situation that they would find themselves repeating every day for weeks.

Sometimes their conversations took place with her down in the inspection pit under the matchbox or her in the equipment room maintaining all of Company 8’s gear.

Sometimes they talked for hours in Viktor’s admittedly messy room (he tried to clean up just for her) or even on the roof of the cathedral.

Sometimes they chatted for hours at the dining room table, the entire company coming and going for lunch and then dinner and leaving them to their conversation with knowing smiles and teasing giggles.

She found herself relieved to have someone who understood her, both as an engineer and as an unpowered person, and Viktor found himself curious about the kind-hearted mechanic who defied the laws of physics with love. The two talked not just about engineering and science but about music, anime, their hobbies, and even their dreams. 

As their conversations continued, they found themselves growing even closer than friends - casual flirts slipped into their conversations as readily as they talked about anything else. Teasing and blushing became as commonplace in their time together as mentions of physics and mechanics.

Despite how their relationship was slowly changing, she was always comfortable in Viktor’s company. He made her feel understood, safe, and anchored. He had become her port in the storm. She felt like she was at home when she was with him and, with the way he finally seemed to take a full breath when she was around, he felt the same.

One day, after being called to the scene of an infernalization, she had a close call with a first-generation pyrokinetic, the woman mad with pain and lashing out at anything that moved. It had been Viktor who had tackled her to the ground, covering her smaller body with his own and protecting her as the fireball rocketed through the space she had once occupied.

The rest of the crew had made short work of putting the woman to rest but Iris’ prayers had fallen on ringing ears as their engineer realized how close she had come to an agonizing death. It had put into perspective how truly dangerous these situations were for unpowered people like her and Viktor. They didn’t have the same fire resistance or combat training that the other members of Company 8 did and the very real peril left her shaken, even after they had returned to the cathedral.

It had been Viktor who had pulled her away from the rest of their company, guiding her into his quiet room so he could wrap his arms around her and pull her into his warm embrace. Her arms looped around his waist, the engineer settling against his solid chest and pressing her ear against his heartbeat.

It was a few minutes before they spoke but she felt no pressure from him to do so. Instead of pushing her, he quietly held her and stroked her back, her anxiety slowly settling as she was calmed by the warm embrace of the man she had fallen in love with.

“How do you do it? Go running into that every day? You’re unpowered too, doesn’t it scare you?” she finally asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Of course it does,” Viktor chuckled, his laughter vibrating in his chest as he rested his cheek against her hair, “I never know if today is going to be the last day I spend on this earth. But it’s worth it knowing that I’m actually learning something real about the world; that I’m where I should be.”

His next words were a bit quieter but no less passionate as he hummed them against her hair. “It’s worth it knowing you’re at my side.”

Pulling back, she looked up at him in surprise, and he gazed down at her with that same crooked smile. She was struck by the tenderness in his eyes and by the warmth in his expression - an affection that he only ever showed her. In that moment, she knew that she was also where she should be. That it was all worth it to her too, knowing that he was by her side.

Meeting Viktor's smile with one of her own, she stood on the tips of her toes, pressing a brief but sweet kiss to his cheek.

When she returned to her heels, gazing up at him with a gentle smile spread across her face, he stared back down at her in stunned wonder. A blush dusted his cheeks, his lips parted and his eyes rounded in surprise.

“Thank you for always being there with me, Viktor,” she thanked, feeling more at ease in his arms than she had ever felt anywhere else.

At her words, his smile returned, the corners of his lips quirking up although his blush remained. Reaching up, he cupped her cheeks in his broad hands before leaning down to press his lips to hers. Gently moving his lips against hers, they shared a tender, lingering kiss.

Just when she thought she might forget how to breathe, her heart swelling in her chest and stealing the air from her lungs, he pulled away.

“Always,” Viktor promised as he pressed his forehead to hers, gazing into her eyes with a loving expression.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader 

a/n: this is part one of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc. 

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

Y/N collapsed against the thin black matt again, her head thumping against the worn out floors off the compound and her hair covering the view of the younger recruits dancing in black ballerina costumes to the sound of ominous piano. She pushed her hands against the black mattress to look at her professor who was staring her down, yet he always did. He was taller than her, taller than any recruit around so if the metal arm wasn’t intimidating enough, his looking down into those storm filled eyes did the trick.

    - That was a cheap shot. 

    - There are no cheap shots in the battlefield. - he extended his hand to her but she denied him, instead using her hands against the matt to pull herself up. - You cannot expect ...

    - Fairness in battle. - she completed his sentence, arranging her ponytail while pulling the strap of her black top up. - I know, you’ve told me many times.

   - Then you should already know it. You keep this up and you’ll return to ballet.

   - You’re just a terrible professor. - she smirked, taking a few steps away to consider her next move. - You can’t expect me to expect someone to hit me in the chest.

    - I expect to see you in the Red Room. - he said, shrugging it out but she knew exactly what that entailed. The red room, the other black widows, she wanted none of that, none of that lifestyle. - You’re a good marksman. Just need hand to hand combat.

   - Best out of five?

   - We are not gonna stop until you bring me down.

   - Will you tell me your name if I bring you down?

   - You know my name. - he spoke like an authoritarian professor, perfect posture and senses as if he expected an attack from every corner. Maybe he was right in fearing an attack yet his position was almost frozen, tense even ... as if someone held strings over him and controlled him like a puppet. - C’mon, Daisy. You can graduate and become as good as any girl here.

  - I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.

  - I know your name. 

  - I meant my real name, not my code name.

  - Stop joking around and bring me down. 

Y/N pushed her jacket up as she stepped in the middle of the street with Monica and Wanda by her side. It had only been 2 months out of Westview, 2 short months compiled of hiding from whatever was left of SHIELD, SWORD and from the identity who had created Wanda’s fake haven. The plan was simple, elemental even, yet it proved much harder to gather evidence on SHIELD and SWORD’s plan when both she, Monica, Wanda, Jimmy and Darcy had both been considered highly dangerous fugitives so whatever they did had to be undercover. The walls have ears and eyes so all care was necessary, which meant no display of supernatural abilities or anything that could connect them to themselves. HYDRA had gone underground and still seemed to be pulling at the strings of SHIELD and SWORD, as Ross was working on a new generation of super soldiers with the excuse the world needed security after the Avengers dissolved and Captain America, Steve Rogers, dropped his shield. She should’ve known, after SWORD and SHIELD started experimenting with Vision’s body. She should’ve known but with the threat of Westview, they kept both her and Monica in the dark, instead redirecting their attentions to framing Wanda as a fugitive.

     - If that SHIELD hideaway is still around, it won’t be short of traps. - Monica commented, eyes surrounding the sea of people around. - What’s the plan?

    - Yelena and Jimmy are going around and Vision and Darcy are in the helicopter surrounding the top. 

     - You do know Vision can fly, right? - Wanda smirked, yet the unbelievable thing was she had not referred to him as her husband despite the wedding band around her finger.

     - Regular people can’t fly. - Monica said, rather amused at the thought of Vision trying to go by undercover in the sky.

     - We found it. - Yelena’s voice came through the intercom on her ear. - There better be some fighting for it to be worth while.

     - Wait up, we’ll let you know when we enter. No fighting.

     - You’re no fun.

They did not know exactly what they were looking for, they were just looking for evidence. her father was always keen on scattering things around. If there was something her father was right about was not keeping everything in one place, people would find it easily. She was sure, she was sure she would find something in that place which was connected to HYDRA, even if it was a map of other locations. If she were ever to clean their names, she needed evidence and then she needed to stop them. Super soldiers should have stayed in the past yet despite HYDRAs and her father’s mistakes the very organisations who swore to protect Earth, were making the same mistakes. 

The mundane looking home appeared in the horizon. It looked less scary now, less official than when her father dropped her there to be collected by Madam B. Even now, so many years past it she could fell the snow falling on her arms as the stern woman dragged her away from everything she knew. It haunted her, it still did and flashbacks went through her mind as she yelled for her father not to let that woman take her. She begged and sobbed but he turned his back on her as if her discomfort did not matter. Almost as cold as the snow that fell from the ground.

    - Hey ... - Monica put her hand on her shoulder, soft, reassuring smile. - He’s locked up. Can’t send you away anymore.

    - Even if he tried ... - Wanda’s eyes glowed red. - He wouldn’t win.

    - Let’s get this over and done with. - Y/N sighed, looking at the door as if it was a bitter lover. - Yelena, we’re coming in.

    - Copy.

Wanda rose her hand, twisting as the intricate set of locks and codes was over ridden by the red glow of her powers. Yes, it was no ordinary way of opening a door but it was the best shoot. The once scary room was dark, filled with dust and reminders of a great time for SHIELD. Walking in, she could smell the rotting wood, gun powder, and mold. It was funny how the house which still haunted her dreams was collapsing onto itself, a simple symbol of times which were coming to an end. Yet, like her trauma, it still remained tall, in the heart of Washington. They walked in slowly, nothing but the sound of their breathing until a floor board creaked. Immediately Monica pulled out her gun while Wanda’s eyes lit red and Y/N grabbed the gun tucked in her trousers. She moved her hand slowly, the old candles in the tables lightening up. As the light engulfed the room, she found the intruders had also guns pointed at them.

   - Drop your weapons. - she knew them. Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson, and ... Bucky Barnes. Shit.

   - I’m afraid not. - Monica replied, never wavering stance which could make even the strongest of man cower. - State your business.

   - I thought you said no fight. - Yelena came up from behind with Jimmy, both holding their guns up. 

   - You’re surrounded. Drop. Your. Weapons. - Monica repeated.

   - Wait, I know him. - Yelena pointed her gun at Bucky. - You were in the Red Room.

   - Maybe you should drop your weapons. You’re the one with a terrorist who harboured a whole town of innocents.

   - Sharon, I didn’t peg you for a gullible one. - Y/N’s eyes shone dim white, before she dropped her weapon. - We’re not your enemy and we are not looking for a fight.

   - I am. - Yelena rolled her eyes.

   - Lieutenant Ross wants to build a super soldier army and he’s looking for whatever information there is on the Winter Soldier program and Captain America. They were experimenting on Vision before Wanda broke him out and then both were held hostage in a simulation. We are not criminals.

   - You’re your father’s daughter why should I believe in you?

   - Because if not it’s 3 against 7 and it’s not a very fair fight. - Wanda snarked back before moving her hand, making the three point at each other. - Or you can shoot each other. 

   - That’s just mean, Wanda. Don’t you have a little pity for your friend? - Sam looked her way. - Look, we’re on the run. We’re not looking to turn you in.

   - Then drop it. - Monica shrugged. - You’re not gonna win.

   - I only count 5, I like my odds. 

   - Vision and Darcy are outside. 

   - I thought Vision was super dead. - Sam whispered over to Bucky who shrugged at his words, them registering void as his mind rushed over the strings of his memory to try and find why the woman who had just lowered her weapon was so familiar yet his memory seemed surrounded by red tint, nothing coming. - Wanda, you know me. We’re not here with malice, there’s no need for a fight.

   - This is waste of time. - Yelena rolled her eyes, lowering her own weapon. - Can’t you make magical handcuffs, Wanda?

  - That’s a gross understatement of what I can do ... - her eyes glowed red as they usually did whenever she used her powers to a particular extreme. 

  - We’re not starting a fight. - Wanda looked Y/N’s way as those particular words left her mouth. She could feel her energy trying to slip into her mind and successfully do so. Whatever made her mind safe from her tended to waver in delicate situations and Wanda loved whenever she got to peak inside her mind. This time she merely gave her a teasing look, eyes returning to their natural light green hue. Her eyes did not lie and she guessed neither did whatever piece of her mind Wanda got hold of. - We’re under Nick Fury. The last thing we are is your foe. 

   - Hey... is this what we looking for? - Jimmy held up a file with LE-0623. The number itself made her sick to her stomach. Every memory she had somehow had that number from the black shirt he wore to train to the files on her father’s desk. There was no question they had the right file, or at least one of the files on the Winter Soldier. She remembered laughing to herself at how long it had taken for someone to find one of the soldier’s red notebooks. To her knowledge there were at least five: one with HYDRA, one at the Red Room, one with a holder and the other two at different safe houses. She remembered Madam B. telling her the soldier was more machine than man and as such, like every machine, required an instruction book. It was sick, she thought the analogy was sick and now looking at him, years after she had known him, it felt sicker. There had always been a human inside the soldier but HYDRA was not interested in humanity unless it was submissive to them.

   - You can come. - Monica suggested. - You’re not exactly America’s sweethearts at the moment.

   - Why should we trust you? - Sharon cocked her head to the side. Why should she trust a team with the daughter of a man who had taken down her aunt’s life project? Y/N wouldn’t have trust her if she were in her place. - Or is that a kinder way of saying we’re captive?

 - You really think we’d need a kind way to hold you captive? - Wanda turned around, exiting the building. She probably knew the outcome of their decision before they told anyone. 

The two man shared a knowing look between them, following Wanda out with Yelena fast on their step but Y/N stood behind. The whole room looked so much smaller yet it vibrated with memories she had buried deep into her subconsciousness. It was still there, everything as it was growing old with dust just like her childhood.  It was lost. Monica looked at her with kind eyes, drapping her arm over her shoulder like she did whenever they were both recruits at SWORD. Everything seemed so far away now, even Westview seemed far. Time seemed to pass by the two like an enemy yet it lingered in the memories which haunted at night.

   - You three should go with Yelena. - Monica suggested. - You can come with us, Jimmy.

  - I’ll go with Yelena. - Wanda walked over to the former Red Room graduate, eyes still gazing over Y/N, looking for any gaps in her mind shield which was slowly crumbling the more she looked at him. - See you at the base.

Y/N looked over her shoulder for a second to look at him. He looked different, at least as different as one who does not age can look, short hair, relaxed posture sometimes even. Her eyes met up with his, familiar looks which lingered like a long kiss, yet she couldn’t bare look him in the eye and instead entered Monica’s old jeep. Monica took the driver’s seat while she took shotgun and Jimmy sat on the back, reporting what had happened through him com to a very curious Darcy who was probably bored off her mind being stuck in an helicopter with Vision.

   - Jim, can I see that? - Y/N turned around in her seat to look at the FBI agent who shrugged and handed her the file. She let it fall on her lap, fingers tracing the name she wanted to know so much when her whole world were the walls of the Red Room. She would’ve never guessed his name, even if she tried. 

Her hands traced the edges of the file, almost afraid to find out what was inside; yet when she opened them, a few letters slide out. Daisy. She recognised the fast written name on top in messy black runny ink. 

  - Anything interesting? 

  - No. - she blinked, closing the file. - Uhm ... not that I know. Maybe Alexei might know, he was a guardian when Sergeant Barnes was a fight intructor there.

  - Think the twins will freak out when they see Sam Wilson? - Monica smiled. The twins had a huge fascination with the Avengers despite both their parents being part off the initial team. Nevertheless, Billy and Tommy did not really care and instead got wide eyed watching old footage of the Avengers. - Last time they saw Hawkeye they were hyper for a month. 

  - Not sure Fury’s gonna be happy about having three new people in.

  - The more, the merrier. 

The ride to the base was excruciating as she replayed the scene in her head although there was really nothing to replay. She knew someday at some point she would see him, she just never expected it to be that soon. The last time she had seen him was the mirage of him in Westview, one of Agnes failed tricks, and even then she got tongue tied. Seeing him now even felt more unrealistic, he felt like such a figure of her past, like an unresolved badly healed wound. She really thought that by now she would be better at controlling it, you’d think 6 years would’ve taught her best how to deal with him even after all the past events where his face was plastered all over the television. Nevertheless, despite how slow time ran for her, they reached the small seemingly deserted area which started to glow red as Wanda broke through the hex she had created to protect their designated base. It was nothing special, Wanda had told her when she brought the team to see what she had been working on. Yet, it was something special and over time their team grew to give harbour anyone who looked for shelter from SWORD, SHIELD, or HYDRA and the initial team could not be any prouder of it.

The two jeeps parked in front of the entrance and immediately Y/N spotted Tommy rush outside, holding his twin by the arm. Both clearly already knowing they had visitors, Avengers visitors. 

    - Jeez Louise, you two. What did I say about using your powers? - Wanda stepped out of the jeep, hands on her waist. 

    - Not unless it’s necessary or under supervision. - Tommy shrugged as Alexei came running behind them. - Alexei supervised us, mum.

    - Just wait ‘til your father hears about this.

    - You got kids? - Sam asked, visibly worried at the fact his old friend seemed to have two ten year olds.

    - Long story. - Monica added. - You two inside. No place for you here today.

    - But you said we could meet the Avengers, mum. - Billy complained to Wanda.

     - You can always meet me, kids. - Vision joked making Darcy roll her eyes. Poor Darcy, she was probably already done with dad jokes. 

The briefing was long and drawn up with Fury mostly filling Sharon, Bucky and Sam into what they did and listening to Jimmy about the contents of the file. There was never too much in those files and it was mostly about ensuring they had all the files so Lieutenant Ross wouldn’t get his hands on them. Besides, it was up to Sharon, Bucky and Sam’s interest to join him as soon enough Zemo would be contacted by Lieutenant Ross and until he had one of the Winter Soldier files in his possession, Zemo was also one of their enemies. She tried looking at him a few times, memories of the time they had spent together clouding her mind and better judgement yet she couldn’t forget how Bucky had pushed Sharon behind him the moment Monica and her had pointed guns at them, protecting her the same way he used to protect her. Yet, she had no business thinking about him, not after what she had done, not after she became the sole reason why he ...

    - Y/N. - Fury’s voice took her from her own mind. Looking around, the room was vacant except for her, Fury, Wanda and Monica. She was so focused on her memories, she hadn’t even noticed the remains of them leave the room. - I told you not to go on that mission.

    - I don’t work for you, Fury. Besides, I’ve been there before, I was an asset to the meeting. 

    - You’re the sole benefactor of whatever powers your father had at SHIELD, if you die then Ross inherits it. If you ever disobey direct orders, I’ll ...

    - You’ll what? - Y/N interrupted him. - Tell my father?

    - You might not want to accept he’s your father, but he is and you have to deal with the responsibilities that come with being his daughter. 

    - Fine. -  Y/N stretched a fake smile on her face as Fury left her, Wanda and Monica alone in the briefing room. 

    - Alright  ... give them to me. - Monica extended her hands towards Y/N. - The letters that were in the file and you clearly took.

    - It’s his letters. I don’t think anyone has any business reading them. 

    - I’ll give them to him then. Hand them over, Y/N. - Y/N begrudgingly handed the letters over to Monica who got up. - You let yourself be easily haunted by the past. If I let you keep these, you will never give them to him. You can’t even look at him.

    - Yes, I can. 

    - Oh really? - Monica crossed her arms. - Then come with me and hand them to him. 

    - That’s just mean, Monica.

    - We’ll talk about this later, Y/N. - she pointed at him before exiting the room. Y/N slouched against her chair, looking at the ceiling above her. 

    -  Don’t worry. - Wanda reassured, hand on her shoulder. - I did what you made me promise I’d do back in Westview.

    - Thanks, Wan. 

    - You’ll be fine ... We always have to be fine isn’t it? - she looked straight ahead with a sadness which showed all she herself had lost despite having recovered the twins and Vision. So much for a nice suburban life.

    - So ... he won’t remember?

    - He won’t remember a thing.

[heckpup]

Hmmmmmm Time for the Part 2 of the Immortal Tommy AU I cooked up with my raw materials in the middle of the night

:DDDDDDDDD What fun. I have also now decided that Tommy's new wings are now phoenix style (cause he's immortal now, innit?), in flames, but only at the tips (so far, this will change the older he gets) and only if he wants them to be. Had he still been mortal, they probably would've been just a regular red, and so that is what they look like when they're not on fire.

Also, I'd like to imagine that the old worlds from when we were kids (with borders and that didn't go on forever and just stopped and dropped off into the void, right? I know me and my friends loved to find the corners and try to go through. Good times.) are what the god's personal realms are like. Not enough room for rebellion, since there's not enough room to run from an angry god/goddess. If you go to the edge, you can look at/travel to other worlds as well. Most gods don't bring other people into their worlds anyway, but *shrugs*

Edit: (I can't believe I forgot this I'm so sorry ;-;) TW:Mentions of bl00d, Mention of de@th, mentions of m@n!pulat!0n and g@sl!ght!ng, mentions of t0rture.

Just thought I should mention + explain.

~

"Hey Clara?" Tommy asks from a small tree, letting his feathers move gently in the wind.

"Yes, Tommy?" Clara calls from below, looking up at the young immortal. Tommy glides down to meet her on the ground, and he looks up at her a little sheepishly.

"Do you think that since, well, you know, I'm recovered and shit, I could visit those bitches from the SMP? I kinda just want to, uh, blow up at them, sorta. I just- its a lot of untapped rage and I really just wanna scream at 'em, you know? It's totally ok if you think I shouldn't I mean, you are the biggest man- er, woman- here, just wanted to ask, but uh-"

"Tommy." Clara cuts him off with a small smile, and a bit of mischief and malice (And anger, as well) twinkling in her dark eyes. "I think that's a wonderful idea. Besides," She begins to walk over to the edge of their small world, "they need to understand what they did, and its never good for us immortals to hold grudges over mortals. Could cause some unplanned problems in the far future."

Tommy beams, and Clara begins mentally preparing for the showdown with glee. "Tommy, how do you want to do it?" She asks, inner drama queen squealing.

"Well-" Tommy tells her- "-I really want it to be big and dramtic, you know? Like lightning and thunder, and like things bursting into flame and shit. I could probably do the flames myself, but do you think-" He looks up at her expectantly.

"Of course!" She says, patting his shoulder. "A storm fit for a god. It would be only fitting, of course. I am going to come along, of course. Just in case there are any unexpected developments, like more dramatic effect."

Tommy nods. "Yeah! Those bitches aren't gonna know what hit them! But, do you think you could stay invisible 'n shit for it? I still wanna do this by myself. I don't-" He cuts himself off, feathers ruffling. "I wanna yell and bitch about it, and I want to do this on my own. Like an important milestone on my recovery." Clara nods in agreement.

"Right, right. For the lightning though, is there any houses you want to keep out of harms way? I plan on hitting a lot of houses, just to get people up and moving."

Tommy thinks for a minute. "Uh, maybe hit close to Ranboo's house- he's the black and white hybrid, he's always been pretty nice to me- and Sam and Puffy and BadBoyHalo. Sam put Dream in prison a while ago, and Puffy and BBH gave me some gifts the night before you picked me up. So, they're clear from property damage, but I still want to see them. Defintely break Dream out, I want to yell at him though. Wait, maybe I can break him out, like teleport him away from the prison and show off my new powers and shit- anyway, maybe save Niki as well, she was always nice."

Clara nods and begins to locate the small world that she pulled Tommy from so many years ago. "Goodness!" She laughs. "It's been a while since you looked down at this one, isn't it?"

"Yeah, haven't had much time to think shit about those old bitches." Tommy begins to search with her, quickly locating the small SMP, being recently cleared of the red bloodvines that had plagued it for a while.

While they plan, they laugh, and Clara is reminded of how far the young godling had been when she whisked him away. His old SMP hadn't deserved him, not even for a second.

~

Tommy and Clara were watching from the clouds as the little people in the SMP ran around panicked about the storm that was destroying a lot of their houses. Tommy watched with glee and satisfaction as the majority of the SMP (save for Dream, of course) gathered in the newly rebuilt community house to discuss the looming problem.

"Dream has to be behind this, Sam!" Fundy growled out. "He's the only one that has this kind of power!"

"You ready?" Clara asked Tommy, after waiting for him to be perfectly positioned under one of the next lightning bolts, aimed at one of the doorways to the community house. Tommy nodded and lit the tips of his wings, prepared for the force of the bolt to push him back down to the earth.

The lightning hit, and Tommy found himself being thrown down and pushed to the ground.

The first thing he noticed was that the bolt left little sparks over his body and his wings were a little more lit up than usual.

The second thing he noticed was that everyone in the community house was looking at him.

He stood up and, with a great amount of false confidence, strode into the room. Tubbo was staring slack-jawed, as were most people in the building. Phil's face was incredibly pale, to the point that Tommy actually began to worry about the man's health. Ranboo looked at him wide-eyed, but then Tommy saw recognition flash and a smile began to creep onto his face.

But the person that Tommy had his eyes on the most was the no-longer transparent form of his elder brother, well and alive again.

"What's up, bitches?" Tommy grinned, and suddenly the room was alive with shouts and yelling and holy Prime, Tommy probably should have prepared more for this reaction but he hadn't even known Wilbur was alive but oh, Phil's yelling about how Tommy left him and-

"Tommy, how could you? You've been off to who knows where? Where the fuck have you been? How could you leave us?" Phil's void-black wings ruffled, and Tommy didn't even think before responding,

"I've been off healing, bitch! You know, from all the trauma you adults forced on me? And the gaslighting from Dream? The manipulation? It took me years to get over that shit, and the god's world-time runs slow! I spent a whole fucking year trying to understand that what you bitches put me through was fucking wrong, and I was not alright! I left you all here because you left me when I was at my fucking WORST! YOU LET A SIXTEEN YEAR-OLD FIGHT IN FUCKING WARS AND GET EXILED! YOU EXPECTED ME TO TAKE THAT SHIT LIKE A FUCKING ADULT? FUCK NO!" Tommy's wings flared out and he could feel the heat radiating off of it, his flames responding to his anger.

"Thomas Minecraft-Innit, I am your father, how dare you-"

"Oh, you're my father now? Now, after you abandoned me, neglected me, left me in the dust? You cared more about your fucking war buddy than your own two sons! Wilbur was more of a father than you were, and then you fucking killed him!"

"Tommy-" Tubbo tried to interject.

"AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON YOU TUBBO! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID? YOU LEFT ME AS WELL, YOU LEFT ME WITH FUCKING DREAM! YOU EXILED ME, AND FOR FUCKING WHAT? A SAD POSITION IN A COUNTRY THAT YOU LET DREAM PUPPETEER ANYWAY! WE FOUGHT THAT WAR TO GET AWAY FROM DREAM, AND THEN YOU FUCKING LET HIM RIGHT BACK IN!" Tommy raged, turing on his ex-best friend. "Oh, speaking of-" He snapped his fingers and then Dream was in the room with them, wearing an orange jumpsuit and looking around wildly.

The room let out a great outburst, which, to be fair, was expected.

But then Dream took one look at Tommy and decided that it was a-fucking-okay to try and re-manipulate Tommy again. As if he didn't notice that Tommy was much older, much more healed and much more powerful than before. (Or that could just be him. Clara did tell him that gods- and even godlings- could change their age and appearance, and sometimes it was involuntary and depended on emotions and metal stability. Tommy did actually feel much younger. Maybe it was from being in this place, this world, and being in front of the person that hurt him most. That would make sense.)

"Tommy!" Dream cried with unusual glee. "You're here to help me, aren't you? You finally came to your senses about your best friend, right?" Tommy only raised an eyebrow in response, not giving him an answer. "What, not going to give an answer to your only friend? Tommy, I stayed with you, I kept you company when no one else did, remember?" Prime, how long did Dream think he had been in that prison for?

Tommy only shrugged and then pulled out a sword and dashed up to Dream, keeping the blade on Dream's throat. "You mother fucker. You are the biggest bitch boy I've ever, and I mean ever, had the pleasure of knowing, bitch boy. You are the absolute worst thing to ever happen to me, you know that? You killed me twice, and for what? Gratification of knowing you killed a teenager? And then you tried to gaslight me, manipulate me into doing your sick shit for you? That's the most fucked up thing I've ever known, Dream. I'm going to enjoy taking this life from you." And then he swung, embedding the blade into the wall behind where Dream's body had once been.

TommyInnit killed Dream with [A Final Blow]

Dream made the achievement [Banned?]

"Tommy what-" Tommy turned to look at Technoblade, who was looking blankly at his chatlog.

"Oh, don't worry too much about him. He'll just be stuck for a few days in the ban-void, and then he'll come back on his own." A great number of people paled, knowing the ban void, when you were still on a world, meant that you were subjected to great amounts of agony as your body tore itself apart and tried to pull its code back together. And Tommy had just taken one of Dream's lives, too!

"Tommy, what happened to you?" Phil asked, horrified.

"I grew up," Tommy said with a smile. "And now I have the rest of time to spend continuing to grow and live. Becuase now, Tommy Innit never dies."

Techno rushed at him suddenly, axe swinging. It caught the edge of Tomm'y neck, and Tommy took the chance to grab Techno by the scruff on his, and lift him up, also while feeling his body grow older. Several gasps were heard around the room at the sudden change. "What were you trying to do there, Technoblade? You can't kill a god." And then he let Techno drop to the ground, before touching the part of his neck Techno had sliced.

His hand drew away with golden ichor.

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 6,

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​​​​

Square Field: Christmas Tree

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Fluff, brief mention of past trauma, light angst.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 7 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST**    **MASTERLIST**    **BECOME A PATREON**

Snow, you had seriously never seen this much snow in your life. You were starting to think it was never going to stop snowing. It snowed all night long, finally slowing to light dusting somewhere around daybreak, and by the time you and Dean had pulled yourselves out of bed, it was evident no one was going anywhere until the snowplows came through to clear the roads, which could take a few days. 

You were totally fine with the idea of hanging around the cabin today. It had been a busy week already. Dean had gone above and beyond what anyone had ever done for you already, and if today was just a day where you hugged out and did nothing, that was okay. Not every day had to be some grand adventure for you. 

Dean, on the other hand, had been eyeing the cluster of small Canaan Firs on the back corner of the property all day. They were just big and full enough to make a small Christmas tree for the two of you. So, without much explanation other than, “get your coat and boots,” you followed Dean towards the little cluster of trees. The small ax he’d found in Baby’s trunk was swung over his shoulder as he trudged ahead of you through the almost kneed deep snow, making a path for you to easier walk in as he paved the way forward to his destination. 

From a few paces back you could see the white flurries land on his broad shoulders as well as the back of his jacket and sock hat as he went, his large silhouette standing out in stark contrast to the snow as he pushed on forward through the unforgiving cold. 

You could hear him humming along to a tune that you didn’t recognize as he turned over his shoulder giving you a little smirk while he watched you struggle to keep up with him through the deep snow. Being short wasn’t exactly working in your favor at the moment, and he paused, turning to fully face you with the ax still slung lazily over his shoulder much like he did his vampire machetes after a hunt. 

“Need me to carry you Y/N/N,” he called sarcastically, and you childishly stuck your tongue out at him before answering. 

“I’m doing just fine on my own Winchester!” 

“Okay, Sweetheart, I was just offering since the snow is almost as tall as you are. I was afraid you’d fall into a drift and I wouldn’t be able to find you until the snow melted,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes dramatically. 

“You just worry about getting us a tree cut down and stop worrying about me,” you tell him, earning a deep chuckle from him as he turned and started to make his way toward the tree line again. 

The sun was starting to go down, it was late but you and Dean both had been pretty lazy today. Doing nothing but watching Christmas movies, you pick this time, and eat as much artery-clogging food as you could manage since you didn’t have Sam the health nut breathing down your throat. The darkening sky overhead cast an almost postcard type feel to the scenery around you, but your gaze was on the back of Dean’s head as he hummed along his way.

He looked particularly smug with himself as he kept making his way towards his goal, still chuckling as your footsteps crunch along behind him. Your inner child was screaming at you to not let him get away with that. So reaching down as you went, you grabbed a handful of snow in your gloved hands and started to pound it into a ball. 

Just as Dean turned to make another comment about you talking all day to catch up to him, you launched the snowball, hitting him squarely in his broad chest, laughing as he looked grumpily from you to the show that still clung to the outer layer of jacket that was on his body before a smile carved by the devil himself appeared on those pink, wind kissed lips of his. 

“Oh Baby, it’s on now.”

Reaching down on the ground in front of him, Dean grabbed a handful of his own snow.

You turn to try and run back towards the house for safety, but it was no use, he was taller and faster than you were. Before you could even take three steps you were nailed in the back with a larger snowball, and Dean’s laugh echoed through the cold air around you as you staggered a little. 

You quickly try to gather up another snowball, but Dean was faster, quickly launching another and barely missing you as you ducked lower to the ground. 

Deciding to change your tactics a little, you charge at him, hurling two more snowballs in his directions. He rolled across the ground to escape them, laughing as you cursed and scrambled to gather up more snow.

“Oh, now you want to play dirty? Well, you shouldn’t write checks you can’t cash baby girl,” he growled playfully, looking up from his sprawled out position with his eyes almost glowing with a childlike excitement you had never seen in Dean before.

Without warning he jumped off the ground, running towards you at an impressive speed. The sudden change totally threw you, and all you could was stand there like an idiot for a moment before turning on your heels and bolting back in the opposite direction. 

Unfortunately, your pause was going to be your demise. Dean’s long legs carried him to you faster than you would have guessed possible, one long arm wrapping around your torso as the other grabbed a handful of fresh powder, dumping it down the back of your shirt and jacket. 

You twist and try to get away from the cold, screaming and laughing until your lungs hurt. If anyone was watching they were surely going to think he was killing you. Both of you were laughing so hard at this point that Dean lost his footing, falling down on his backside and pulling you down with him, both of you lying there in the snow as you tried to catch your breath from your little snowball fight. 

“Okay, truce?” Dean asked breathlessly, still smiling widely. The dim light of the winter evening casting the most gorgeous glow over the exposed skin of his face that you suddenly realized was very, very close to yours, and that you were still sitting on top of him. 

For just a moment you contemplated revenge, but decided better of it, knowing Dean could turn the tables on you in an instant and suddenly have the upper hand again. 

“Truce,” you agreed, slowly climbing off of him and helping him stand to his feet. 

Dean kept up with your pace this time as you made your way towards the tree line, looking at the trees there. While all of them were full and beautiful, they were all a little too big up close to bring into the cabin. 

“You know, there’s a box out in the woodshop labeled Christmas Stuff, bet there’s an artificial tree out there too,” Dean said, looking towards the shed that felt like it was a thousand miles away from you in the dimming light that stretched across the snow-covered lawn. 

“You know, I bet you’re right, cause even if we get one of these bad boys cut we’d have to drag it all the way back up there,” you point out in a huff of white fog, and Dean nodded in agreement. 

“Come on, hop up on my back and I’ll carry you there,” he offered as you gave him a shocked look. “Come on don't be stubborn.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly as Dean knelt down in front of you in the snow for you to wrap your arms around his neck while his gloved hands came to your thighs, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

It didn’t take him nearly as long as it would have taken the both of you walking to reach the woodshop, and as you slipped down from his back and turned on the light, you noticed the welding torch Dean had been using when he planned on taking the “big splash” still laying on the workbench and froze. 

Dean noticed your hesitation and followed your gaze with his own before pulling a heavy and on his shoulder. 

“Come on baby girl, let’s not dwell on the past okay? That’s not why we’re here.” 

You knew he was right, but the thought of him out in the middle of the ocean, buried in a metal coffin, trapped with Michael terrified you to this day. In fact, you still had nightmares about it even if you would never tell him that.

You let Dean guide you to the back of the shed, quickly finding boxes of decorations and Christmas lights of all sorts, and finally a tree. 

“Got it!” Dean yelled excited, producing a box marked “Christmas Tree,” and adding it to the growing pile of decorations on the ground. 

“Great, let’s get it to the cabin, I’m freezing,” you tell him. You weren’t really all that cold, but wanting to get away from this room where he’d almost literally created his sealed fate. Dean picked up on your hurry, and nodded, grabbing the boxes he could along with the Christmas tree and following you back into the warmth that awaited in the cabin. You didn’t really take a breath until you were back in its warm enclosure. 

Dean dropped his boxes on the ground, coming up and taking yours from you before slipping his arms around your waist and hugging you tight into him. 

“You okay Y/N,” he asked after you finally returned his hug, holding on to him like he might disappear in front of you if you let him go. 

“I’m fine,” you lie, but Dean saw through it, he knew you all too well, he knew that seeing that had bothered you even though you were trying to hide it. 

“Hey,” letting go of you he pulled a glove free of his hand with his teeth and placed it to the side of your face, making you look up into his astonishing green eyes. “I’m still here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.” 

You nod and lean your head into his chest as his fingers glide their way through your hair and calm your racing heart a little. 

“Tell you what, that’s enough adventure for tonight. We can decorate tomorrow, right now I’m going to make you some Winchester Surprise for dinner and we can get drunk and prank call everyone that’s stone age enough to still have a number in the local phone book there.”

You hadn’t expected that, but the thought of Dean calling someone and asking them if their refrigerator was running had you cracking up in spite of yourself. Just like that, all the bad melted away as his lips pressed lightly to your forehead, and removed your jacket for you. Just like that, he chased away the bad memories again, leaving only a peace you had never felt until this moment in its wake. 

Sure the two of you had both been through your share of hell, in Dean’s case literally, but you had never seen it until right then how much you needed him and how you weren’t willing to live without him. He was your person, and you just wished you could be his. 

Even though the past tried to drag itself back up to haunt you, standing in the kitchen with Dean and helping him cook his favorite meal for the two of you felt so natural that you wouldn't have ended day 8 any other way. No matter what happened after Christmas was over, this memory would be your favorite of them all. Just you and Dean, being together in a rare slice of normal, what more could a hunter ask for?

Forever Tags: 

@deandreamernp​

@forgetthisbull​

@miraclesoflove​

@deanwanddamons​​​ 

@rvgrsbrns​​ 

@chevyharvelle​​ 

@onethirstyunicorn​​ 

@i-love-superhero​​ 

@lyss-dw79​ 

@magssteenkamp​ 

@lemondropirwin​ 

@squirrelnotsam​ 

@hobby27​ 

@spnbaby-67​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​ 

@defenderrosetyler​ 

@screechingartisancashbailiff​ 

@thecreatiivecorner​  

@vicmc624​ 

@busy-bee-angel-misska​ 

@justanotherwinchester​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​

@idksupernatural​

@lyarr24​ 

@amandamdiehl​ 

@miraclesoflove​ 

 @emoryhemsworth​ 

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ 

@softsebastian 

@tatted-trina6​

@anaelsbrunette​ 

@hayleeharling​   

@flamencodiva​ 

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​ 

@dirty-pan-goblin​ 

@itmejado​ 

@supernatural3002​ 

@teresa-67​ 

@thoughts-and-funnies​ 

@hearteyes-j2​

@miss-nerd95​ 

@writers-whirlwind​

@peaches007​

@bobbie3939​

@lunarmoon8​

Jensen and Dean’s babes

@akshi8278​

@love-jackles-37-blog​

@supernatural-bellawinchester​

@bobbie3939​

Dean’s Babes

@forgetthisbull​

Series Tag list: 

@440mxs-wife​

[m0srael]

Writerly Ephemera

This is such a lovely idea @the-starryknight (original post here), I'm so pleased I was tagged by @cluelesspigeons in her version. I've been doing a lot of thinking about why/how/what I like to write. I think it's very grounding to take a moment to reflect on how much of myself is actually embedded in my writing. I'm still very new to the game, but here are some examples:

Open Mic

The last performer, a comic who’d just finished what Harry was sure was the world’s worst three-minute set in the history of comedy, turned to slap Draco Malfoy rather hard on the shoulder as he mounted the stage, acoustic guitar in hand.

My second date with my partner was an open-mic comedy show. To call it "cringey" would be generous. One performer's whole spiel was yelling at audience members about whether or not they did drugs, very confusing. We laughed about it for so long afterward, though, and it's such a fond memory now!

Whatever Walked There, Did Not Walk Alone

Walking through Draco--his Draco--would be like stepping out of a warm hearth and into someone’s first real home away from home--compact and unassuming on the outside, maybe, but packed to the brim with stuff and things that had been meticulously collected and strategically placed to immediately show visitors who the owner is. He pictured low ceilings and a small series of purpose-built rooms, every surface coated with the thin veneer of dust that tends to gather around homes that are actually lived in and not just kept.

Draco's interior architecture is modeled after my grandmother's home, a place I spent a lot of time as a child. The kitchen had this horrible brown linoleum tile, the living room had a forest-green carpet and there was a glass-front cabinet full of porcelain dolls in one corner, and one of her big decorative elements was a collection of buttons and pins she'd amassed over her life. Somehow, there was always a Pavorotti performance on the tv. It was so cozy and weird and perfect.

Be Better Than You Were

It isn’t that Draco no longer commands a room with their quick wit and clever sense of humor, or that they take up less space, less air. It isn’t that they’ve grown quiet or complacent or something. Merlin, Harry couldn’t imagine a quiet Draco Malfoy. There’s just a bit more give in the parts of them that used to be unyielding. Draco still teases anyone and everyone, but now it feels more like an invitation than a warning, and is always accompanied by the soft press of long fingers to a temple or a second cup of tea. Draco had made Harry feel a lot of things over the course of their acquaintance--disdain, anger, suspicion, fear, jealousy, confusion, desire, longing, remorse--now, Draco just makes Harry feel at ease. Draco makes Harry feel like maybe he can give a little, too, and not break like he’s always worried he might.

Somewhere in the folds of grief and trauma, Draco has managed to find a little space in which to learn something important about the way they move about the world. Harry would like very much to sit in that space with them, just for a while.

This whole fic was very personal for me. This particular passage was inspired by my own experiences of loss. Writing this allowed me to think through how intimately entangled things like grief, trauma, optimism, identity, gender, self-image, and our capacity to be in relationships with others really are. It's hard to remember to be soft when what we're used to is bracing for impact.

The Fourth Rule (and pt. 2, The Fourth King)

Potter and Malfoy’s first few tricks were received with a barrage of insults and empty bottles. The pub’s patrons had no interest in simple card tricks or disappearing handkerchiefs. No, tonight Potter and Malfoy would have to pull out all the stops if they hoped to get paid.

Malfoy, whose back had been to the audience for some time, whirled around quickly. “IS THIS WHAT YOU CAME FOR?” He shouted over the cacophony of boos, waving a revolver in the faces in the front row. His brows were pinched in anger, eyes glinting dangerously in the low lamplight. Potter reached slowly into his jacket for his own firearm and watched as the crowd shrank back. A gasp, then a hush fell over the room.

I think this series will be my favorite piece of writing (if not the most universally appealing). I have a strong fascination with closeup/stage magic, I force my partner to watch magicians' specials on Netflix with me all the time. They even got me tickets to see David Blaine live as an anniversary gift (he held his breath on stage for over 20 minutes !!!). Sure, a lot of it is hokey and unconvincing, but sometimes a performer pulls off an illusion that is absolutely mind-blowing and just totally cool. I think this kind of magic can be a metaphor for so much in our lives (especially in our writing).

Live to Remember, Remember to Live

The doorknob had rattled before the door swung slowly open. Lucius had shuffled haltingly into the room in nothing but socks and a pair of briefs. Draco’s mother must have given up on combing his hair as it was a mess of tangles down his back. Frozen in place, Draco had just watched his father’s slow progress across his bedroom floor, a hot knife of sadness and fear lodged in his stomach.

This one is the most personal, and the most challenging. Without going into detail, a lot of Draco's experience with Lucius in this fic is directly inspired by my own experiences with my father. I'm learning that writing about all of it, either as fiction or more memoir-y, can put things in perspective and even be a bit healing. Draco's impulse to go get a Ph.D. to process his intense emotions is also...not unfamiliar to me.

Keeping it going: @cibeewastaken, @phoebedelia, @curlyy-hair-dont-care, @frenchmarshmalloww who may all have been tagged already !!!

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.17}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

For a Saturday afternoon in late October, in Scotland especially, it was unreasonably sunny and therefore warmer than anyone should allow. Dreadful, really, and Robin was only glad that she had her beloved round sunglasses to keep the brightness out of her eyes at least as she followed the beaten path. Snape however wasn't as lucky, and all he could do was to scowl at both the warmth and the sunlight as he and Robin made their way towards Hogsmeade like they had decided to the day prior.

It was already quite late, almost the time where most students would be returning to the castle, but Robin had intentionally chosen to head down to the small village only now. If things went according to plan, they wouldn't have to come across any students at all, despite it being the most crowded Hogsmeade Saturday she had ever experienced. Bloody 'nice' weather… good thing they would be staying off the main street the entire time.

They had decided on what to sell the night prior, picking some of the less expensive objects and ingredients to test the waters for now. Still, once they reached the narrow alleyways and passages that were as void of people as they had been when Robin had been here for the first and only time, in her third year, she still couldn't help feeling a little nervous. She had managed to deal with the sleazy shop owner when she had been younger, and less knowledgeable… she certainly would be perfectly fine now too, right? All she had to do was to act on the now genuine boldness and knowledge she had only been able to feign the last time; if anything, it should be way easier now than it had been back then. Yes, she would definitely be fine; and she would win this bet she had going on with Snape.

"What should I demand for the few things I'm selling? Legal or not, I still gotta stay within the normal range of what this stuff is selling for. And since we said it's your choice what I'll be asking for, you better give me a number before we go in." Robin finally said, when they arrived in front of the ominous black shop. It was way less intimidating than it had been back then… or perhaps she had just grown used to thriving in the shadows.

"How about we stay somewhat realistic with this and set the price below value nonetheless. 200 galleons, perhaps?" Snape replied with a subtle not-smirk, giving Robin a look that conveyed both sincerity and amusement.

"That's BELOW value?!" Her jaw dropped, eyes wide with surprise and incredulity. "How much is this stuff worth for real then?"

"Anything between 250 and 300 galleons would be reasonable. In theory, of course."

"That's above a thousand pounds! That's ridiculous! Why would anyone pay that much for these ingredients when they could just gather them for free?"

"These objects are rare for a reason, namely that it is nigh impossible to simply gather them. Not nearly everyone is as… capable as you are, Robin. And for the few people in the field who require rare ingredients for their work in the first place, even 500 galleons would be no sum at all."

"As I said: ridiculous!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly before she couldn't help smirking up at him when a new thought entered her mind. "Good thing I happened to you, or you'd still be buying your ingredients like a fool."

"I appreciate the way you say that; you really did happen to me. Like a natural disaster or the end of the world." He teased right back, putting on a neutral facade while quirking an eyebrow. "But I would have to agree. It was a very good thing indeed."

Robin's smirk turned into a genuine smile, and she took a deep breath. "So is 200 galleons the price you set?" She was absolutely ready for this now, all nervousness gone. "The bet is still on, isn't it?"

"If you are still looking forward to losing, then yes." He quipped, but even his tone let on now that he didn't much believe in his own victory in this scenario at all. It was a tease, and an encouragement for her to do her best. She definitely would do just that, if not for the ridiculous amount of money she could make then at least to humour him.

"Oh, we'll see who's losing here soon enough." Robin replied with one last smirk while dropping her sunglasses into her pockets, then she set her stony facade of perfect neutrality in place and focused on the task at hand. Bold, and stoic, and serious. Just like last time.

The bells above the door chimed when she stepped through first, letting her eyes flicker over the dusty shop that had very much stayed the same since her last visit. As had its owner, whose eyes widened noticeably as they landed on Robin first. She didn't miss the brief shadow of concern that flickered through his face upon the obvious recognition, but after two seconds of staring, he caught himself and flashed her a wolfish grin.

"Spare me the sweet-talk, I'm not here to buy from you." Robin was quick to speak first, giving him one of those piercing icy glares that could kill if they were to become any more tangible. The man's smirk dropped from his face immediately in return, and his frown deepened with every step that Robin came sauntering closer. So close, in fact, that he backed up seemingly subconsciously until his back hit the closest shelf behind him, making the jars and bottles rattle in protest. Obviously her sinister reputation had either spread even to this godforsaken place, or the impression she had left here four years ago had persisted throughout the time in between. Good.

"What can I do for you then?" He finally asked in a strained voice, while his eyes sought for a way to escape her presence. Honestly, Robin didn't know why people were this uneasy around her, considering how tiny she was in comparison to mostly everyone else, but then again, so were scorpions. Small in size, but often lethal. The thought made her smirk ever so slightly, which only served to upset the man in front of her even more. If everyone already thought she was insane, she might as well act on it. Showtime.

"The better question is what I can do for you." She started in an almost eerily sweet tone now, giving him a haunting smile. One of those that always made her shudder when Morgan sent them her way, and that had absolutely nothing happy or polite about them. "The dust on your shelves is piling up by the years, it seems, and yet here you are, still in business. Which can only mean that what you usually sell isn't put on display, is it? You certainly aren't that foolish."

"How do you-..."

"Knowing things is my trade, you see, and as you certainly have noticed, I have used my talents to become someone who indeed doesn't require affiliations, but who people wish to be affiliated with in return." She let her eyes trail over the many objects in the storage shelves for a few seconds, then they snapped back to his. Obviously she had no idea of whatever shady business this man was involved in, but the pieces of the puzzle she could see told her by far enough. So she would play on that now. "I have no use for this shop any longer. In fact, I could easily replace you in this line of business entirely. Or I could end your dealings with a single word in the right place at the right time. However, I have no intention to do either."

"Under which conditions?" He grumbled, frowning down at Robin wearily while the general tension and unease stayed present on his features nonetheless.

"None." She gave him that bone-chilling smile again. "I have no need to threaten you, there is nothing you have to give that would be of interest to me."

"What game are you playing at?" His question came out more shallowly than he probably would've liked, which only served to humour her in return.

"None you would understand." The corner of her lips quirked up into a sincere smirk for a moment, then she turned on her heels and sauntered through the shelves and displays. "Not when you are asking all the wrong questions."

The man seemed to be entirely confused now, deprived of his usual position of having the upper hand, of being the one who led the conversation and controlled the outcome of it. Indeed, he looked rather relieved to be free of Robin's piercing gaze now, but stayed standing in his spot with his back to the shelf nonetheless. She had him right where she wanted, and he obviously didn't have the slightest idea. Perfect.

"What are you here about?"

"Hmm." She hummed in feigned indifference, not even giving him a single glance now as she studied the dusty jars and bottles in distaste.

"What the bloody hell do you want?!" He asked again, not in anger as it might have sounded to anyone who didn't know better, but in unease and desperation.

"I want you to start asking the right questions! I don't have all day." She snapped back at him, approaching him in certain steps once more that had him trying to back up on instinct, only to hit the shelf again. For a moment he actually seemed to think then, which usually was a great improvement to any situation already, while Robin glared at him impatiently nonetheless. The moment he would realize that she was no threat to him was the moment she would lose, and thus she did her best to keep up the impression of danger as long as possible.

"What is it that… you can do… for me?" He finally dared asking, holding her gaze even though the twitching muscles in his face were a clear indicator of his real sentiments. Really, he needed to work on his facades.

"Finally a question worth answering." Robin sighed in feigned annoyance, then went back to the safe neutrality of talking business. "I have a few objects to sell which certainly will be of interest to you."

"What kind of objects?" His tone was weary, but there was no denying that he was interested in the offer. Wordlessly Robin placed the ingredients on the counter behind her, well out of his reach of course, but close enough to see. His eyes widened in an instant as he stared at them first, then at Robin. "Where on earth did you get those?"

She ignored his question, merely giving him an indifferent look for a second, then continued on her own terms. "You certainly know the value of what I have to offer, and be assured, so do I. But seeing as you obviously will be able to sell them for a much higher price than what I expect you to pay, please be so kind and spare us both the time and effort of trying to bargain with me."

"How much?"

"300 galleons."

"Are you bloody joking?!" He scoffed, while squirming under Robin's glare nonetheless.

"Do I seem like the type to joke?" She raised an eyebrow at him with an otherwise grave expression, and finally he just had to look away, anywhere but at her.

"Fine…" He grumbled in disdain, and when Robin graciously made way for him, he moved over to an inconspicuous trunk in the far corner. "But you'll have to take it in cash."

"Fine."

Without another word, he opened the trunk and climbed in, descending a staircase Robin could only guess was hidden inside it. A minute later he returned with a large wooden box, which he placed on the counter next to Robin's cardboard box of ingredients. While he then moved to inspect the ingredients more thoroughly, Robin for her part counted through the thirty stacks of ten golden coins each, in carefully hidden amazement. Honestly, if her facades weren't routine by now, her jaw might just have dropped from the amount of money under her very fingertips. A thousand and five hundred pounds… three hundred galleons. Bloody hell.

"These ingredients are first class… better than most I have seen." The man's scratchy voice finally drew her attention back to him. "I should be able to sell them for a high price indeed."

"Obviously." Robin replied with a sigh in feigned annoyance yet again, and when the man began sorting the few ingredients into the shelves far behind the counter, she carefully stored away the many golden coins in the depths of her backpack. Good gods, she still couldn't believe it. This was bloody insane.

"You know, it's been four years and I still have absolutely no idea who you are." He finally said as he came back, quite obviously more at ease now that the reason for her presence had been revealed. The wolfish grin returned to his lips a second later, but he did well to stay at a distance to Robin. "But I must say, you are still creeping me out more than anyone I know. There just is something about you, all that danger and all the smarts… If I wasn't so terrified of you every time you show up, I might just have to ask you out, now that you've turned into such a delicious piece of eye candy as well."

"The 'eye candy' will likely cut your tongue off if you do not keep your lewd comments to yourself." Snape's sharp voice cut in before Robin herself could reply, and the man behind the counter jumped visibly as his eyes frantically scanned the room for the words' origin. He obviously hadn't taken notice of Snape's presence before just now, but Robin couldn't really blame him. Snape was truly remarkable at staying unseen by anyone whose eye he wanted to avoid, and Robin could only hope that he would show her how he did it one day. For now, she just was more than happy when she felt his presence coming up right behind her, and she directed her attention back to the man behind the counter, who looked even more nervous now that they both stood before him.

"You should keep in mind who you are speaking to." Robin said to him in a neutral calm, seeing no reason to intimidate him any more now. "I came here to trade, not to socialize. Have a nice day."

Turning on her heels, she gave Snape a small smirk, then made for the door. The bells chimed once more as it fell shut behind both of them, and finally they were out in the street again, turning right and walking a few steps before Robin couldn't help grinning at last. It had gotten considerably darker now, the sun gone and the warmth quickly fading, but it didn't matter. This entire ordeal had been a big success, and gods, it had been way too amusing for anyone's good. They still walked on in silence for a little while, until Robin just couldn't help nudging Snape in the side ever so slightly in her giddy excitement.

"I did it." She grinned up at him, not even bothering to take the necessary step away again, which left her arm brushing against his as they walked. "Can you please tell me that this actually just happened? Because I honestly don't know if I dreamed it or not."

"Didn't we say 200 galleons?" Snape asked in return, a tease more than an actual question, as was visible in both his tone and the not-smirk. "Because I cannot remember saying that you should go for 300."

"I wasn't seriously going to sell under value. You know me, I like to push the limits."

"I know." His smirk turned into a real one, and his eyes finally met Robin's while the two of them sauntered along the alley. "That was one of the most impressive displays of power I have come to witness to this day."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up at the compliment, her heart skipping a beat, and when he just gave her a look in return, she went on with a smirk. "Well, find me someone else to snap at –someone who deserves it– and I will repeat the 'display of power', if it entertains you so."

"I certainly will, at a later point in time. For now I have lost a bet, and I would like to pay the price for this… unfortunate misjudgment of your talent for trade as soon as possible."

"I won't complain, I've been looking forward to this part of the trip all day."

"I had feared you would say that." He sighed, but the smirk stayed on his lips nonetheless, and Robin knew that he shared her sentiment after all.

"May I choose my drink?" She asked then, with mischief written all over her face as a mirror of the plan she had made this morning.

"You traded for more than I suggested; I would say you deserve the freedom of choice."

"Great. I want firewhisky."

Snape stopped in his spot in an instant and turned to look at Robin with an equally shocked and amused face that had her grinning even more. "Are you certain about that?"

"Yeah. I've always wanted to try it, but there's never been an opportunity to." She shrugged easily, her gleaming eyes fixed on his. "And seeing as I've never had any kind of alcoholic beverage before, we might as well start there."

A small snort escaped him as his lips curled up into a sincere smile. "You want to start drinking, and choose firewhisky as your first?"

"Whyever not? I do things entirely or not at all, remember?" She smiled in return. "But funny how that is what's bothering you, and not the fact that I am choosing something alcoholic in the first place."

"As if I would care… On the contrary, I appreciate it even! It opens up the possibility of us drinking something other than coffee in the evenings together, once in a while. However that is only if your first glimpse into the wide field of alcohol isn't ruined by something as crude as firewhisky."

"I am open for suggestions, should I end up not liking it, but I want to try it first nonetheless."

"Fine. Your choice." He mused, and as he turned to walk on, a hint of a smirk played on his lips once again, with just enough mischief in it to have Robin feeling excited. Whatever he was plotting in that big brain of his, she was definitely going to enjoy the outcome of it.

For a few minutes Robin followed him through the maze of alleyways, curious where he was leading her, until at last he stopped at the back of a wooden house that probably had its main entrance on one of the busier streets. With a not-smirk, he opened a small door that was so inconspicuous that Robin had missed it entirely on first glance.

"After you." He said as he held it open for her to pass through, and without a second thought Robin stepped into the complete darkness that lay behind it. She took three steps, but when she couldn't see where she was going nor knew where she was supposed to go, she waited until Snape had closed the door behind himself, which should leave him in close enough proximity. The suspicion was confirmed when she felt his arm moving around her shoulders to guide her along through whatever path they were following in this darkness, and for once she enjoyed the frantic drumming of her heart that came along with the situation. He obviously knew perfectly well where he was going, and as long as he kept his arm around her so securely, she actually saw no reason to be nervous for once. Only excited, by the touch and the darkness and the mystery. But before she had the time to really enjoy the feeling of being curled into his side, they took a turn and then stopped for a second as he opened a door.

The brightness of too many lamps and candles stung in Robin's eyes immediately, and she blinked it away while she let Snape pull her into the room ahead. It undoubtedly was some kind of bar or tavern, depending on what one wanted to call this less-than-average establishment. But there wasn't a single person she knew in this room, and she got the vague idea that that's just why he had chosen this place to come to. On the wall opposite of where they'd come in, the actual entrance door opened a moment later to welcome in a small group of customers, who drew Robin's attention to them with the irritating amount of noise they brought into the place. The remainder of the room wasn't any more spectacular than any other bar she'd seen before; booths and tables occupied by witches and wizards who obviously dreaded the minimal attention Robin was giving them already.

"Aren't we going to sit down?" She asked when Snape made no attempt to find an empty table and instead led her straight to the bar.

"No. We are only here for an experiment." He replied, and the calm and quiet tone of his voice contradicted the sinister facade that was back on his face now that they were among people again. Robin watched quietly as he ordered a single glass of firewhisky, and then pushed it towards her after the man behind the bar had set it down on the counter between them with an odd glance between the two. "Try it."

"You obviously haven't understood the concept of buying someone a drink… You are supposed to drink with me!"

"As I said, this is merely an experiment. I still intend to pay my debts to your very contentment afterwards."

"You do?" She quirked an eyebrow at him with a smirk, and any doubt was washed away by a new rush of excitement. If he wanted to make this a more complex thing than it had to be, she wouldn't complain. Especially since this 'experiment' obviously was just part one of a more elaborate plan he had come up with just now. With an almost teasing smile, she finally lifted the glass to her lips and took a large sip while keeping her eyes fixed on his, which were observing her intently in return. The very moment the amber liquid touched her tongue and ran down her throat however, it left a burning trace behind that really did the drink's name all honour, and she couldn't help coughing desperately. She still tried to breathe through the oddly pleasant pain of the intense burn, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that were mainly a result of the coughing, and while she definitely had learned her lesson to take smaller sips in the future, she also found that she did enjoy the taste after all. When her eyes finally stopped watering and she could open them again and blink away the blur, she found that Snape was still observing her. And he was having a very hard time not to laugh. His facades had stayed in place of course, but beneath all that she saw raw and honest amusement. A frown settled on her face in return, but she also couldn't help her own amusement at his expression.

"I know you're laughing beneath all that neutrality, and it's not fair!" She whispered to him with a scratchy voice, in a scolding manner, but her smirk betrayed her efforts, which actually sufficed to finally break him enough for the corners of his lips to curl up into a smirk as well. He was fighting it, that much was visible, but Robin knew that he was losing.

"How was the first sip?" He inquired in barely contained humour now, his own tease threatening to finally make him laugh, and that precisely was what made Robin laugh indeed.

"Good, actually." She replied softly, once she had regained some control over her body. "Tastes good, I just have to work on the dosage."

"Measurements have never been your thing, have they?" He quipped, and Robin sent him a very unconvincing glare and stuck out her tongue just for good measure indeed. Then she made a point out of taking another sip, a smaller one this time, and seeing as she knew what to expect, the burning came as a welcome sensation now rather than a pain. The smooth liquid warmed her insides all the way to the pit of her stomach, leaving her with the pleasant impression that she was burning from the inside out. Glowing, lighting up the room.

Without a word of warning, he suddenly snatched the half empty glass out of her hand and downed the remaining liquid himself before setting it back down on the counter in one move.

"Hey! That was mine!" Robin protested in a laugh, but the mere fact that he didn't mind drinking from the same glass as her left her feeling short of breath, and even warmer on the inside than what could be blamed on the whisky. For a moment she felt overwhelmingly tempted to try catching a taste of it on his lips, to seek out something far more intoxicating, but she quickly forced the thought away. Definitely not a good thought to entertain in his company… especially not in a public place. Damnit. She couldn't even blame it on the alcohol, she had only had two sips just now, and that hadn't even sufficed to leave any noticeable difference with her other than the warmth in her chest and stomach.

"We wouldn't want to get you drunk in public, now, would we?" He raised an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, and it sent another surge of electricity right from Robin's mind to her very core. Of course he was joking, nobody would be getting drunk tonight, but still… what exactly was he playing at?

The question only grew in extent and relevance when he leaned over the counter –unbothered and unhindered by the bar man– and fished for an unopened bottle of the same drink with an unsurprising elegance before dropping three galleons on the counter and motioning Robin to the door without another word. She frowned at him for a second, but then turned on her heels and made for the exit indeed. He went to place the bottle in her backpack even while she moved, closing it up again just before they stepped outside; a gesture that had become so familiar over the summer that it didn't surprise her anymore, nor require much thought or effort on either end.

"So, are you going to share your plan with me or do you want me to make wild assumptions to humour you?" She finally inquired as they walked along the by now entirely lamplit street. It really had gotten cold without the sun, and she regretted not wearing something warmer, but she also couldn't be bothered to fish a jacket out of her bag now to wear under her robes. She didn't even know for how long she would be outside after all, nor what to expect now.

"It will be dinner time shortly, we should return to the castle." He replied innocently, while pointedly ignoring everything that Robin had obviously meant to ask about. Insufferable idiot…

"And your debt?" She refused to let him off the hook quite so easily, and therefore started with the obvious. "Didn't you say you intended to pay up as soon as possible?"

"I did, and I will. But seeing as you have made a point out of the fact that 'buying you a drink' in this case means spending the evening drinking together with you, at my expense obviously, I would prefer to go about it correctly."

"Correctly as in…?"

"Entirely, or not at all." He said, giving her a teasing smirk that had her biting her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. He really was getting way too good at playing by her rules, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything other than loving it.

"Perhaps having a bite of dinner would be a good idea though… Isn't that one of those pieces of common wisdom, to have a proper meal before drinking alcohol?" She finally asked, while they made their way through the darkness back towards the castle. "Because I honestly have no intention to get drunk tonight. I have tutoring to do in the morning!"

He let out an amused huff in return, and even through the darkness Robin could see the lingering smirk. "Neither of us is foolish enough to get drunk quite so easily, you do know that. But we certainly should attend dinner indeed. For the meal, and to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to our whereabouts of the day."

"And after dinner?"

"That you will see then." He smirked again, and Robin rolled her eyes in return. Honestly, he was enjoying the secrecy way too much. But she had to admit, the suspense was beyond exciting, and it left her with a giddy feeling and a resurfacing smile she just couldn't get rid of. If he wanted to play games with her, she would play along; she knew that he would only ever play to her advantage after all. Who knew what the evening was yet to bring?

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles @istrugglewithphilosophy @meghan-maria @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @darkestacademiaaa @nizem8 @girilimoni

General Tags:

@wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @lemonmochitea

[featherwurm]

Another Afterlife

(Dream from the other night.)

Beyond death – no one knows, but here, there, and somewhere else are tales of what lies after. This one is yet another in that host.

In this place it is not punishment, pleasure, or even a stark continuation of what was in life – it is a complex ritual and a strange feeling when all is said and done.

The guide is a stark silhouette – humanoid but with an avian bearing. Her shape is not entirely human, and not really at all bird, but the impression of a pale stork, rosy with clay dust, is clear. She is not a reaper nor a guardian, but she is here to walk each and every soul to the beginning and away from the end of their journey. Far from infallible, she has a rye wit and a tired eye. One gathers the impression that this is her realm alone, and yet, somewhere else perhaps there are others like her. She has been here, seemingly, forever. Her fellows – the reaper, the keeper, the thief, and the fool are all equally inhuman, though deeply varied in their appearances.

Her domain is a massive library of sort, or so it would seem from the outside – an edifice of marble and brass with some sort of classical bent that is hard to discern under what seems to be an impossible number of years of decay. The night sky is hazy, and while it seems unfamiliar, it feels inviting, full of curiosity. The entry is littered with gray stacks, filled with dusty tomes in indecipherable scripts. She leads you down hallways that feel random, telling you that you have died (you thought as much), that you will see things that you will find challenging and that you will have to rise to meet them, and that she cannot guarantee this is your proper ending, until at last depositing you in a room that feels a part of the place, but somehow more recognizable. The artifacts on the shelves have begun to take on familiar appearances, and you see things among them that may have once been yours… or perhaps were at least somewhere in your memory.

Mask – The first item that feels most ‘you’ is a mask, which you feel compelled to put on. Perhaps you needed to repair it, you may have even needed to build it out of what was available to you. It could be any material, and any shape, but it gives you comfort. It may have taken a while to find or construct, but you find your guide has left you through some path you can no longer find. There is another path ahead, through your strangely cataloged things...

Labyrinth – And so you enter your labyrinth, a place made of both the familiar and the fearful – fragments of your life and strange things from the corners of your psyche. It’s length and complexity varies, how deeply you are lost is truly of your own making. But as you progress you sense there is another in their with you. They may hide, or perhaps they are stalking you, it takes time to wind your way through and to find them. It seems the labyrinth is endless, until at last you reach it’s heart (was the journey hours, or days, or years? Time is flimsy when you are already dead.) And so does your doppelganger.

Conflict of the Self – It is you, equally adorned, equally masked, and the first feelings in your heart are to destroy what you see before you. Nearly all these interactions lead to conflict of some kind. Yours is no different. Whether it’s physical, verbal, or some other combat, you engage, ferociously. What you say to each other is your own business, how you try to wound and kill is also your own. Sometimes the conflict is prolonged, and sometimes it is brief. Whatever the case it always ends in the same resolution.

Breaking the Mask – Whether it is mutual, aggressive, kind, or violent, your mask is broken or cast aside. This is neither winning nor losing the conflict. You will be overwhelmed, and what you feel in this moment is your own, but you need this moment of catharsis.

Resolution of the Self – It takes time, and where there was conflict there is now comfort. There is much to discuss, apologize for, and forgive. You spend time with this other self – you walk through trauma, remember goodness, you find warmth and kindness. For some it is much harsher than others, as with all things here.

When the doppelganger and the self are reunited, then the guide returns. The two meld and if not freed, at least lessened in their pains of themselves. There is a wholeness that comes of this entire ritual, from its metaphorical dance to its physical conflict. The guide leads you from the library, and you go to a place where you find those you have known, all journeying through the same conflict, resolution, and catharsis, where you can spend time with them among things which seem peaceful and strange. You do not hunger or want for anything, as you are whole, but there is still love in you for those around you, and you give it freely.

There is something interesting however, and the guide lets you know, though you are at peace here, that your time will eventually end, and you will find the need to move on. You have one thousand years here, one thousand years rectified and ready to spend quietly, but one thousand years only. If you ask what will become of you, and where you will go, the guide shrugs, she does not know what lies beyond – it is always impossible to see past the reality of life we are living.

There is a small caveat in all of this – the time spent resolving the self, each step of the process, is different for everyone. It ranges from days to centuries. She can calculate it for any individual – assigning numbered meaning to each choice they have made in life and the impact it has had on their psyche, and it has tremendous variance. This means that with the separation of time of death and time spent in resolution those that you have known in life may not cross your path here again, as you may move on before them, or long after they have. It is a kind of grief that you must accept, here in this strange afterlife.

(For those that cannot move on – they will find themselves reborn in the world, and once again endure all this, until at last they have come to terms with a gentle sense of self that allows passing on to the next state of being, level of dreaming, or stage of life, whatever that may be.)

[psalloacappella]

tempo rubato

Day 7 Prompt: free prompt // “From now on . . .”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

It is a divine and breathtaking thing, to be untethered from their earthly expectations.

The rhythm of the world is a universal hum, an unbroken orbit consisting only of two.

(we write a story)

Hewn halves of the same whole, shadow and light.

They tell themselves to keep it simple, take it slow. This, whatever this is.

The dynamic shift between them is not sudden nor gradual, but something permanent, piquant, and passionate.

Arcs of exploration, personal and entwined: They roam the edges of the world they know and the enclaves they don’t, hoping that their bonding will reveal the hidden map — time reigning at the helm, the pilgrim cartographer. 

But they’ve never been blithe or unfocused, not in their goals or in the shaping of their destinies. Certainly, nothing between them has ever been anything other than a dramatic affair, enduring, and a love that every other eye can see.

“How many days has it been?” she asks him across an inn table, watching him in the dim light. 

Sasuke knows damn well she’s aware of the hours and seconds that have elapsed together; she’s far too precise for sly questions of time. Does it matter?

He pauses before answering, already so taken with the way she levels her gaze at him, unadorned, and knows bringing her along will be the ultimate undoing of his penance journey, the taking apart of his hard heart. Sunrise cleaving through his endless dusk.

“Months, now.” Gathering up the last shreds of meat from his bowl, he places it in hers and meets her eyes in the manner of setting dry kindling alight. 

And so it works, this restrained and sentimental pace, for a while.

.

(we speed up)

Whispers in firelight will be their foundation, the tales that will shape their future. They speak of mundanities (flowers), practicalities (weather) and dreams, some past, lost, and others transforming into hesitant, potential plans. They speak of scars, this one that one, from the one they called Sasori she breathes, his fingertips tracing a swift cleaving crescent, from him, he mutters, and he knows she’ll know which man simply by the smolder in his sloe and violet eyes.

Some damage gossamer, passing marks on the skin, and others rugged as mountain ranges, raised in affront. Shapes distorting and flickering in the flames. A reminder of the world they hold up, the home they must decide to recommit to, if they can.

They travel and retrace their own history, craving and dreading the point at which they meet the end if only to know the epilogue. 

But this love is unbridled, moves at breakneck speeds — years piled up with unsaid things, so it’s easy to melt, crumble, learn and map every single vulnerable inch of one another. Hearts, minds, skin. Whispering one another’s names in constant refrain.

It is a divine and breathtaking thing, to be untethered from their earthly expectations.

The rhythm of the world is a universal hum, an unbroken orbit consisting only of two.

.

(we slow down)

Swimming in a lazy river, circling as fish in palty ponds consisting only of their dual halves, they speak of coulds:  Could we settle somewhere new? Is the place that birthed us a sort of destiny? Is that home, or is this, you and I, enough of an identity? 

Could our future thrive in the same place of our trauma?

Could this system, somehow, become better? 

Balancing a brush between idle fingers, Sakura drips dry in the parched heat and nibbles the end of it in thought.

“Anything to add?” she asks. 

Sasuke swats at an insect, squinting in the high noon.

“For Kakashi?” Thinks a moment, then glances sidelong at her; at the way she holds things aloft so delicate in hands that break the earth. Heal men, and kill them on occasion. At the way she imbues such seriousness into her letters to their ex-sensei, frown rivets dashing across her forehead. At the fading water evaporating from her skin. “Ah, just to share it with the idiot.”

Lips drawn in moue, Sakura struggles not to laugh. “I can write separate letters; Kaka-sensei is busy now. Hokage things, you know?”

She watches him throw his arm against his eyes to shield them from a dazzling sun, and his quiet snicker contains multitudes, echos in a song. The expression just in that reminds her how little friction remains between them, that they’ve caught fire. 

“He can dictate to Naruto — you’ll burn out here if I let you write two,” he chides, noting the red dusting on her cheeks, suffused with glow. “I’m not quite sure how well he reads on his own anyway.”

Erupting into giggles, she shades her own eyes to stare at him with bewitching and stripped abandon. “Be nice. You know he’s next in line to lead, and no matter what he says, he’ll need you.”

Duty. It sits between them occasionally, considered and sometimes unwanted. 

“You as well.”

Before she’s laughed it off, brushed it away to avoid its grip, but he’s correct. They are fever-bound in fire to the village that will shape the future. A daunting prospect. 

“And I’ll need you too.”

Sakura’s so sure she’s misheard, but he’s closer now than a moment ago, sweeping into her orbit with his infuriating and silent speed, thumb resting gently on her blazing bottom lip.

Bringing the question into being, a fruitless thing he’d never deliberate but she never has qualms about speaking into being. 

“Do we have to go back?”

In answer he kisses her on a simmering, sunny riverbank in a way that would make their mothers blush, an apology, a wish, and this day becomes an axis even if they won’t know it for many cycles of the moon.

A pin is pressed into a shared soul map, becomes a burgeoning accompaniment, another rising phrase in their endless song.

From now on, they are in harmony, particularly with something much larger than themselves. 

.

.

Somehow it seems the village feels them coming, whispers paving the way.

Beginning with the far-flung ranging scouts and flying fast to the spry perimeter lookouts, on to the first inner circle defensive squads and, once the shinobi are identified, the hostile caution drops from their voices in a game of telephone to be replaced with a slightly manic curiosity. 

“Two,” one of them says, yanking a sweaty flak collar from his neck. 

“No,” the other says in a strident tone, waving his answer away. “There’s another with them. Three.”

Details drip in Ino’s ears, and she leaves her post in a whirlwind, a tornado of emotion whose  witnessed story springboards from house to training ground to alcove to inn. 

It’s fitting that the first encounter, or reunion, occurs in the middle of a main road beginning as ringing, if loving insults but dwindling to potshots from gritted teeth and smoothing into cooing whispers as the two women, these best friends, encircle one another with shaking arms and a bundle pressed between them; the accompanying men linger at awkward edges, Sasuke betraying so little with his usual impassive expression and Shikamaru, who was tripped up in Ino’s anger along the way, keeping his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh, how could you?” Ino sniffles, wiping away tears with the heel of her hand. “Can’t do anything by half-measures, no subtlety, you never could! No letter, no warning.” Here she glares at Sasuke for a moment, enough for him to cast his eyes away in at least a modest show of humility. 

The moments pile upon, become stranger and more surprising, as Ino presses her lips to the bundle in Sakura’s arms and Shikamaru sighs in not-unhappy resignation, ah, so it is, and extends his hand to an unusually startled Sasuke and for a fleeting sliver-second, the corners of his mouth aren’t quite so dour.

“Who’s next?” Ino asks, tenderly flicking away a lock of Sakura’s hair. “Though by now, the whole damn town knows.”

The men shake clumsily, wary, bereft of custom.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that. The honorary uncle, it's only fair.”

“We have to report regardless,” Sasuke supplies quietly. Bending over the bundle and his new wife (which, Ino will rant in retrospect, seems obvious now — his unusual tenderness, his glow, men don’t glow like that for just anyone, any reason!), he whispers, begins to lead her away. They walk with high heads and radiant faces.

Her jade eyes behold their new bundle, but his eyes stay, mostly, on her. 

.

By now the gossip’s reached his stuffy office, and though he’s never been one to put on airs or prepare for visitors, he does try to clear a free spot to be able to see over the mess of his desk, before an aide takes pity on him and handles the rest.

He will have to get a full, unadorned look at this.

She leads, of course she does — this is the love at twelve she forcibly took into her own hands, even when it pricked and bruised. Wrestled it until she won. The newlywed glow is obvious. As a shadow Sasuke sweeps in behind, but the tiny uplift of his lips is still evident.

True, then. Differences all around.

“The kids do things differently these days,” Kakashi jokes. “Have you at least considered getting married?”

“Have you?” Sasuke snarks.

Sakura shushes him gently, thumbing away some errant speck from their bundle’s chubby face. Eyes bright, they seem to dim the rest of the room as she raises them to Kakashi and asks, breathless, “Do you want to—?”

And despite his aide’s effort to clear his desk he gets up and comes around it, to them, closing the loop around a future he hopes is halcyon and new, shepherds of peacetime. 

He wonders if they’ve had their real homecoming yet, the true test — but no, he’d be able to tell. Not that the joy in Sakura’s face could possibly be more evident, and by the careful way Sasuke presses his mouth to her temple, nudges her with his nose (and there’s the glow, the one that paints great men often only because of exceptional women they love). Naruto, busy and climbing for his Hokage position but with his own recent arrival, his own legacy coming in the form of something tiny, blond, and confusing. 

The third point of their legendary triumvirate, no doubt unaware of what’s coming to his doorstep and in tow, the new member of his full life he’ll meet anew. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Sakura whispers, eyes shining.

A gloved hand on each head, as if they’re genin again:  He’s gentle with Sakura, ruffles Sasuke’s hair with a roguish twinkle if only to provoke his trademark scowl. 

Subdued, but their sensei’s happiness sings through in the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. 

.

Perhaps they don’t expect Naruto to be the one they see as the door swings open; after all the last letter he sent in his untidy scrawl is still in Sasuke’s cloak pocket, unread in the wake of their universe shifting to this perennial birth that’s brought them across the world and then to their best friend’s doorstep, clutching this thing that did not exist and now does, borne of them and their love; he stands there, blond hair in chaos and a strange smattering of dirt on his cheek and a rag over his shoulder covered in fluids that his friends now know will be constant, streaming, the aftermath of infants; Hinata behind him, carrying her own bundle, with the same look of frenzied-excited exhaustion but now her mouth falls into a small, round ‘o’ as she sizes up the scene faster than her darling, ditzy husband, who’s bereft of speech and straightens up from his sagging position against the door frame, stunned.

“S-Sakura-chan!” Bright ocean eyes ping from her face — beaming, because she’s already understood this wonderful coincidence and can deduce now what his message contained, she begins to weep a little, overwhelmed — to Sasuke’s, hesitant but with its own subtle change, a fleeting expression of love and pride. 

Hinata makes a comforting noise behind them, a reassuring response to Sakura’s tears, the language of women a bit quieter, something less decipherable.

“‘Ay, Sasuke you total bastard, showing up like this! Didn’t respond to my letter—”

“You ass,” Sasuke hisses, tugging fabric over one tiny ear belonging to his daughter. “She can hear that.”

“She’s in trouble anyway, with my mouth,” Sakura sighs, brushing away a tear.

Naruto’s eyes grow so wide they push the earthly bounds of his sockets. His head whips ‘round to look at his wife, their son, and snaps back just as fast to stare at his best friends.

“She?” The word comes out croaky, and Naruto’s already sniffling.

Sasuke and Sakura exchange a glance, the ghost of a knowing smile:  His sentiment has always been equal parts maddening and endearing, his adoration broadcast to the entire world.

Sasuke assents with a nod, but his own voiced response emerges with surprising vibrato emotion. Perhaps to hide it, he drops his chin onto Sakura’s head, resting it there. “Yeah. A little girl.”

They should expect it, but it’s still a scuffle like old times, Naruto tackling them both, gathering them close in his way, welcoming them home from the outside world and back into his magnetism, his heart. 

“Can’t believe you — didn’t even — you just come home like this—”

Their greetings and scoldings and expressions of love mesh together, can’t believe Sasuke managed it, Don’t squish her, Naruto! You idiot, It's you who’s managed it, how old, how long, where did you travel, what have you seen, how old is your son?

“How did you know?” Naruto asks, finally allowing them to breathe. He stares at Sakura, quizzical. “Betcha missed my letter. So how’d you know it’s a boy?”

“I’m a medic, remember?” Readjusting her daughter, she extends her other hand to Hinata, gesturing so she comes closer, anticipating a deeper appreciation of a friendship they’ve already begun, a new language they’ll learn together. “Had a feeling. I just know.”

But Naruto’s tugging on them again, drawing them close and tight, rooting them to the earth and the place they sprung from, flourished and fought in, and now, where they’ve returned. 

Time slackening and quickening though never lost or stolen, occasionally rhythm-robbed but always arriving expectantly, weaving their life legends into knots.

The codetta they’ve always managed to sing together in the end. 

[fascination-street-writing]

To Discard and Discover | Trish Una x F!Reader

She smells of roses and lemongrass - of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

100 Follower Giveaway 1st Place Piece

Content Warnings: P-TSD & Math Class

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to finish your degree?”

Fugo lifts the saucer of tea to his lips, careful to blow on the scalding steam before taking a sip.  He raises an eyebrow as he looks to Trish, who sits across from him at the dining table, awaiting his response. Sighing, he speaks: “Maybe. Maybe not. I doubt any reputable university would take me in after what I did.”

Trish murmurs to herself. She chases a sliced cherry tomato with her fork. Il Pranzo has become a shared pastime between her and the strawberry-blonde boy. “I’m sure Giorno could pull some strings,” she insists. “You could probably go anywhere you wanted.”

“It’s not honest that way. Besides, I don’t have a reason to go back. There’s no degree requirement to work for the Don of Passione . . . But, what about you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He sets his tea down. “The new schoolyear starts in a month. Haven’t you thought about returning?”

Trish stiffens. “Do you think I should?” she asks.

“That’s not for me to say,” Fugo tells her. “Bruno will encourage you to, and the schools near where you live are good. Well, as good as any school in Napoli can be. Above all else, it might be a decent distraction – a chance to gain back a little normalcy in your life.”

It is a difficult subject, and one that weighs on her like a vice. She has struggled to acclimate to the new normal after everything that transpired in the early spring of this year. Returning to school had simply not been a possibility for her, though not for a lack of trying.

She has found trauma to be a tantalizing friend indeed – and one that never quite seems to leave her side.

The sound of your laced shoes slapping against the waxed floors is lost to the rush of bodies that swarm the corridor. The faces of your peers are unnamed to you, because in your sixteen years of life, you never cared to commit them to memory.  Your first session of the day is classe di matematica. It is a grueling subject to most, but you find it easy enough.

An unfamiliar pink-haired girl stands before your teacher at his desk. You cannot help but to notice her rigid posture; she stands as though she has been frozen in place by the scrutiny of his eyes as he takes in her appearance. It is obvious that she is a transfer student, and a nervous one at that. To you, she is nothing more than another face with a name, and you will not care to remember it.

Filing past clusters of your fellow classmates, you make your way to the back of the room and secure your territory. While the table creaks under the weight of your bookbag and leud pencil carvings mar its surface, you find solace in its position beneath the window overlooking the courtyard.

Students continue to file through the door. You look to the clock: class will not begin for another five minutes. Impatient, you sigh and turn your attention to a flock of pigeons gathering on the cobblestone pathway of the courtyard. Watching the scuffle of five birds, all for a discarded heel of bread, is far more enticing than pretending not to eavesdrop on any of the conversations filling the space of the room.

The clocktower chimes and the pigeons scatter, no doubt startled by the deep vibrato of the prerecorded bell-sound echoing throughout campus. You open your notebook and click your used pen. Your classmates take their seats, all the while avoiding the second chair at your table. You do not mind it, for you know it is not repulsion that keeps your peers at bay. The truth is much simpler: every student has at least one friend within the class whom they would much rather sit with than yourself.

Head hung low, you wait for the selection process to end whilst avoiding wandering gazes. When you hear the tapping of a pencil against the table, you are shocked to see the pink-haired girl standing before you.

“Can I sit here?”

Your mouth turns dry, as if you have swallowed the very same stale bread the pigeons quarreled for. You do not mean to, but your eyes trace the delicate lines of her face, from her piercing green eyes framed by thick lashes to the soft pout of her pink, glossy lips. You wring your hands together. She’s pretty, you think to yourself. She’s unfairly pretty.

“Hello?”

You clear your throat. “O-Oh, uh . . .” You stumble over your words, suddenly conscious of the light red hue dusting across her cheekbones. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You wait for her to laugh, to wallow in your self-inflicted humiliation. Instead, she smiles, revealing two rows of straight, white teeth, and sits beside you. She smells of roses and lemongrass – of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

“I like your hair, by the way.” Unconsciously, you bring a finger to your hair and touch it, as if in disbelief that she would compliment your appearance, let alone your hair. “Sorry, that probably came across as creepy, didn’t it?”

“N-No, it’s okay,” you insist. Heat rushes to your face. Her flattery burns you, and yet, you gladly kneel before its flames. “Uh . . . Thank you.”

She hums and turns to face your chattering teacher. You clutch your pen. It hovers over the blank page of your notebook. The hour flies by; class draws to an end, and you have retained nothing. How could you, when the smell of her perfume alone has bequeathed to you the insatiable desire to be wherever it is that roses and lemongrass might coexist – perhaps in the garden of a cottage overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

You notice how she has begun backing her bag. It is your cue to gather your own belongings. The bell rings. You hurry to stand, eager to be away from the girl who garners your attention.

“I’m Trish, by the way,” she tells you. You are still. “Thanks for letting me sit here. It was nice meeting you.”

Trish. Just like the model from America; it suits her, plenty. The corners of your mouth turn upwards into a grin. Her kindness is infectious, and it leaves you longing, gasping for more. As you watch her leave, her form engulfed by the sea of taller students, you are left with nothing more than a contemplation: perhaps there is one name you will remember.

“I don’t understand – what does any of this have to do with math?” Trish sighs, dropping her pencil in frustration. A manicured finger hooks into a pink curl and twirls it with such vigor; you fear she will tear out her own hair. “None of this makes sense.”

“Well, it has more to do with logic than math,” you try to explain. You offer your workbook to her. “It’s actually quite fun, once you get the hang of it.”

She rolls her brilliant green eyes. “Maybe for someone like you. Not everyone can be as smart as you, you know.”

“I-I’m really not that smart,” you deflect. You tap the unfished equation scribbled in her notes. “Let’s just go back to the beginning . . . Un cavaliere always tells the truth, so they can never lie. But un fante always lies, so they can never tell the truth. You meet Persona A and Persona B . . .”

You guide her through the problem. The sound of shuffling papers signifies that everyone else in the class has finished their work; your teacher waits for Trish, and Trish alone, who grips her pencil tightly. You know she feels it – the unspoken ridicule from your peers. To them, she is the incompetent new student from Calabria who cannot comprehend un cavalieri e furfanti puzzle.

“Dannazione, sono un idiota,” she hisses. “Nothing makes sense.”

You frown. “You’re not an idiot just because a silly math problem stumped you.” The insistence falls from your lips. Her silence sends a frigid chill down your spine. “Please, don’t say that about yourself. Let me help you work through it. We assume Persona A is un fante.”

Your teacher clears his throat. He peers over the rim of his half-moon glasses, observing the way you coax Trish to complete the problem. He sets aside the book that had been clasped in his hand, and he stands to approach her, to offer his aid at the behest of a struggling student with such unique circumstances. At the sight of the pencil falling from her fingers and the smile upon her face, he stops.

“I’ve got it. Persona B is un cavaliere, which means both Persona A and Persona B are.” She pauses for a moment to contemplate her words. “That’s a contradiction! Our assumption was wrong, so if Persona A is un cavaliere, he’s telling the truth, so Persona B must be un fante.”

Your confirmation is something sacred to her, not unlike the Rosary given to her on the day of her mother’s funeral. Even when shakily spoken Hail Marys fall from her lips and her fingers tremble over the amber counting beads, there is little room in Trish’s mind for meditation when her thoughts, as of late, are always of you.

She blushes as you meet her gaze. “I meant what I said,” she begins. “You are smart.”

You bite your lip and look away, though her eyes follow. “That’s not true,” you say. “You don’t have to butter me up so much.”

She clasps your hand gently beneath the table. Her palm is soft, and you want to turn your wrist to enlace your fingers with hers. You stop yourself. “If I’m not allowed to call myself an idiot, then you’re not allowed to say you’re not intelligent.” You open your mouth to rebuke her words, but she cuts you off. “Despite what I said, I know I’m smart; just not at all things, like math.”

Her thumb brushes against the back of your knuckles as she pulls away. An incidental touch, you ponder. She turns her attention to your teacher, who stands before the chalkboard writing out the correct steps of the puzzle. You feel hot – unbearably so. A sudden bulge in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You ask to be excused to the bathroom. You did not need to hear the rest of the lesson, anyways.

It has been nearly two months since that day in classe di matematica. Indeed, the air outside has turned crisp and rain showers frequent the weather patterns: the season nears wintertime. Trish’s acclimation to life in Napoli has been far easier than her guardian Bruno had anticipated – dinnertime conversations about daydreams and schooldays have made him grateful for your involvement in the pink-haired girl’s life. Weekends spent with you, consisting of coffees, shopping trips, and stops at gelato parlors, remind her that she is safe.

Because of you, she can be a teenager again.

As you enter the classroom, you find her seat empty. Class carries on, but you cannot focus, for you are reminded of the loneliness that came before meeting Trish. You decide a sip of cool water might help to clear the haze unsettling you so.

You bring the uncapped water bottle to your lips, only to cry out in shock as the metal flask contorts in your grip like puddy. Its contents billow over the mouth of the bottle and saturate your skirt. The bottle does not make a sound as it fumbles to the vinyl floor; you are too bothered by the sloshing of your clothes to notice the way in which the metal frame slowly bends back into its shape – or the laughter of your fellow classmates.

Your teacher ushers you to the bathroom. Your wet loafers squeal as you hurry down the hallway. Prayer cards and posters promoting abstinence adorn the walls. The door latches behind you. Hiccups and choked sobs echo throughout the tight chamber of the communal space. It smells of roses and lemongrass – it smells of her.

You reach for the paper towel dispenser and blot at your skirt. It does little good to salvage the pleated fabric and it leaves an incriminating stain. Though you hesitate, you rapt your hand against the closed stall door and call out to her: “Trish? Are you okay?”

Her wails diminish. Her shadow peaks out from the crack between the floor and the bottom edge of the door. She sniffles before revealing herself. The hue upon her cheeks is unlike the bashful blush of infatuation that frequents her skin. Her distress pains you.

"I missed you in class,” you say, unsure of what to do for the girl you have come to endear. You chide yourself immediately, wanting nothing more than to cast yourself out of her presence for your insensitive comment. Spoken words are never quite simple.

Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears again. You fear you have upset her. And yet, her arms extend towards your body. Suddenly, you are embracing; she holds you in a grip akin to a vice. Your fingers trace shapes against her clothed back. It is something you might have done to soothe a weeping infant. In the privacy of the bathroom, you pretend she is your lover – that every sojourn for velveteen dresses and freshly churned gelato on Sabato pomeriggio meant something more to her.

But she is not your lover – and you are not hers.

Reluctantly, you pull away. Her breath fans your face, and it is only now that you notice the dainty freckles of her cheeks for the first time. You step backwards until your thighs hit the sink. For a moment, you think she had frowned upon your separation. It is another of many illusions that your mind has weaved as of late, no doubt.

“Thank you,” Trish says, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. Smudges of black mascara coat her skin.

You fiddle with the hem of your damp skirt. You realize, as you glance over the girl’s uniform, that her skirt is wet as well – from her own tears or the second-hand spillage from your water bottle, you know not. “I didn’t really do anything,” you insist.

"You’re here. That means everything to me.”

Paying no heed to the nagging sensation within you that wants to pry into the cause of her anguish, you offer her a clean paper towel. She accepts it with a faint smile. You settle for ignorance, because you know she will confess to you someday – beyond her passing comments of a deceased mother and a toxic, absent father.

Prepared to return to class, she laces her arm with yours and takes a deep breath. You decide that you will wait as long as she needs.

The brown paper-bag filled with paint bottles feels heavy in your grasp. It weighs on your shoulder, slipping down with every step taken towards the direction of your home. The figurines of your mother’s nativity set have begun to peel and crack, and you have promised to aid her in restoring the heirlooms. It is only right; religious preferences aside, the ivory statuettes will one day be your inheritance. And it will make a fond memory for you of your mother.

Shielded by the umbrella of a patio table, Trish sits before that which you recognize as a café you have frequented several times together: Caffè Anami. You long to be one of the glossed pages of the magazine she thumbs through – to feel her touch and to be adored the same way you adore her. Outside of her usual school uniform, she wears a floral-patterned dress. You do not question its monetary value; she comes from strange wealth, and her choice in civilian attire is only one of many indicators.

You begin to approach her, a practiced greeting wrought of cordiality ready on your tongue. But kindness turns to bitterness as the front door to the café opens and a boy with messily-styled black hair and wild violet eyes pushes past new customers and struggles to balance two to-go cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

"They didn’t even offer me a cupholder,” you hear him grumble aloud. You stop. “How am I supposed to carry all this? Does it look like a have a third arm?”

Trish rises and reaches for the bag of pastries. “There,” she tells the boy. “Crisis averted.”

Free of burden, they both take their seats at the table. As Trish divides the baked goods amongst two napkins, the boy watches her careful movements with what you describe as pure reverence, for she is the personification of grace and beauty, and he knows this. They converse with each other, and you cannot help but to observe how Trish has made a habit of touching the boy’s arm nearly every time she speaks to him.

Your stomach churns at the unpleasantry before you. In all your time pining after the pink-haired girl, you had never considered that she may have had a partner of her own. But you see it now: how could you have been so blind? She had not mentioned the scraggily haired boy before. Talks of saccharine kisses, gentle touches, and of course a boyfriend never came from her rosy-colored lips. She hid this from you. Perhaps, this whole time, she truly knew of your affections. At the risk of losing a friend (for you assume you were nothing more to her), she forbade herself to speak of the boy, lest she drive you away – there could be no other explanation.

It hurts, so much in fact that a knife to your heart would be preferable to the pain swallowing you whole. Gauging his appearance, you decide he does not deserve someone as elegant as she . . . Though, considering your tattered jeans and hand-me-down blouse, neither do you. You swipe at the tears threatening to spill and you choke down the lump in your throat. Readjusting the shopping bag over the perch of your shoulder, you leave, broken and unwell.

Behind you, Trish’s melodious laughter – a wicked song indeed – resonates. You could not block out her sweet chorus even if, deep down, you truly wanted to.

Your knees sink into the plush mass of the faux-fur rug beneath you. Your saucer of hot tea rests atop the coffee table, untouched; the steam rises and coils into the air. Trish’s guardian – Bruno, she called him – sets a tray filled with biscotti before you. You might have found him intimidating if not for the warmth laced within his sapphire-blue eyes. He closes the double-doors to the study, leaving you and the pink-haired girl alone.

The silence in the room is cut by the scratching of pencils to paper and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, tucked between a lounger and a houseplant. You scan over your completed portion of the study guide. Earlier that day, your insegnante di matematica had formally announced an exam slotted to be proctored at the end of the week. After he distributed the studyguides, Trish turned to you with an unassuming smile and asked if you would like to come to her house and study together. If not for the existence of her boyfriend, you would have looked for a deeper implication. Instead, you agreed with a curt nod, and accompanied her home at the end of the day.

“[Y/N]?” You look up from your work to meet Trish’s gaze. “Are you upset at me about something? You’ve been acting like you want nothing to do with me lately.”

You hesitate to respond. It would be better to lie, to hide your feelings and come up with an excuse: it’s not you, I’m just stressed about school, that’s all. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” you ask instead, blunter than you probably should have been. Her brows furrow, as if she misunderstood you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should be honest with each other?”

“Boyfriend? Who told you I had a boyfriend?”

“No one. I saw you two together. I-I wasn’t stalking you, honest – I was walking home from the store the other day and I saw you at Caffè Anami with him . . . I can’t understand why you’d hide something like that from me. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

The corners of her lips turn into a grin and she shakes her head. “His name’s Narancia,” she tells you. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s practically a brother to me.”

You are not sure whether to feel relief or mortification – relief, for your chances with the girl have not been thwarted; mortification, for your accusation has backfired, leaving you utterly and completely embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry,” you spit out. “I just – I didn’t think – I –”

She places her hand over yours, just like the day when you had helped her through the cavalieri e furfanti puzzle. “It’s all good. Besides, he’s not exactly my type.”

She takes her hand away and scribbles something down in her study guide. Her top row of teeth juts out to graze her bottom lip, and it is only then you notice something different about her appearance: she is wearing a darker shade of lipstick. Trish catches you staring.

“What’re you looking at?” She is luring you, and you have already fallen into her snare.

“Uh, I like your lipstick,” you confess. “That’s all.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You set your pencil aside. You feel as though you might burst, that it might kill you if you do not tell her how you feel. But words do not come to mind – nothing more than silly quips or dull compliments; and so, you settle for the former.

“Can I try it?”

Trish pauses. You fear you have overstepped unspoken boundaries. After all, only moments ago, you had accused her of keeping secrets. Yet, you too have kept one secret to yourself: that you love her, as much as one sixteen-year-old girl might love another. To your delight, she nods and smiles, casting her schoolwork aside to meet you halfway over the coffee table separating your bodies.

She tastes of the biscotti – almond, you think – and earl grey tea. She blossoms at your touch, as if you are the sun and she a posy in a garden somewhere. You forget the ticking of the grandfather clock, for the shared beating of your hearts is deafening. You think to pull away, but she chases your lips and captures them again. She cups your face, caging you in place – not that you mind.  

You separate only when you have both grown desperate for air. The sight of her flushed face leaves you in awe. Your belly flutters. She raises a finger to her smudged lips and beams. You long to ask her if she too dreams of roses and lemongrass, of a cottage overlooking the sea in the countryside far away from the bustle of Napoli. But you know better than to overwhelm yourselves with adolescent thoughts of the future – her, especially.

As for Trish, she reminds herself to thank Fugo for convincing her to return to school. Though her past haunts her still, she is indebted to her new life. For, without suffering first, she never would have the girl from classe di matematica who stole her heart on the very first day.

She turns to her schoolwork. “We should get back to it,” she insists. You cock your eyebrow and giggle, bashful and appeased.

“You’re right: we should.”

| 3964 Words |

* Please note that the woman in the photograph is meant to resemble Trish - this is not an assumption of the reader’s appearance.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: All A Bad Dream Spinning In Your Head

Summary: Edge wakes up

Notes: In this chapter there is some violence. Angst! Drama! We got it all!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst, Violence

Warnings:  Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

~~*~~

Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

That Place Where You Can’t Remember and You Can’t Forget

Casting Its Shroud Over All We Have Known

There’s a Place I Like To Hide

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Something was wrong.

Edge could sense it, feel it in the marrow of his bones through the heaviness of sleep.

Wakefulness was slow in coming and Edge struggled to shake the darkness away. Even tangled in mental cobwebs and shadows, he knew this was not a natural sleep. Years of living on the streets trained him very well to quickly snap awake at the first twitch of anything suspicious and at this moment, his instincts were wailing, shrieking that something was very, very wrong.

His sockets were barely slit open enough to see as Edge fought off that unnatural pull of drowsiness. Around him everything was too soft, offering no traction and he struggled through cloyingly padded surroundings to where light came in through the door, belatedly remembering the pillow nest.

He came tumbling out of the closet, fighting to get his footing. His limbs felt stupidly clumsy, as if they weren’t his own, and when he tried to stand, he nearly collapsed back to the ground, staggering on unwieldy legs, looking around wildly for the attacker.

It could be nothing else, he never fell asleep like this even when he was ill. This was deliberate, one of his enemies seeking to make him vulnerable. With enormous effort he managed to summon his own magic, a wavering shield of bones hovering before him. First hold back any incoming attacks, next form his own, if outnumbered, look for an escape, never let ‘em corner you, and don’t ya ever panic under fire, never, we call monsters who panic dust, never--

His brother’s voice in the back of his mind faded. There was nothing, no one else was in the room. Only furniture, the bed, the dresser, the tidy line of possessions along the wall from when Rus emptied out the—

There was no one else in the room.

Rus.

Edge bit off a snarled curse and headed for the door. He still felt drugged, clinging to the banister as he made his clumsy way downstairs, trying to shake off the sedation that still clung like a tarry shadow.

Then it felt as if something around him gave with a soggy pop. One minute he was struggling to stay upright, then he was snapping alert; whoever was casting either let the spell go or had their concentration broken, and there was only one way to find out which. Edge jumped the railing, landing lightly on the ground floor and ran outside.

One of the first things he’d learned when training for the guard was to assess a situation before engaging. Running in blindly was a good way to very quickly dust.

But no amount of training could have prepared him for seeing Rus lying crumpled in the snow, looking too-small and vulnerable with the snarling clash of fighting far too close by from two people he would never have thought to see in Underswap.

Undyne. His Undyne, the air around her bristling with summoned spears, launching in a pattern only she knew at her opponent and suddenly the reason for all his earlier muddled confusion came clear. An Underfell Knight Knight, their twisting, smoking armor already telling a tale of blaster damage as they struggled to hold off Undyne’s ferocity. Knight Knights were formidable foes and could force another Monster to sleep, dusting them in the midst of their unnatural slumber.

Whatever happened, Edge was coming into the middle of it all and Rus was too close to the brawl by far, the pallor of his bones stark against the bright orange of sweatshirt, nearly blending into the snow.

Undyne didn’t even look at him, caught up in the dance of battle. She barked out with savage glee, “Hey, nerd! ‘bout time you showed up! Keep back, take care of your boy!” Her needle-sharp grin was as vicious as her words. “I can handle this fucker.”

Of that he had no doubt. Even as he watched, the Knight Knight fell to one knee, her great shoulders heaving as she barely held off the last round of spears that poured down on her.

There was no time for strategizing, one wrong step would send the combatants trampling over Rus’s crumpled form. Edge flung a hand towards Rus, calling up blue magic and taking a firm hold of his soul to pull him closer. The limp way he hung in Edge’s gravitational grip was distantly horrifying, his panic buried beneath practiced control; he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from the battle. Edge pulled Rus in until he could gather him into his arms. Even as pregnant as he was, his weight was inconsequential, nearly as light as the pillows he’d carried not long ago.

“Rus?” Edge said, jostling him lightly, then harder when he didn’t respond, “Rus!”

His sockets fluttered briefly, and he let out a breathy snort but didn’t wake. His face twisted into a grimace as the swell under his sweatshirt stirred, the baby moving restlessly. A quick Check confirmed both their stats were full and holding steady, and Edge didn’t have time to consider their text, Rus’s an unconscious blank and Lucy’s, *almost*. They were alive and unhurt, that was all that mattered.

Most of his attention was necessarily on Undyne still hammering attacks down on the Knight Knight. A sweep of her arm sent another wave of spears denting into already battered armor and a couple embedding into the siding of the Swap brother’s house with a quivering thud.

There was no way for him to assist her, even if she’d allow it; he’d have to put Rus down, and that would be a desperate move reserved for the moment it became apparent she was losing.

Behind him, Edge could hear others running, the residents of this Snowdin drawn by the sound of battle into a loose crowd; the Swap brother’s house was in the middle of town, and the innocent inhabitants of this world were milling foolishly close, adults and children who should be safely in their homes were instead watching with fearful curiosity, frozen in the ankle-deep snow as they stared.

“Keep back!” Edge barked. He cast a wall of bones around them, concentrating to keep the intent low, the goal was to keep the fools away, not to injure them. In his arms, Rus moaned, low and dazed, and Edge shifted his ungainly, limp form to hold him closer, murmuring, “I have you, you’re safe, Rus, you’re safe.”

There was no telling if he understood and no time for anything else. More shouts and Edge glanced to the side to see Underswap’s Alphys and Blue running from the direction of Waterfall. They were going to be too late, the Knight Knight was no longer attacking, only struggling to hold Undyne’s back.

Until a sudden shield of bones that weren’t his own rose up between them, too far away yet to be Blue’s and the magic signature was one Edge knew intimately, far stronger and more immovable than nearly anyone would guess.

“stop!” Red barked. He was crouched on the roof like the gargoyle Rus so often called him, one eye light strobing with nauseating intensity as he held back Undyne’s attacks. “knock it off, fish lips!”

“What the fu—get out of my way, you rotten little cunt!” Undyne howled, pounding against the shield. Abruptly, Edge understood; Undyne wouldn’t hesitate to strike a killing blow and while a portion of denying that was not wanting the children of Underswap to see such a thing, there was another, more pertinent reason to keep this Knight Knight alive.

“Don’t kill her!” Edge snapped. He read her furious look clearly, grudgingly mollified only when he added, “She can’t give us answers if she’s dust!”

"You look after your baby mama," Undyne shot back. She shook back the fronds of her fins from her damp face, sweat dripping from the ends despite the chilly air. “He went down like a stone when chuckles here grabbed at him.” Her sudden grin was appreciative. “Your little honey got off a hell of a shot before he dropped, though.”

Red stepped out of a shortcut at ground level at the same moment Blue dashed up with Alphys at his heels. With a flick of his wrist, Red sent another wave of bones out to surround the Knight Knight, pinning her down. His brother barely gave their prisoner another glance as he came towards Edge, his fierce gaze on Rus.

“how is he?” Red asked curtly, even as he cast his own Check. Rus flinched from it, turning to press his face into the front of Edge’s shirt.

Blue was pale with worry and Edge dropped into a crouch, enough to allow him to see his brother, watched as Blue ripped off his gloves and tossed them into the snow, his slim hands fluttering over his brother, from his face down to the rounded bulge of his belly. “Papy?” Blue implored, “Brother?”

“He’s all right and so is the baby,” Edge told him. Automatically, he tightened his grip when Blue made to take his brother away. Not that he couldn’t carry him, Edge was well familiar with Blue’s strength, but the even with the Knight Knight contained, his instincts were still inflamed, demanding he keep Rus close to him, shrieking out a pulse of protect, protect, protect.

Blue started to protest, swallowing it back when Red touched his shoulder and shook his head. He was obviously displeased, but didn’t argue when Edge stood again, settling Rus more comfortably into his arms. The solid weight of him was reassuring as was the occasional thump of the baby kicking, anchoring Edge when his strongest impulse was to keep them safe.

Much as he wanted to take Rus into the house, away from all of this, they needed answers. He was unconscious but his stats were fine and so were the baby’s, and Edge was unwilling to leave him alone in the house and equally unwilling to allow the Knight Knight out of his sight.

Undyne and Alphys were currently eyeing each other suspiciously, literally in their cases as they only had one apiece. To Undyne, Edge asked, “How did you get here?”

She shrugged, “Beats the fuck out of me. Tagged along with your shitty brother. What in the name of Asgore’s balls do you have in your basement, looked like a fucking black hole.”

“You went through a black hole to help out your pal here?” Alphys looked mildly impressed. Nearby, the other locals were still milling around curiously and Alphys turned towards them, shaking a scarred fist as she barked at the lingering lookie loos. “Go on, show’s over!”

Reluctantly, they drifted off and it was a stroke of luck that they were out of sight when the Knight Knight suddenly collapsed into dust, even her armor crumbling away.

“Whoa, fuck!” Undyne yelped, leaping back. “There was no fucking way I did enough damage to dust her!”

“you didn’t,” Red said, disgusted, waving a hand to dispersing the jagged bones caught in the dust. “that’s one of asgore’s little toys, suicide tag in case one of his private guard gets caught. like we said, can’t ask dust any questions.”

“Asgore? Your Asgore?” Blue rounded on Red accusingly, "Where were you? Where were both of you, how could you let this happen?"

Edge met his reproachful gaze as it swung to him, ready to accept his fault. Blue was right, they were to blame, and he’d sworn that Underfell would never touch Rus and their child and yet here it was dusting at their feet. Guilt was thick in his throat, there was no apology he could make, no excuse for not protecting his…his…Rus, and the baby.

Assistance came from an unexpected source as Alphys spoke up.

"Not his fault," Alphys said, nudging at the dust with her boot, "Knight Knights got some specialized skills, they—whoa!!" She recoiled as the dust began to bubble, dissolving away the snow beneath it into foul sludge.

"might want to keep away from that, who the fuck knows what it can do. knight knights can put you under is what she's saying," Red said tersely. "makes ‘em good for some espionage with a side order of kidnappin’. someone's been watchin', boss." He gave Undyne a pointed look.

She snorted loudly and shook her head, unoffended. “Not me, nerd, and you already know Alphys keeps an eye out. She called me. Told me one of Asgore’s skeeves was hanging around your place. Figured I’d better check it out.”

“And you didn’t contact me?” Edge snapped.

Another unapologetic shrug. “Woulda, if I’d had time. I showed up and saw that one going into your basement…” She trailed off uncertainly. “I think it was your basement, I don’t—” she shook her head as if trying to rattle the memory loose. “It was like there was no door and then there was and then there wasn’t.”

“that’s when she came lookin’ for me,” Red threw out. “didn’t have time to argue so i brought her along. lucky i was headed home.”

Lucky. Edge didn’t normally prescribe to luck but lately, there seemed to be a slim thread of it for him, as though someone on high were watching. Instead of relief, it made him shiver unpleasantly. The margin of failure was painfully high; if Undyne hadn’t found Red, he would been confronting the Knight Knight still under her influence, trying to protect Rus from whatever her intentions were. She’d tried to grab him, Undyne said, and killing him for his meager LV was likely the kindest possible ending to that. His and Lucy’s, for what little quantity an unborn child might have.

Nausea churned in his soul, thick and sour. Edge only realized how tightly he was holding Rus when he let out a whimper of complaint and stirred. Everyone stood stilled, waiting, but his sockets stayed closed even as he curled in closer to Edge, nuzzling at the front of his shirt with a soundless sigh. Closer to sleep than true unconsciousness and some of the tension wound tight around Edge’s soul loosened.

When Rus didn’t bother to fully wake, Red spoke up again, “when we got to the basement, the door lock was busted. i took a sec to set up a little welcome for anyone else who might try it and scrambled the coordinates, but—” Red shook his head. “when we got here, the honey bun was about shoving a blaster up her ass ‘fore he dropped, but it didn’t take her down. undyne stepped up to the plate, think you know what happened from there.”

“How did she see the door?” Edge demanded, “No one else ever has.”

“dunno,” Red shrugged, scratching at the back of his skull. “i’ve never known how that fucking things works. barely even know how we ended up with it, it just was.”

“Yeah, exactly none of that made any fucking sense, Papyrus,” Undyne snorted. She cast another glance at Alphys who met it evenly, “I don't got a clue what's going on here.” She looked around, visibly disconcerted, at the clean, tidy houses in Underswap, the Gyftmas lights draped over eves and trees, and when she shuddered, it was not from the cold. “Where the fuck are we even?”

“Papyrus?” Alphys frowned, her scaly brow drawing down, “Your name is Papyrus, too? Sans, what the fuck--?”

“Why don’t we go inside and have some tea?” Blue interrupted, brightly determined. There was a certain panic layered beneath it, understandably, this was not an eventuality any of them had prepared for. “Papy shouldn’t be out in the cold anyway.”

“yeah,” Red agreed. Already there was a certain calculated gleam in his eye lights that was a relief to see. Surely if Blue didn’t have a plan for dealing with Alphys and Undyne then Red did, he always had plans, contingencies for his contingencies, always, “he don’t need to be out here, bro, get him inside and we-all can chat.”

Before Edge could take a single step, Rus gave a snorting sort of inhale, his sockets fluttering. He looked up with hazy eye lights, staring at Edge with pained befuddlement. “edge? wha…ohhhh,” Rus moaned, curling around his belly at the same moment a sudden burst of wet warmth soaked through his sweatshirt, rivulets running over Edge’s hands, dripping brilliant orange patters into the snow.

“What happened?” Edge said, dumbly, the sickening blood-warmth on his hands making his gorge rise. In his arms, Rus was whimpering, his fingers twisting in his soaked sweatshirt as he clutched at his swollen middle. Sweat trickled down Rus’s skull as he tensed, his pretty face twisted into a grimace.

“fuck! what happened is you need to get him inside now,” Red snapped back, “fucking go!”

Edge turned on his heel and nearly ran into the house. Slipping through slush and snow with the others right behind him, and all he could hear was Rus whining in pain again, feel the squelching wetness on his hands as he carried the ones dearest to his soul inside. Even as he ran, he called up a Check, and their stats were holding steady, but it was the text showing in his child’s that tipped him into panic.

*Now.*

tbc

[alias-b]

Nothing Lasts Forever.

Summary. The town of Derry changes people. Sends them running away. What it draws in is arguably worse. Humans create the hate and evil monsters come to feed off of. Eleanor Baker knew that well at a young age when she stumbled upon a painted figure in the distance. Pennywise never forgot the girl without fear. It’s possible that they haunted each other.

AN: I take no responsibility for this. Me flexing some horror and hopelessness bc I have nothing left to lose here. Wrote this to work through some things and sorta in love with it. TW: Should be obvious. Trauma. CSA mention. Abuse. S*xual references. G*re. S*icidal thoughts.  Death. Pennywise F*cks and it’s canon. Sorry, Mr. King.

Pennywise x OC Eleanor Baker ~ Also on my ao3

   They say she saw It first.

   They say she smelled the circus. Sugary sweet and the rusting of metal.

   They say she heard the bells toll soft. Once. Twice for her.

   They say she felt no fear.

   A branch cracked under pristine shoes, distracting a clown in the midst of hunt. The prey; small and blue eyed, barely five years old, ran into safe arms where their family set up camp for a weekend by the lake. 

   Body twisting around, It saw her last. Six years old. Curious green eyes shimmered even under grey skies. Pigtails. Feet behind her, father was hunched over to change a tire with mother beckoning from the window. Pulled over to the side of the road near a Derry forest. The Baker family. Well known and beloved because they had money.

   “Eleanor. You’ll ruin your new shoes. We can’t be late for your recital. It’s going to rain!” Mother’s voice went under heard. Leaves rustled while the clown made a path to slink toward her. Her lips parted, eyes fixated and unblinking. Yellow eyes faded to baby blue like the pretty jewels her mother wore. Safe.

   They were face to face. Drool dripped to hit her once untouched shoes. Those bejeweled eyes surged from that delicate blue back to a hungry orange, glowing brighter and yet he smelled nothing. 

   She had no scent. No fear. A deep, wide nothing. Vast as the ocean could reach. There was no advancing, no will to bring forth the deadlights. She’d probably think they were pretty stars watching over her. Cinderella wishing for a fairy godmother and a prince to whisk her away. He could only watch her make an utter fool of him. Somehow that charmed.

   “Eleanor, now!” Came the shout from her father. A drop of red emerged from the trees. Shiny and terrible. “Where did you get that?”

   A red balloon skimmed against the breeze.

   “From the clown.” She said, getting into the car. “He gave it to me.”

   “Enough playing around, Nell.” Father pressed her inside. The grip was lost along the tangled string. That spot of blood floated up toward the endless sky. Became a floating star too. She wished to float with it. 

   Eleanor danced her little heart out. Prima Ballerina in the making. Perfection was not everything, it was the only thing. She gazed into the audience beyond the balmy stage lights. Rows and rows of orange eyes. Glowing into her. No fear to be cast. Not for any of them. This world didn’t deserve it.

   She saw It again that same week. When they attended a big family reunion. Picnic and all. And her uncle pulled her into the closet full of coats and old board games that were gathering dust. He called this a game too. A secret game. 

   After he’d decided the game was over, a pang snatched his heart to squeeze. Gushing. Eleanor saw those glowing eyes from the shadows. Thought for a moment it was the old cat who roamed the grounds.

   Her uncle asked for help with no breaths left. Tore her frilly dress clutching at her. Hit the hardwood with a finishing crack. Blood pooled.

   Nell didn’t want it to stain her shoes or Mother would be upset.

   That white face bent down toward her. Spine curving to push out against skin. Utterly inhuman.

   “Can you smell the circus, Nelly?” Painted lips full of clustering teeth rumbled. She blinked. White cheeks threatened to tear open with the grin curling.

   “Yes.”

   Little, pretty bells chimed in the ruffles of his garment as he laughed. Soft and sweeter than any sound in this world.

   "Who are you?"

   "Pennywise. The dancing clown." He caught her looking at the body behind his feet.

   Big eyes full and empty.

   “Oh, don’t worry about him, he won’t float.” The clown paused. “You’re a little wonder, aren’t you?”

   She said nothing to that.

   “Go on, grow and see if the world devours you. Tumble back to the weeds where I'll find you again.” His own curiosity was a growing sickness. This fragile human. Unbreakable. 

   The thing about Pennywise was he never considered himself the villain. He only came to feed when that evil and hatred humans brought this world was potent. Natural order. Clockwork. Wolves feed on sheep. The worlds spun on.

   Predators tore into prey, he wouldn’t apologize for that. He didn’t create the hatred, just fed from it. Didn't stop it either. Little dash of fear did a body good. Gave it a sweeter taste.

   Fear was painfully human. A trait that tore us open to display the soft underbelly because it betrayed us down to the core. Granted us something to overcome. A test of endurance. Truly let our true colors pour fresh and obscene. Beautiful. Even when it overcame.

   Pennywise gave her head a pat, leaned down to whisper into her ear.

   “I see into your blackest heart of hearts, Nelly, deep down you’ll know. You'll always know.”

   The door opened. Tiny footsteps away from the dark and the figure there always watching her. Like the stars above in a black sky.

   “You’ll know.”

   Eleanor walked downstairs. Out into the sunny day full of festivities and family. Asked her aunt for another piece of cake. Frosted with yellow buttercream flowers. They discovered her uncle in that closet at the same time the flies found him too.

   They found the cloth clutched into his meaty, stiff hand and began to ask questions. She didn’t want to talk about the secret games he played when she was in that house. They sent a bolt of thunder rattling into her brain. Unraveled the synapses.

   Her mother burned the cloth. Vowed to never speak of it in hopes she would forget. Children forgot things all the time.

   Nell never forgot. Not for a moment. Not her uncle or her festering relatives who seemed to easily put her in the back of their memories.

   She wanted them to always remember too. If anything, they owed her that much.

   The pictures her mind fleshed out with crayons were not what children should be drawing. Twisted bodies sometimes. Other days, it was those eyes. Molten lava. Mother and father decided this wasn’t something they could deal with. Seeing her looking so still and motionless around the house like a ghost was too much. Knowing they failed their daughter was just too much. A lock clicked.

   They put her in a place that watched over mistakes of all ages from rich families. Paid it well. They told Eleanor it wasn’t her fault and yet, she was the one locked away in a tower for it. She was the one ignored and doped up.

   Ten years and she gave them nothing. Years of homeschooling. Counseling. Medications. Years of sticking her tongue out to swear she’d swallowed her pills. Years of giving them nothing. No laughter or tears. She never hurt a fly and she was the monster.

   Sometimes, it was easier to become the monster they wanted, she supposed.

   Eleanor got out and married the first man who smiled at her. Called her pretty. Just to be away from mother and father. They’d rot in the weeds soon enough. The rest of her family dwindled. Terrible accidents. She vowed to never reproduce to spite them.

   Husband played games too when dinner wasn’t just right or when she dressed just a little against his wishes. Seven miscarriages. Too many broken promises. A car accident pulled his body apart. Left her with some money to return home. 

   Mother and father needed her now, sick and dying in their lavish beds. Life always went on in Derry. Father went still snug in his tomb a month later. Few more weeks and mother’s harsh insults became apologies.

   This girl she ignored was all she had left.

   “Nell, I hope you can forgive us.” Her mother croaked one day.

   “You’re free to do that, mama.” She’d turned and came to sit on the bed.

   “Do what, my dear?”

   “Hope.” Eleanor tucked some brittle hair from mother’s face. Made room for the pillow she pushed into place. Eight minutes and it was over. Twenty seven years and members of her family dropped like flies. She told herself it was a curse. Or fate.

   Bloodlines dying had never been so beautiful. Not built to last forever. Not at all. There was justice in that much.

   Both Eleanor’s parents became ashes in two ornate urns. She drove them out to the Barrens and poured them into the festering waters. Stinking of Derry’s rotten bowels. Wind swept. Picking up green and brown leaves. Wading the waters to give them some appearance of peace.

   Nell didn’t smell the stink of death. She smelt the circus. Hot buttery popcorn and cotton candy. Twang of metal from the old, rusted rides whirling all directions. A child’s laughter echoed out from the giant pipe ahead. Covered in sludge and moss. 

   She followed the lively sounds. Enticed. No long holding to this world. Another one awaited. It always had. Marked with two glowing orange eyes.

   Reminded her of the lights twinkling every Halloween. Jack-o-lanterns you couldn’t blow out before midnight because it was against the rules and would bring you bad luck.

   Through watery rot and dead leaves, Nell went into the pipes. Caught glimmers of light between cracks. Felt her way. Heard the uttering of the seven children she lost beckoning her home.

   Down.

   Down.

   Down.

   Ruined her clothes in the trance. Clawing for more because the world couldn’t hope to deliver. Into a massive nest with a skylight. Candlelight danced. She heard the trill of a music box until the room came alive. Whirled from rust and rot to marble and gold.

   Prettier than her wedding day. A church with decorated pews of red taffeta. White roses hanging from every corner. Petals crying into the cherry wood floors.

   A man smiled at her who wasn’t Husband. Sharp, brooding face. Swept brown locks slicked like Clark Gable. Pink lips curled and crystalline eyes gave a twinkle. A white suit and one red rose at his breast.

   She came to him when he reached. Body heavier because a dress dragged behind her. Full skirt of those same delicate white roses. Tight bodice that twinkled under candlelight. Nell smiled too. Utterly lost and found all at once in this room that smelled like decadent caramel apples. 

   A gloved hand curled into hers.

   “Am I dead?” She asked.

   “Oh, yes. For twenty seven years now. You wandered the Earth. But, you're home now.” That voice. All shivers. Chilling until the candles started to snuff out. “That was not life, Nelly. You existed by a thread.”

   “Nelly.” She mused in her deepest dream of dreams. The hate and the neglect and the sheer evil brought by humans who were supposed love and protect instead tore her soul far asunder.

   The man leaned in near her hair. Inhaled.

   “Nothing. Even still.” He recounted the memories. All those times he tried and failed to devour her. “Little wonder.”

   "Pennywise." She puffed, barely audible.

   “I watched you dance. All those years. You can dance down here too in the dark."

   Nell realized as he brought her out for a romantic spin. She’d been seeking him out all her life. All the decay and twisting vines in her soul. Begging to just cross over and stop this pain. But, he wouldn’t finish it because she had no fear. So she danced until the room began to peel. He wiped his cheek on one sleeve. Peachy makeup smeared the fabric to display that red smile upon white skin. 

   She pushed off him. Watched blood rain and melt the rest of it away. This place. A nest. A stomach. A pile of trash and metal twisted up toward the sky. Gouging. Figures floating around it. Waiting. Sleeping soundly because evil couldn’t touch them anymore. At the very least. They fueled something brand new.

   No cry. No scream. Nell succumbed. Stumbling back into a worn mattress as the clown crawled up toward her at some inhuman speed. Slapped his hands on either side of her head. They just breathed.

   Existed together in one space.

   Sometimes good and bravery didn’t blossom from overcoming fear. Sometimes you still wanted to die because enduring a lifelong ache was not growth. It just hurt. There was power in it, but it fucking ached.

   It burned. Plenty of things in her life burned. The scorn of her parents. Her uncle's games. The rotten nurses tossing her around. Husband's hands indenting skin.

   But, Pennywise didn’t. He just showed up to watch the fires grow hot and breathless into a black sky. The terrible view was still a breathtaking thing. Something shattering to become a supernova. Rebirth.

   Enduring pain was worth it. That sick curiosity that there was something more to life. It was worth it. So, fight. Endure. Ache. Be human while you have the chance in an inhuman world because it needs you.

   Gloves opened her dress. Tore layers of tulle and chiffon. Slashed silk. Hands pressed against his chest. Not pushing or pulling. Just holding. Shifting over thick, stitched cotton. Ruffles swayed. She felt a heart beat so hard there under her palm.

   He was alive. Something brand new. Not of this world.

   “Am I like you?” She begged finally. Years of searching and asking why. He stopped to see her green eyes. Glowered. One blue, one orange.

   “Not yet.” Was the truest answer he could form. Fingers gripped his fabric sleeves. Twisted just to hold onto something tangible for the first time in all her existence. Alive at last in this place. Water droplets echoed distantly. “You cannot last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

   Except love, she thought. Except desire.

   Pennywise seemed to hear it even still. Felt the truth of it carve out his heart that was still beating powerfully. Profoundly.

   Something flayed her open. Pushed inside. Made her moan deliciously until two gloved fingers touched her mouth. Bodies connecting. Moving together.

   There were hands everywhere. Stroking soft caresses up and down her naked flesh. It felt like a million little pieces of candlelight were swirling up her body. Those same orbs that had been following her around for too many years shined behind his eyes. Resonated. Beautiful.

   She made out parts of him between thumps. Orange hair. Pristine paint. His mouth on her skin. A heart that was pumping vigorously. Low rumbling growls. Nell felt she’d been starved all her life and was finally feeding. Finally letting the ache flood out that she’d held onto for too long. Finally alive. Feeling. Deep down and drawing in it.

   Her voice came to beg for more of him. Hands grasping to touch him back. To delve into this earth and just feel. He touched her everywhere. Lips and neck. Down her breasts. Between spread legs.

   The combined sensations made her cry out for him to never stop. A gloved hand on her jaw brought their eyes together. Hot, wet touch. Boiling. The peak shattered them both. Nell fell to shuddering pieces. Curved up. Moaning and shameless. Weight fell into her body so lips could touch her own. Once. Just once while they were warm.

   Pennywise lifted off fully to see her eyes. Inhaled again and got what he’d sought too. Years and it was finally there.

   Those green eyes glimmered at him. A waft of sweet candied apples bubbled with heat. Fear. Clear as a crystal, dewy morning. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

   There was finally something found that could be lost. Something she sought out and held and hoped for.

   And the fear of losing it was almost too much to bear.

   One gloved finger caught a tear that trickled out from the corner of her eyes.

   “Please.” She said, unable to find much else. Like she wanted him and nothing else for the rest of these long days. Do it. Just do it. Nell’s hand lifted. Gentle fingers drew lines along his face. "Pennywise. Please."

   It was a soft prayer.

   He lunged down. Sunk teeth into her tender neck. Tore the scream out before she could hope to give it. Nell choked there. Made an odd sound like she was laughing. It bubbled. Claws grew out from those gloves. Shoved forth into her raging heart. 

   A squelch.

   Her lips were still upturned when it was done. Green eyes pointed on him. Peaceful and bloodied. Naked under the moonlight. Dripping rubies.

   He tossed his head back and wailed. Teeth sharp and bared. Bloodied. Lost. A shattering sound that bent time and space apart. Pennywise plucked her up. Climbed high and vast to the very top of the twisting pile. Watched the dead children float like little falling stars. Something to make wishes upon. Peaceful for only a second in this life.

   He placed her there in a sheer drape. Closed her eyes. Let the deadlights swelter above them. Spinning all directions. 

   A scar thickened.

   Three days passed. The deadlights danced high and wide. Fluttering like a swarm of butterflies. The world spun on a new axis. Pennywise sat below upon his stage. Curved over in wait. Marble statue. 

   A low rumble like a purr erupted. Dainty feet came to him with a newfound grace. Little dancer. Deadly ballerina all porcelain and blushed. Blood red shoes made soft taps across the stage.

   A white hand touched his shoulder. His little wonder. Bells tolled distantly three times.

   “Can you smell the circus?” Her voice poured white hot. Purring louder so he'd feel it vibrate his own chest.

   Lips curled wide. Split. Pennywise rose to see her in the light. Perfection. Those green eyes shimmering like emeralds. Haunted. Totally alive and willing.

   “Yes.” He hissed. Cupping her face to see the angles. Not ruining the permanent brushstrokes that came with her rebirth. “Yes, I do.” A bond struck.

   I do. I promise. We'll float. Always.

   Nell smiled to match him. Totally and irrevocably his equal. A pulse of light drew them together. She granted him a single kiss, tasting candied. A new horror in this world hungry for the evil it would always bring.

   “We were built to last forever.”

[auredosa]

i NEED a one shot of malistaire having a ptsd nightmare about their escape from dragonspyre then sylvia is there to comfort him when he wakes up

thank you for the prompt again, anon! i hope this meets your expectations! enjoy!

wet hands

tw; destruction, war collateral, trauma

Malistaire was tailing his father home from the Command Academy the hour it began.

Whispers of a riot, a coup, an attack had been floating around the mage division as of late. No, not floating, more like crawling up the grape vine and becoming the subject of many late night meetings between the senior members of their branch.

High General Vladan Drake, naturally, was required to be in attendance. At first, Malistaire was worried that the other correspondents wouldn't let him attend-he had a fraction of his father's experience in service, but to his surprise, he was given a seat at the table and even asked for his opinion on occasion.

"Just in case one of us drops dead before this all blows over. You have a youth to tell our story," one of them, a blunt Diviner, had stated.

"We have the crystals for that, Agatha," his father snapped back. "Why shouldn't we use them to keep record of our rendezvous?"

"You saw what happened when those little gems get into the wrong hands." She took a long whiff of her cigar and leaned back into her chair. The smoke smelled to Malistaire of burnt parchment and sandalwood; not something that he'd remotely want wafting in his lungs. "Can't trust anybody these days. One leaked jewel and the upper echelons of society go to-"

"Enough," commanded a third voice. He was seated at the head of the round table, rings of every cut and metal adorning each of his thumbs. "We will not be holding any proof of our meetings on this topic. My superiors are suspicious of us as it is-"

He was about to elaborate further when the crystal goblet before him began to tremble. The drink within started to ripple, then splash onto the table. Malistaire gripped the edge of his chair and looked towards his father.

"What is this, now?" Vladan hissed, looking to the door of the room. "Another experiment of the lower division?"

Suddenly, a frantic knocking sounded at the double doors to the conference room, accompanied by a voice too young to be a late attendee, too old to be one of the servants.

A white haired woman who had yet to speak raised her hand to the deadlock, and the chains fell apart at her will. The doors flew open to reveal a gentleman in harlequin robes, red as a child in the snow. His breaths came out in wild pants, and his fingers gripped his wand as if he were still in battle.

"Mikaeil," the woman greeted stoically. "What is going on?"

"The Titan!” he gasped, struggling to stand up straight. "The Titan is-is here."

"I beg your pardon?" Vladan probed, brows knitting in disbelief. "Tell the full truth, boy!"

"It is the truth!" insisted Mikaeil, rising to full height in the presence of the General. "And you must evacuate at once! The insurgency-"

Another tremor rocked the underground chamber. This time, dust cascaded above their heads. A hairline crack appeared in the stone, before splintering across the ceiling.

“The insurgency has begun,” the woman finished. She finally opened her eyes, revealing glowing ivory pupils which had scried their doom.

"But-" Vladan began, just as a stone column shattered the stone ceiling and appeared like a giant rusty nail in the center of the room.

"I said we leave! Now!" The mage repeated.

They were running. It was difficult to keep pace when the ground wasn't meeting his feet. The thunder and rumble were deafening to his young ears. When they were outside, the sky was blanketed in thick fog. Not fog, Malistaire realized. Smoke and debris from the destruction that had only begun.

"To our airships, general?" The cigar-wielding woman shouted.

"If we can!" Vladan called back. "There's a cargo ship near the commerce district. Meet there!"

As was taught in all schools of battle, it was too dangerous to travel together. While they couldn't quite see their enemy, it was better to assume they had the entire command academy surrounded.

"If this is an attack, then where is-"

A hellish roar tore through the quarter. They all gazed up to the sky, where the crimson, leathery wings beat mercilessly through the smog.

"The Titan . . ." Malistaire muttered in awe. The stench of burnt flesh and ash wafted from above. From the cloud cover, he felt a drop of rain hit his cheek. Placing a finger to his face, he found that it was warm. Blood.

"General!"

Behind them, an ornate pillar gave way. But not just the shattered stone beam. Shards of crumbling white stone, all fashioned into jagged points, were hovering in the air, like knives pointed at a target. Pointed at them.

An unseen puppeteer gave the command, and the pillar came down in unforgiving gravity.

“Father!”

“Malistaire?” came a soft voice beside him.

He gripped the cotton bedsheets in clenched fists. There remained an unyielding tightness in his chest, and sweat gathered on his brow. But the air was different: tinged with morning dew and waxy smoke wafting from the nightside table. The warm glow of an oil lamp filled the room, illuminating their shared bedroom.

No fire. No chaos. No blood raining from the carnage-stained clouds.

Just his wife, staring at him with a familiar concern.

Ah.

It happened again, hadn’t it?

Another nightmare to inconvenience those around him. Some sorry part of him wished he could carve his memories out of his head. The aftermath of this was never pretty. He didn’t need comforting. He didn’t need to recount the days of horror and warfare. It wasn’t as if that would change anything. Those events were singed into his brain like a brand on skin. No theurgist could fix that.

“Apologies,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “I . . . I’m sorry for waking you.”

“No need to say sorry, silly,” assured Sylvia. “It’s really nobody’s fault, you know. The mind can be a horrible foe sometimes.” As if she hadn’t parroted that to his brother too.

She slid off her side of the bed and stretched her arms. Her hair was twisted into unruly tangles, brushed aside to show tired green eyes. Despite her best intentions, he could tell she was tired, too. Now she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until she had to get up for the day’s work.

“I’m going to make tea,” she yawned. “Raspberry leaf or the stuff from Marleybone?”

“Your call,” Malistaire replied. He was still unnerved by what he’d seen in his subconscious, and anxious about the trouble he was causing her. His throat was too dry to let him offer another apology.

There was nothing to do but stare blankly at the other end of the wall with his racing thoughts. Before he knew it, Sylvia had returned with two teacups of floral refreshment. He made a mental note to thank Arthur for introducing them to this custom.

“Here. Be careful.”

He took his own cup and wrapped his palms around the base, smiling at its fleeting but welcome warmth. Sylvia took her place next to him and they both said nothing for but a moment, quietly partaking in their drinks.

“Same sequence?” She asked once they’d both had a sip.

“Not quite. It . . . this took place earlier, minutes before we arrived in Wizard City.” It was easier to talk about if he treated it like a historical text from a book, not the horrors of his own mind. “It’s as if I’m going through all the motions in reverse, back to the start of it all. The problem is that I don’t think there’s any further to go back to.”

“Well,” Sylvia began, “that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You’ve completely exhausted the entire story, so it can’t get any worse from here.”

“Not necessarily . . .” Malistaire grumbled.

“I know.” She sighed and took another sip of her tea. The conversation always progressed this way. There was little she could do to quell his self-destructive subconscious. As far as either of them knew, there were no spells that took away bad dreams, at least not ones that didn’t require the favor of a fairy or a monetary fee of some sort. Those were simply fiction[SH1] .

“. . . I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do, my heart,” she said sadly, setting her cup on the nightstand. “And I understand that I don’t really understand the things you see in your dreams.”

“Sylvia, don’t bother.” Malistaire grumbled, putting his down as well. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Exactly,” his wife affirmed. “I’m not going to stop searching for something to make this easier. Dahlia might know something, or maybe a seraph on the Way could-“

“That isn’t what I meant.” He interrupted, more roughly than intended. “We would both know about that, wouldn’t we?”

He scowled at the floor, finally feeling better now that his anxiety was turning into frustration.

“My father and mother have been lost. My brother and I can’t return home because there isn’t one to return to, not even if we wanted. And for all we can do, between the both of us, we can’t bring them back.”

Cracks, shouts, fire, stone, shards.

"General!"

“Ever since then, every night, I am reminded of that, and I despise it.”

“Ah.”

Sylvia’s face was unreadable. It took her a moment to rationalize the horribly charged vent that’d spilled from his mouth. before her face gave way to kind understanding. The corners of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile, and he could only wish he could have her saintly patience.

“You are correct, love. Nothing you said was wrong,” she soothed. “However-“

She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Her graceful hand clasped over his. The messy locks of her hair brushed against his face, daisies and rain under his nose.

“Your wounds are fresh, and they can still heal. Your parents may have passed, but their legacy is not entirely forgotten-thanks to you and your brother,” she added, smiling. “I promised you that I would save as many people as I could, and I know there are so many more, and that there is still so much work to do. So, so much work.”

Three tiny squeezes in the heart of his palm.

“I know it hurts, love. I know you’re tired. But I’m almost certain that one way or another . . .”

A tender kissed pressed to the stubble on his cheek.

“You can always find your way back home.”

[sherala007]

Creative non-fiction done for school

The Crucible of Youth

I felt the pile of carpet beneath my tummy, poking like pinpricks through my shirt as I lay across the living room floor, reading my book.  Mom sat nearby in her chair next to the window, the dull grey of the winter/spring changeover still in the sky.  She was working on her crocheting while watching the news on TV. I usually ignored the news.  It was always bad.  Tonight’s news was no different.  Tonight I couldn’t ignore it.  The words gang rape grabbed my attention quick making me forget my book. Mom even set down her work.

           It was March of 1983 and the reporter spoke about a woman who was raped by four men in Big Dan’s Tavern in New Bedford, MA, all for going in to buy a pack of cigarettes (Chapie). I watched the story, at first not fully understanding what was going on.  Then it started to click what rape meant.  I was heartbroken.  How could someone do that to another person? I didn't understand to the fullest extent what rape was yet but from the look on mom's face, I knew it was serious. I remember mom saying "She had to have done something to deserve it.  Nothing like that happens without a cause."

I looked up at mom as she dismissed the woman's pain and went back to her crocheting. The lack of concern or care on mom's face frightened me.  She'd always been so compassionate to those in need, kind and caring, but not demonstrative in showing physical affection.  This lack of concern wasn't like her at all.  It looked as if she was dismissing the rape as the woman's fault, absolving herself of the need to think on it anymore.  Her words chilled me and would come echoing back in my mind soon.

           July 4th! What a time to be a kid.  It was summer.  It was hot out.  It was time for swimming in the pool and running carefree.  We were at my sister Patty’s for a picnic.  There weren't a lot of kids, just me; my niece Sandy, who was the youngest; Kurt who was eleven, and his fifteen-year-old brother Dale. I'd just turned twelve a few months before and was already developing into a young woman.  Kurt had noticed.  All-day long he was my shadow.  He was big for his age, already almost a foot taller than me and I was only about four foot six.  His father owned his own construction company and Kurt and Dale worked with him on the weekends so both boys were very strong.

We'd been swimming most of the day, only getting out to eat.  We waited the required 30 minutes, then back into the pool. We'd exhausted all the games we could think of to play in the water.  We tested our breath holding limits; scrounged for items on the bottom as they were thrown in; and did as many laps as we could.  It was a round pool so laps were short and annoying.  I was pruney and bored.  I remembered I had a great book with me that I’d gotten into only yesterday and sitting out for a while sounded nice and relaxing.  I ducked underwater to swim to the ladder and felt something poke me in the bum.  Popping up quickly I saw Kurt pop up right next to me.

           “You two, knock that crap off!”  I heard my sister Patty yell from the top deck of the house.  She turned and carried another tray of food down to the picnic table at the bottom.  

           I got out of the pool, wrapped up in my towel, and headed to the table.  “I didn’t do anything, Patty.  I was only swimming.”

"You let a boy touch your butt.  Good girls don't do that."  She looked me in the eye, anger, and disgust on her face then turned and stormed off to join the other adults.  

           I’d felt like I was punched in the stomach.  I sat down on the bench, picked up a hotdog and started to nibble.  I was about to take another bite when Kurt walked up to me, grabbed it and scarfed it down.

           “Don’t worry about her. Let’s go for a walk.”  He threw his towel down on the bench and slid his flip flops on waiting for me.  Dale and Sandy liked the idea of a walk and wanted to join us.  Dale went over, asked permission, and was given instructions to take care of us girls and off we went.  We were only permitted to go up the road to the trail we used to ride our horses on.  We were still in our swimsuits, Sandy and me with towels wrapped around us, the boys in their shorts.

The trail wasn't a trail per se but a dirt road, rocky, twisty, and bumpy, but it was a change for us.  Being on the plump side, I wasn't as fast as the others.  I fell behind as we went up a hill and around a bend in the road, thick trees lining either side, houses scattered farther and farther apart. Kurt stayed with me and spotted an abandoned barn off the side of the road in someone’s back yard.  We stopped and looked to see if anyone was around. Sandy and Dale were out of sight as Kurt grabbed my hand, pulling me up the sloping gravel driveway, the small white rocks making for rough going, and around the corner of the barn to the door on the other side.

It was cooler inside.  I could smell the dampness of the mold and mildew all around me, mixed with the smell of roses and wildflowers from outside.  Some of the shabby barn boards looked worm-eaten, barely hanging on by the few remaining nails holding them in place.  There was dirt and dust everywhere, blown in through the cracks and crevices, or washed in through the large opening in the corner of the roof where part of it had fallen in.  In the far right corner, I could see a large spider web, its maker fat and creepy, perched on one of the outer edges.  I could see rusted out tools tossed about like unwanted toys, no longer needed or desired, littering the floor along one wall.

           I heard Kurt walking near the middle of the floor, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, as I entered watching for any critter that may try and come near me. Looking around at everything I'd lost track of where Kurt was for a moment.  He'd gotten quiet.  One second I was standing a few paces inside the doorway looking at how creepy everything was, the next I was on my back in the dirt on the floor, Kurt's left hand around my neck.

"Don't move," he said.  His hand was so large it wrapped halfway around my neck.  The look in his eyes was cold, freezing me in place as he held me down with that one hand, not tight enough to bruise, but enough so I couldn't risk moving.  I couldn't think, couldn't figure a way out of his grip.  Why was he doing this?  What did he want from me?  He used his right hand to free himself from his shorts and then to slide the panty half of my suit aside, digging himself inside me hard like a blunt shovel.  All I felt was pain, burning, and tearing.  I was trembling.  I wanted to scream but couldn't with his hand still on my throat.  His pig-like grunting and the slap of skin on skin echoed in my head.  I thought it was loud enough others would hear and come to help me.  No one came.

I was numb. I don't remember him finishing.  I don't remember how I got home.  I remember going right into the shower, cleaning up, and throwing my towel and bathing suit into the washer.  I don't even remember how I got the bleeding to stop. I just know it did.  Hours later I still couldn't remember any of the details of how I got home.  Any time I tried I would get sick to my stomach.  I do remember the thoughts that echoed in my head for the next twenty-five years.  Dirty.  Bad girl. I deserved it.  I’m worthless.  Those thoughts stay with me today, though they're not as loud as they used to be. They were the only thoughts I could hear for a long time, and they always echo in my mom’s voice.  This was just the first time I was raped.  It happened again four years later when I was sixteen and at another 4th of July gathering with my then-boyfriend. That time I was raped on top of a pile of refuse and debris in an old, dilapidated camper.

           What did I do to cause this to happen to me?  Why me?  Why did I deserve this?  It took a long time in therapy to discover a few things.  I didn’t do a DAMN THING to deserve this or cause it to happen to me. Why me?  I’m small.  I’m female. I’m seen as prey.  Men that rape are in search of a power rush.  They’re not in it for the sexual gratification.  They’re in it to hurt, humiliate, and degrade.  It's not about sex only power.  I just reach five foot two now.  Back then I was shorter and thinner than I am now.  Because of all this trauma, I gained a great deal of weight.

Imagine what this trauma does to a teen?  Adults usually think teens are dramatic.  I remember all the times my mom would tell me to stop being so dramatic when I was jumpy or had to have my back to a wall.  Most adults don't listen to teens or notice the signs of PTSD.  Teens are still developing their identities and personalities. Rape puts a deep and heavy scar on their psyche that they have to grow into and carry for the rest of their life. Teens may be young and still growing emotionally but they have the same feelings adults do and respond in similar ways. All the same side effects we suffer from rape, teens do, also.

Sixty-six percent of all victims of rape under the age of eighteen are between the ages of twelve and seventeen (Rainn).  Well, that statistic fits me both times.  I never used to be a jumpy person.  After the rape, I would jump at the drop of a hat.  I also dealt with bouts of depression.  There are days even now where I struggle to get out of bed to live a normal life doing normal things.  Those days are fewer and farther between.  The biggest issue I deal with now is when I’m working on a task and someone strolls up to me to ask a question and startles me.  They’re not even trying to be stealthy but I’m instantly in a fight or flight panic.  My heart races like I’ve run a marathon.  I hold my breath for a few seconds then I pant like I’m being choked again.  Now and again I’ll even start to tremble.  I can hide that sometimes but my close friends know when it’s happening.  I discovered that this is all part of PTSD (Rainn).

I discovered something terrifying while dealing with treatment as well as doing research; per the Center for Family Justice (CFJ) one in four women and one in six men are sexually abused (CFJ).  In eight out of ten cases the victim knows the attacker (CFJ).  There are three main after-effects of rape; depression, flashbacks, and PTSD (Rainn).  I've had to live most of my life with two out of the three' until now.  In rewriting this paper the third has started, but only a few times.  The smell of roses and mold triggered flashbacks as I was rewriting the barn scene. That lasted for about three weeks and has now stopped.  The saddest thing for me is it's been thirty-three years and these effects still happen.

           Did I ever tell my mother?  No.  The woman who raised me was actually my grandmother.  She adopted me from her oldest daughter when I was ten but had raised me since I was four months old.  She was born in 1933.  Things were so much different for her growing up so she still had the antiquated mindset for her generation.  By the time I was able to talk about it nothing could be done anyway so why stir things up?  I know it would have made her feel horrible and wouldn’t have solved anything.  

I will tell you, surviving rape has made me a very strong woman.  I didn't realize this until about five years ago:  I've lived through the worst that man can do to woman, short of murder.  I've not only survived but in the last few years, I've thrived.  I'm able to live on my own.  I make new friends all the time.  I can hold down a good job.  Do I still have some issues now and then?  Yes, but they’re infrequent now.  I’m too strong to let it keep me down anymore.  I’ve realized that, yes I have suffered horrible violence, but unlike others, I don’t have to let it define who I am.  I refuse to let it do so.  I choose to act and be seen as a woman who can stand on her own and who doesn’t need to hide behind anyone else.  I do understand when I’m out on my own I have to pay attention to my surroundings and be vigilant but I don’t have to be afraid of every shadow.  Yes, I used to hide behind the victim label I let others put on me, but not anymore.  I am alive and I will continue to embrace every day because I am worth it, not because someone else says so but simply because I’m here; alive, walking, talking, and breathing.

While I was working on one of the drafts of this article, a friend at work offered to read it and help me edit it.  I gave it to her on a Friday.  Monday morning she came up to me crying.  She couldn't read it.  She told me about how she was raped twenty years ago and still can't talk about it with anyone; not even her husband.  She can't have a deep, healthy relationship with him because of it.  She asked me how I can be so relaxed and open after all that. What was my secret?  Truth is, I don't have a secret.  I freely admit what happened to me when anyone asks why I get startled as I do.  I know now that I didn't do anything to ask for what happened to me.  It was not my fault.  It took a while for that to sink in but now that it has it's one of my mantras when those horrid thoughts get loud on me again; because they do sometimes. I remind myself that I am alive. I have hope.  I get up for work every morning.  I answer calls from customers needing help every day.  Some of them are not so nice about asking for it either. I work for a security company and every so often I get that call from that woman who went through that same experience.  I stop and listen.  I do what only a fellow survivor can do.  I give her hope too.

 Works Cited:

No Author, Sexual Assault Stats, Center for Family Justice.org, web, 6-27-16

Capie, Lindsay.  Big Dan’s Tavern Gang-Rape, New Bedford 1983, LindsayChapie.wordpress.com, web, 7-9-16

No Author, No Article, Statistics, Rainn.org, web, 6-27-16

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Missing the old Dexter

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent, since my Dexter Vex feels were at a peak. This is set during SOW, but there are no spoilers involved. Valkyrie and Tanith miss the old Dexter and Skulduggery knows how to get to him.

„I’m worried about him.“ 

Tanith looked up from cleaning her sword and sent Valkyrie a clueless look. „I’m worried about all of us.“ Meaningfully she motioned at the all surrounding death threats of the Leibniz Universe. „But do specify.“

Valkyrie put her head up on her hands and sighed. „Dexter. He is … not himself.“

Taniths’ shoulders slumped down a little. It was true, she had noticed it herself. But what was there to do about it? He was marked by all the things that have happened to him. He didn’t take life as lightly as he used to. He wasn’t an adventurer anymore, but a man who had seen too much, had endured too much, had lost too much. He was slowly but securely turning into Skulduggery. There was still a spark inside of him that reminded her of the old Dexter - a friendly wink, a sudden uncontrollable laugh, an instinctively done dance move during a fight. But a lot was missing. So much of him wasn’t there. And the sparks didn’t last long. They vanished, making space for the grim, scarred, silent Dexter whose beard had replaced his smile.

„Do you think there is anything we can do to…“ Valkyrie stopped mid-sentence, sighing like any attempt of restoring the old Dexter was hopeless from the start. Her sad face combined with the sad surroundings and the sad situation made Tanith wish for a medicine strong enough to cure her friends traumas alltogether. All of them wiped away, making space for happy memories and happy new experiences. 

Skulduggery started getting up from where he had been meditating close-by and put on his hat. He stayed standing there, seemingly checking if Saracen and Dexter were returning from their hunt. Gently and surprisingly moved he said: „I can help.“

Tanith raised a brow and glanced at Valkyrie whose face was lighting up a little. „You have an idea?“ 

Skulduggery hummed and nodded, turning his head to look at her. „We should expect some resistance though.“

Skeptically but hopefully Tanith resumed cleaning her sword. „Well, I’m definitely thrilled to see what you’ve got up your sleeve.“

Valkyrie couldn’t focus on anything anymore from that moment on. She was so excited about the prospect of seeing the Dexter with the confidence of a lion again that she kept looking for his return from the woods. Skulduggery had therefore already managed to cheer up one of the traumatized people on this trip and Tanith had to admit that Valkyrie’s anticipated chatter sparked some kind of enthusiasm in her as well. 

That enthusiasm was therefore to blame for her whipping her head around like a loser when Valkyrie came running to the fireplace with the repressed shouts of „They are returning!!!“ and „Act normal!!“ before she plopped down next to Tanith, breathing very unnormally fast. 

Skulduggery was shaking his head, but he wasn’t sighing, therefore Tanith was almost a hundred percent that a soft smirk would have been on his features had he had features… She could have asked Valkyrie, because that girl was capable of reading Skulduggery’s facial expressions as if they were visible to her. 

But she was too enthusiastic to see what Skulduggery had in mind for dear old Vex. He was definitely into it with his whole soul since Valkyrie’s happiness was the thing he held most sacred. 

Understandable. 

When she looked at Tanith with these cheerful, glowing eyes she realized that she would jump in front of a train for her.

„I hate hunting!“ Saracen whined, helping Dexter to hang the bodies upside down to a tree branch. 

„I hate whining!“ The other man answered, making Saracen pull a face and sulk. 

He definitely looked like a hunter with his beard and his grim expression and his shoulders. But he also looked kind of pleased when he turned around to face the others. „Dinner is secure.“ 

He wanted to turn around again, when he realized Tanith’s and Valkyrie’s excited stares. Squinting his eyes, he put his hands on his hips. „What?“ 

Little did he know Skulduggery had quietly sneaked up close behind him and was now motioning for Saracen to keep quiet. A slight flicker of Valkyrie’s eyes gave Dexter the hint that something was happening behind him, but even then, he was too slow. „What are you-“

All air was pushed out of him, when Skulduggery wrapped his arms around his hips and pulled him to the ground in a swirl of dust. Confusion quickly made space for realization when Skulduggery’s quick and agile hands tried to grab for Dexter’s middle, causing him to quickly kick himself out of reach and try to turn on his front again. 

Tanith couldn’t immediately interpet Dexter’s expression. But it quickly dawned upon her, that the mixture of panic, hysteria and anticipation was absolutely the correct reaction to what Skulduggery was going for.

Her heart made a leap inside her chest when Dexter made a defensive pose with his hands over his stomach and a short panicked laugh broke out of him. „Don’t you dare, don’t you dare you big fucking doofus!!“ 

Valkyrie pulled one knee to her chest and watched with a big smile on her face. 

„Oh, I dare!“ Skulduggery said almost nonchalantly, ready to pounce on his old friend another time. „We miss the ‚doofus‘-saying Dexter!“ 

A yell of disapproval broke out of the energy-thrower when Skulduggery jumped on top of his escaping form and wrestled him back to the ground, his arms around Dexter’s midriff, trying to minimize his struggling by pushing him face first to the ground. The hinted huffs and laughs coming from the victim made Tanith believe in the effectiveness of Skulduggery’s plan. He was twitching around in the embrace like a fish, managing to slip out of it here and there, until Skulduggery grabbed his wrists and pinned them down next to his slightly dirty face. Dexter made a hysterical noise and tried to get out of Skulduggery’s grip. A big grin still stayed right on Dexter’s beard covered face.

„I’m sorry, the Dexter you’re asking for is not available right now!“ He exclaimed, his voice strained from the effort of wrestling. He didn’t sound very convinced of his own words.

„I know he’s in there,“ Skulduggery mused and let go off one of Dexter’s wrists, taking the impact of that hand slamming against his chest bone. Easily he bent down slightly, shielding the pinned side of Dexter’s body with his back, so his free hand couldn’t do much more anymore but drum on Skulduggery’s back. 

„No no NOO!“ Dexter yelled, when he realized he was pinned quite well now, unable to move anymore. A hysterical giggle broke out of him, when he noticed the helplessness of his right side. „Please, Skulduggery, no!!“ 

„Don’t worry, Dexter, I will tickle that bastard right out of you!“ And that he did. 

Dexter started shaking with uncontrollable laughter when Skulduggery’s slim fingers started dancing over the weak ticklish spot under his pinned arm, wandering from his armpit down to his hipbone and squeezing just the right places to keep him in stitches. 

„GAHAHD HEHEHELP PLEHEHHEASE!!!“ Dexter was kicking out his legs, shaking his head, grabbing for something to hit Skulduggery with, but nothing was helping. He howled with laughter when Skulduggery was going for the spaces between his ribs, causing him to grit his teeth to try and keep from laughing so hard.

„You better not fight it.“ Saracen sang payfully, a fond expression on his face. „That will only make it worse.“

„F-F-FFUCK YOUHOU SARACEN NOOHOHO NOHOHO PLEHEASE!!“ Dexter’s laughter went silent for a moment when Skulduggery slipped his hand under his shirt to squeeze his side mercilessly. He didn’t stop until tears of laughter had gathered in the corners of Dexter’s eyes, his will pretty much broken down like a dam. Then he let go off Dexter’s wrist and resumed squeezing both of his sides at the same time, causing his laughter to go up a notch and his struggles to grow harder. All that laughing had weakened Dexter pretty much, he wasn’t capable of breaking free from Skulduggery’s tickle torture despite his free hands. He merely shook around on the floor, grabbed for Skulduggery’s hands and threw his head back to let out all the cheerful sounds Skulduggery was evoking. 

„Pleehehhehease I caahahahhan’t breheheheathe!!“ 

„What? I couldn’t hear you over your loud breathing!!“ 

„Just stohoohohop!! You wohhohon!! YOU WHOHOHON!!“ 

Vakyrie felt the entire spectre of happiness as Dexter’s laughter went on, changing his face into the opposite of dark and broody. The trick to get Dexter to that point was a little mean, admittedly. But she wouldn’t have wanted to miss it for anything.

Skulduggery stopped when Dexter’s giggles started sounding weaker. He sat back and clapped Dexter’s sides gently as if to offer them peace. 

The blond man was still chuckling, looking up at Skulduggery and pushing him weakly against the chest. „You… goddamn… skeleton!“ 

„Now that’s utterly reductive, don’t you think?“

Dexter laughed at that so heartily that Skulduggery was sure he somehow managed to centre Dexter back inside his core. Just for now. Just for a while. He was moved by the thought. 

Friendly he offered him a hand to help him get up off the floor. Dexter almost immediately pulled him into a headlock and was put through a few more seconds of ticklish agony as Skulduggery knew just where he had to poke and prod to get free again. When he really couldn’t take it anymore, Dexter pushed Skulduggery away and put his hands on his knees, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern.

„How do you pull off that tousled, happy look, it’s just not fair!“ Tanith exclaimed, grinning at Dexter’s threatening glance in her direction. 

„You want to get the look? I can help you!“ 

Not even Valkyrie had seen Tanith on her feet so quickly. She jumped behind her and pushed her forward. „It was Valkyrie’s idea!“ 

„What!!! That’s not true!!“ 

Dexter bent down a little, bearing his teeth, a spark in his eyes. Valkyrie wanted to escape very quickly from that playful, threatening energy thrower, but Tanith was holding her in front of herself like a shield. Maybe she should have thought it through when she had mumbled about missing that old Dexter.

„If you want to get revenge on anyone, it should be Saracen!“ She found herself shouting. Dexter was by now playing along, playing the tickle monster that Skulduggery had turned him into, huffing and groaning and snarling. Valkyrie loved it, but didn’t want to get into its claws.

„Me??? Why on earth??“ 

„You didn’t help him!“ Tanith underlined Valkyrie’s accusation.

„That is very true,“ Dexter snarled and made a step in Saracen’s direction. 

„You better not, Dexter Vex!!“ He went running like a bunny with Dexter right behind him. 

The afternoon was like a safe zone. Nothing unexpected happened to them. They were among themselves. They were themselves. 

[lyz-fics]

Dabi X FEM! Reader: A Secret Of Mine...

Hey Guys! Lyz Here!

So, I received this request and I was so excited to write it. I mean... who doesn’t love a burnt baby boii? I’m so soo sorry it took so long to write but I think you will find that it is worth the wait. 

Word Count: 9.2K Words

Warning: NSFW - Meantions of Death and Gore, Mature Scenes, Unconsenting Sex, Friends with Benefits. 

Summary: You would think being a spy for the league would be something that is just like a hobby. Come in, share what you heard, get paid, leave. Simple right? But how do you explain this new information to yourself when you find you have fallen for a villain?

I also wanted to give a rundown of the quirk since it might differ from the anons and so everyone can understand it: You can hear people's thoughts. You can walk down a busy street and hear something along the lines of TV static and a few keywords of sentences if you concentrate hard enough whereas if you ask a person a question and they answer you in any way you have direct access to their thoughts without the static. Obtaining an answer to your question will give you an hour's worth of time to mess around in their mind doing things like rearranging the chronological order of memories, changing details of memories, and creating new and erasing old memories altogether. The effects of your quirk on you are that you have a constant ringing in your ears when you are out in public and you suffer from constant migraines and nausea. The effects on other people are that they lose their train of thought while you are in their mind and they can't focus.

—===✨🎇🎆💀🎆🎇✨===—

It was raining that night, pouring even. You were walking down the alleyways, the slow click of your heeled boots against the pavers as you walked down the covered gaps and into a street littered with puddles. Taking no care, you walked right through them but stopped when you tuned in to someone’s thoughts passing by. This whole street full of people and you had to tune in right then, didn’t you?

‘Tomura, Tomura, Tomura,’ you could barely hear anything from the man’s thoughts but it was that one name that you picked up, the rest was fuzzy like usual but that one name. It must have been a keyword because that was the only thing you were able to hear from him without getting closer and properly using your quirk.

Weaving in and out of the crowd of people, you made your way slowly and followed this dark-haired man far in front of you. You realized he was starting to slow down, so to keep yourself safe you kept your pace and passed him, watching from the corner of your eye as he turned down a side street and went behind a building. Still, in tune with his thoughts, you followed him, taking a shortcut past the alleyway and into another main street that seemed abandoned, intrigued about who this Tomura person would turn out to be.

Turning the corner, you saw him sneak out of the side street where he locked eyes with you. Taking the next step towards him you called for him, trying to ask him a question.

“Excuse me, Sir? I seem to be a bit lost; can you help me?” You walked the rest of the distance with a smile as you waited for him to answer your question.

“Sorry, but I don’t live-” he began, but his mind drifted off as he lost his focus and just stared into your (E/C) orbs, hazed over from your quirk.

Running through his mind was like running through a maze, his mind – you could barely move – it was filled with trauma to the brim, sadness, regret, this was nothing you had ever seen before, nothing except one other mind. His mind was so like yours, filled with fear of themselves and what they could become. You had to escape; you were falling deeper into his mind, slowly succumbing to your own quirk as you delved deeper to find out who he was. Pulling yourself from his mind, you almost fell over from the reality shock and the massive migraine that followed. You were still recovering from the stinging pain in your mind so you never saw the tall dark-haired man charging towards you.

“What did you do to me?” He was yelling at you now and you had no idea where you were. “I felt you in my head…what do you know?”

“Please,” you yelled, and you delved back into his mind to keep him from hurting you, you went deeper and deeper now, thoughts running past you – Tomura, Touya, U.A., All Might, All for One – you had had enough now. Pulling yourself from his mind you recovered quicker now and started running, your legs shaking as you went. You went down the alley you saw him come from and kept running.

“Get back here,” the man roared as he chased after you. Dropping to the floor, you gave up and waited for the man to catch you, the alley turned to a dead-end anyway. Breathing heavily, you backed yourself up against the wall and waited. “I won't repeat myself…what do you know?”

“Touya, Cremation-”

“I don’t use that name,” he shouted as he brought his hand over your head to pin you to the wall.  You were out of breath and all you could do was stare as his icy turquoise eyes buried themselves into your (E/C) ones.

“I can be of use…” you added as you watched his head drop from your lines of sight. You watched as he brought his head up just a touch so that his eyes were staring at you through his spiked black hair. “You saw what my quirk can do…please, I can help, in exchange for refuge. Please, take me to Tomura.” You were cautious with what you told him and you waited for an answer before you said anything else.

He brought his hand from above you down to his side and he started to walk off, and you watched as he tapped his head and gave you a sly look. As he continued to walk, you stepped into his mind and listened to what he had to say. ‘We will meet here again in 2 weeks, mark the time and place.’ And so, it was set; trying to catch your breath was hard after that. But the date was set now - you couldn’t back down now. This was what you wanted anyway.

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

The 2 weeks passed like nothing; you were stuck doing your thing around the streets while you waited for the man that you had met, the man that had been your key to Tomura. Waiting by the dead-end alleyway you watched as a tall figure approached you, but you knew this figure, the same icy turquoise eyes as that night before. You turned to walk out of the alleyway and waited for him to walk past you so you could follow him. You walked in silence with him, conserving your quirk for the bigger fish, but still taking small glances to the tall man beside you who was leading the way.

Finally, he stopped at another alleyway now, filled with random shops and dumpsters. He brought you into an old rusted bar at the end of the backstreet. You walked slower now, falling behind the man in front of you to stay out of sight of the dark figures rested in the shadows.

“What have you brought for us, Dabi?” A gruff voice huffed. Slowly you watched as he stepped out of the shadows and came to inspect you, his light blue hair only just covering his red, fury-filled eyes. Stepping forward you brought your face close to the man.

“I’m here for Tomura, Shigaraki Tomura. Are you him?” You asked him a simple question but he couldn’t give you a simple answer.

“Well I-” he stopped; his train of thought lost as you sorted through all of his memories. His mind was much like Dabi’s but nothing like his at the same time, the same emotions but his were all over the place much like a child's mind. Dabi’s mind had been so clear, so unique and so dangerous. Whatever you needed it wasn’t in there – there was nothing for you here, he was a waste of time. Pulling yourself out, you backed away.

You watched as the light-haired man started to writhe once you had left his mind. He got down close to the floor before he lunged at you. Backing up, you couldn't get into his mind fast enough before he would be at your throat.

“Tomura,” the man from behind you now stepped in front of you as he pushed you behind himself and held you there. Tomura veered away and fell beside the both of you. “Tomura, you just saw what she could do. She can be of use.” Tomura locked eyes with you and looked back at Dabi with a sneer plastered across his face. Taking the hint Dabi added to his last sentence, “I’ll take responsibility.”

“I’ve seen what she can do and if she goes rogue you will be the one turned to dust, Dabi.” Tomura sneered from his place on the floor and walked past you and Dabi. On his way back to his seat he made sure to turn a bar stool to ash to make his point clear. Feeling pissed, Tomura turned to you from his seat and watched as Dabi stepped away and put his hand against your back. “Well, Ms.…”

“(Y/N)”

“Well, (Y/N), you have a place here. You will stay here, in this bar, until we need to use you to gather intel. Do you think you could manage that?” He watched you lower your head and heard a resounding ‘yes’ from the midst of his mind. “Dabi, show her to her room.”

You looked back at the man who walked you here and watched as he stepped up to you. He placed his hand against your back once again and started to push you towards a door that was at the back of the bar. There you dropped back behind him and followed him up a tight wooden set of stairs to a long hallway. The doors were stained and the walls looked as if they were ready to fall down right that instant but still you continued to follow him.

Leading you to the end of the hall, he pushed open a door on the left, revealing a simple room – a mattress spread across the floor covered with ripped and old blankets and a dusty pillow. The curtains were tattered and falling apart around the edges as they barely covered the window. The floor was carpeted but only just as it was coming up around the edges.

“You will stay here with the rest of us,” the dark-haired man stated, “Kurogiri will take you home to gather your stuff. You are not to take anything symbolic and you are only to have a few sets of clothes.” He watched as you turned to him, looking him in the eyes with concern; he could see that you were thinking that this was turning out to be more like a prison than an organization. “It is easier to move with fewer things if we get found, and you are always welcome to leave this place. You know…” he stopped as he placed a hand behind his neck and scratched at it before looking at you again, “You’re not trapped here, (Y/N).” And with that, he backed out into the hallway and closed your door just a crack. Walking to the door, you watched as he stepped out into the thin hallway and opened another door. He stepped in and closed the door. That must have been his room.

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

The days that you spent cooped up in the bar seemed like nothing now, Kurogiri had helped you warp back to your apartment and gather some clothes for disguises – since you would mostly be doing fieldwork you couldn’t wear the same things every time – and a few extra things that you knew you would need, as well as some of your own blankets because there was no way you were sleeping with the ones you were given. You set up your room and for the most part, you just stayed cooped up in there, but then came the day where you had to go out and scout. It was a few days after the student internships at hero agencies and you were sent as an undercover reporter to find out where the U.A. students would be going next.

The mission was easy for your first one, all you had to do was pose as a reporter and get access to one of the teacher's minds. Eraserhead was the one at the pole today and it was easy; once you had asked him a seemingly harmless question you were given access to all that he was planning with the students. Rummaging through his mind, you had to be quick – students, training, training camp, forest, private, confidential, secret – and you were out of there. Trying to keep your cover, you erased the original question from his mind and asked him a few more to keep your cover clear. After that faint intrusion, the pale man in front of you called an end to the meeting.

Gathering all you had needed; you were happy with your progress and turned to head back to the league’s bar. You walked in and shut the door behind you; you stood there as you watched all eyes came to you and waited for what you were going to say.

“There will be a training camp in the forest,” you started, tilting your head down as you slid your coat off of your shoulders and started walking past the men that were standing in the bar. Reaching to open the door to the stairwell, icy blue eyes met yours and stopped in your tracks. Looking back at Tomura you finished, “The students will be dropped at a secure location with few people actually knowing the place in which they are going. The training camp is on the other side of the mountain range and trapped between the valley and the mountain. It would be a perfect time to strike when the students are training in the forest as there is little to no coverage from teachers.” Finishing your sentence, you looked up at the man still standing before you and pushed your way past him to the stairs.

Dabi watched as you sauntered your way up the stairs and down the hall. He walked over to Tomura and raised his hand at Kurogiri to signal for a drink before he got to talking with Tomura.

“The camp in the forest,” he took a sip from his glass to gather his thoughts before he continued, “it will be a good ambush site but we are relying too much on all of the students being in the center of the forest.”

Tomura finished his drink and got off of his stool to face Dabi. “We don’t need all of the students in the forest,” he walked off and pulled something from his pocket as he went, “we only need a few.” Dabi watched at the blue-haired man went along his way as he dropped a small newspaper cut out to the floor. A picture of a tall ashy-haired boy in chains, a photo taken from the sports festival perhaps.

He watched as Tomura walked down the hall and into a separate room. Guzzling down his drink he asked for another. And then another – why was he like this? Sitting hours and hours at the bar as he drank drink after drink only so he couldn’t feel anything. Drowning himself to help him forget, that’s all he wanted. Forget this, forget everything, forget you… you had no idea what you were doing to him at this point. He could hardly think straight after you had been in his mind, it was like there was a permanent place for you there now. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. After Kurogiri had left and decided to cut him off he started to walk down the hall and to the stairs where he walked up to them and down the hallway to his room. Walking past your door on the way, he stopped to listen in to what you were doing.

Pushing open your door, he locked eyes with you as you were laying on your bed against the wall. He watched as a shocked expression appeared across your features and you sat up and almost got out of your bed. Closing the door behind him he started to walk closer and closer to you, laying on your bed.

“D-Dabi, what are you-?” You watched as he stepped closer to you and as he reached the edge of your bed and dropped to his knees before you and started crawling on all fours closer and closer towards you. You started to scoot closer and closer to the wall as you were trying to stay away from the man approaching you. “What do you want?”

Quickly he wrapped a hand around your ankle and pulled you down to the edge of the bed. Pushing his face close to yours you could see the smirk evident in his features as he pushed himself closer and closer to you to the point of pinning you under him. “I want you, (Y/N). Is that an answer to your question? Can you come back to me now?” He whispered as he came close to your ear.

He was fully aware of what he was doing, he answered your question straight away and he sat there holding you as he waited for you to delve back into his mind. But you never did, at least it didn’t feel like you did. But you were in there from the beginning. You were delving deeper and deeper as he just stared at you, you could see everything – everything from his past that he was trying to get away from.

You pulled away from him slowly, he was distracted now, distracted by the loss of your mind interlocking with his – he never felt you enter but he sure as hell noticed when you pulled away from him. Tears slipped from both of your eyes at the loss of each other. You leaned closer to him and placed a hand close to his cheek, “Touya,” you whispered as you pulled his face up to look at you.

“Say it again!” He raised his voice at you now, he pushed you back against the bed and leaned close to you. He was inches away from your face now and you could see the tears glistening in his eyes as you lay below him.

“Touya,” you wanted this but not this way, “please,” you were begging for him to notice the slight quiver in your voice as you spoke to him in something softer than a whisper.

He clenched his eyes shut as he gave in. He dropped his head to the crook of your neck and pushed his hand up to hold your cheek in his hands. You could feel the tears drop onto your shoulder as he pulled away from you. Sitting up slowly, you watched as he stepped up from your bed and walked over to the door. He was obviously mad at himself now because of the way he slammed the door as soon as he had left your room.

Turning around to face your closed door, he put a hand on the door above his head and leaned forward to place his forehead against the middle of the door. He wished you would open it, wished you would let him back in and feel your mind again. He wished you weren’t still sitting in the middle of the bed with your legs held up close to your chest, crying about how ruined his mind was. He wished this could be something different.

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

Perched on top of the hill you could scan the whole forest from where you were. You could see exactly where the trees bled into the hills below you, you could see every ridge from where you were, but most importantly, you could see the students. That was your main focus; you were sent for recon and to keep everyone in line while the others captured the students that Tomura wanted.

“Twice,” turning around, you walked over to the man in black and stood with your arms outstretched, “copy me.” You waited as the man took your measurements and from the earth, he made an exact replica of you.

You looked to your copy and tapped your head slowly signaling your copy to use their quirk on you. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

You felt her enter your mind with ease and she instantly knew what she needed to do. You watched as your copy walked off and carried your mind with her. You could practically see through your copy’s eyes as she told you everything in sight as she walked through the forest. After you felt she had gotten close enough to the students’ camp, she stopped and watched as the students got into groups and started filing past her, watching silently.

After she heard from you again, she started to climb one of the trees. You watched her as she fell straight down onto an uprooted branch and impaled herself. Bolting back, you were caught in someone's arms as you were ripped from your own thoughts. You looked up and saw the icy blue-eyed man standing above you, your eyes met with his and you could almost see your reflection in his eyes as you stared at him.

Getting up from his grasp, you held your head in your hands, trying to regain your train of thought. Placing your hand on your hip you held his hand in yours as you looked to the others. “The students are in the forest, start filing in.”

You watched as the others nodded and started to file into the forest into their positions. Moonfish and Muscular hopped off to their part of the forest and you watched Toga walk with Twice and Mr. Compress into the center of the forest. You looked up at Dabi and almost collapsed as you tried to walk without his aid. Is this what it felt like when you left someone’s mind? Why did it feel like you were dying? You felt strong arms around you; you looked at the man beside you, holding his calloused hands around your waist as he helped you walk. You walked with his help to catch up to the others, stumbling every now and then when you would feel his grip loosen around you. You felt Dabi place you against the ground when you reached Toga, Twice and Compress.

“Compress,” the voice of the man above you was fading away, “she needs rest.” Dabi hunched down over you and watched as your eyes fluttered.

“I’m fine,” you pushed him away, trying to get up, “It was just a shock. My counter… she didn’t fully die…it felt like,” you held your head in your hands as the pain slowly subsided, “like I could still feel myself dying.” Pushing against the man hovering above you for the strength you kept your hand against his chest as he pulled you up from where you were laying. “Compress, Toga, start the extraction. I can go with Twice and Dabi to cause a distraction with the teachers.” Compress turned from where he stood and went to lead Toga off. “Twice,” still holding onto the dark-haired man you turned to face the other, “Clone me again, I need to watch over them.”

Twice looked from you to Dabi and back to you again, his hesitation evident, yet he cloned you and sent you on your way to the others. “(Y/N)?” Your duplicate called out to you. You stood there and watched as your duplicate turned to face you. Answering her question with a simple ‘yes’, she went about her way again.

Regaining your ability to walk, you stayed towards the back as you walked with Twice and Dabi. Reaching the edge of the forest you told them what to do. They obeyed without hesitation this time – Twice cloned Dabi and sent him to distract the teachers from what was going on throughout the forest. Twice went with the clone to make extras just in case and you stayed with Dabi as you both walked to the center again to set the forest ablaze.

It started with just one tree, slowly spreading from one to another, but as you continued to walk with him you watched as his hand would swipe across the decaying bark of one tree and it would immediately set itself on fire. You were back where you started now, where the hills met the trees. From there you could see the smoke swirling off to the side of the forest, the flames slowly adding to the haze that was rising up. Stopping in your tracks you could hear screams echoing from the inside of your head – Toga, students, fighting, students, Moonfish, Mustard, students, fighting – your mind was a haze just like the world around you and all you could see was the ground beneath you before you blacked out.

You could hear his voice calling your name, his gruff words echoing in your ears as he pulled you from unconsciousness. “(Y/N)!” He called for you but there was no answer. Holding you in his arms against himself he gave you a shake to wake you up. He could see the mental strain your doubles quirk was taking on you, you were shaking in his arms, eyes fluttering open then snapping closed as your head fell, being pushed and pulled through consciousness. He draped his coat around you and pushed you closer to the edge of a bush where you would be hidden, then he ran – he ran to find your clone; if this what was causing all of your mental anguish then it would end by killing it. But it had to be quick, last time death lingered you were crippled in the same way your clone was. The mental image of dying that was put in your head was too much for you.

You were completely out of it at the time, you could hardly see anything and the last thing you could remember was seeing him close to you when he was holding you. By the time you woke up the mission had been completed and was somewhat a success, and you were back at the bar in your room when you woke up properly. You were lying in your bed, your clothes were off and the only thing you were wearing was Dabi's white shirt, the low-cut neck made it so it hung off of your shoulders as you shifted from where you were laying against your bed. You took a look around your room and noticed that Dabi was sitting in the opposite corner of your room, staring at his hands while he fiddled with some sort of chain. Slowly he put the chain back into his pocket as he turned his attention back to you. Your heart was racing as you quickly shut your eyes again, listening to him get up from where he was sitting only to walk over and kneel beside your bed where you lay. He took one final glance at you before he went back downstairs to the bar to try and drown himself again.

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

Your recovery was lonely but something you needed. This mental strain was causing you to sleep less, eat less... it wasn’t something you wanted to live with. You found yourself wanting something, a release, anything – going to Twice only to make clones of you to take these feelings away. This power of yours it wasn’t a gift like you thought it was, it was a curse for other people, and a curse that haunted you in the middle of the night with all the things you had seen in your own mind. You would often wake yourself up screaming, screaming for a release, screaming for someone or something to come and kill you. You would wake the whole league with your screaming as you woke up and you would try and calm yourself as soon as you could but it was no use. Those images were almost burned into your mind by this point.

Dabi would hold his head against your door as he listened to you cry; he listened as you would wish your existence away almost every night. He sat against the wall as he listened in on your dreams; he would listen to you pant as you tossed and turned, slowly waking up and finally letting out an ear-piercing scream. Every night it was the same thing – he could be found downstairs trying to drown himself, trying to think of a way to get you back to him, back in his mind. He knew he could help you and you could help him, and so he did and in the process, he helped himself. You could be found in the corner of your room trying to escape the things in your mind that seemed so real – begging, at this point praying, for an escape. You needed to escape; you needed it so badly and you knew exactly who to get it from.

This was one of Dabi’s more drunken nights, to say the least, but still, he sat at your door with his head resting against the wall to listen to you. He listened as you panted and screamed like usual, he waited for you to calm yourself down and just continue on with the charade you played, acting like you were fine. He definitely wasn't ready when he heard you whisper his name. He could hear his name run off of your lips so effortlessly, almost like water trickling out of a tap. “Touya.” He repeated those words in his mind and his body moved all on its own as pushed your door open and grabbed your wrists.

You jumped back with the scare you got but gave in as you saw those bright blue eyes and his deep purple scars against his chest. You could feel his hands wrap around wrists and you took a gentle step forward as you fell into him and bunched the bottom of his shirt in your hands. “You can take it away, can't you?” Tears dropped from your eyes as you stared at the ground. Slowly you looked up at the man you were so desperately holding on to. Your hands slowly traced their way past his scars and up to trace the shadowing figure of his collarbone, “Please, Touya, save me.”

You watched as he shut his eyes tight and in an instant he opened them again, opening them with a new fire burning from the depth of his mind. You were promptly picked up as he wrapped his hand down to your thighs and pulled you up, holding you against his waist as he almost fell forward into the wall as he turned you, your back making a resounding ‘bang’ against the wall and a loud slam as you watched him kick the door closed. Holding you against the wall with his hips, he latched his lips to your neck as he almost ripped your skin from you, dragging his hands down he pulled at the edges of your shirt and you watched as it melted away in his grasp leaving you hanging loose, pressed against his chest.

Hitting that spot against your neck caused you to almost scream as you dug your fingers into his shoulders, hitting your head against the wall as you flung it back to heave a sigh of ecstasy. It was all clearing up now, you couldn’t remember anything from before, it was only him now – him and you, together, as one. Running your fingers up through his hair, you watched as he shook his jacket off and it fell to the ground. He let you drop slightly and as you wrapped your legs around him to hold on. You were brought to his level as you wrapped your hands around his cheeks and pulled him into a searing kiss. Your mouth opened in a silent moan as he bit against your bottom lip, and he took this chance to slip his tongue into your wet cavity and twist and turn as much as he wanted.

You could slowly feel yourself slipping from his hold, so gently unwrapping your legs from around his waist you touched your toes to the floor to steady yourself as he dropped you slowly. Hands wringing around his waist as you pushed his shirt up and over his arms and started to kiss up to his abdomen, paying close attention to try and kiss each and every one of his staples as he focused on pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it behind him. Wrapping his hands around your waist while he was close to you was easy as he snaked his hands down to your shorts and gave them a tug as they too dropped to the floor as he picked you up and practically threw you onto the bed face-up. Straining himself to climb over the top of you as he shook his pants down and crawled up on all fours to lock his hands at either side of your head as he leaned down on his elbows to wrap you in another needy kiss.

“(Y/N),” your name slipped from his lips in a moan as he spoke to you, “erase the pain for me. I need you.” And with that said, he pulled you into the kiss, at last, pushing one of his legs up to push against your tingling heat and pulling the opposite hand down to hold your waist as he gave you gentle squeezes. You traced your hand across his scars one again as you worked your way down to the prominent tent that was forming in his boxers. A groan escaped from his lips as he felt the elastic snap against his skin, taunting his member as it only just was able to peek through the top. He moved from your lips to your neck now, leaving bites and bruises as he groaned against your skin as he waited for you to slip his boxers off of him and let him fuck you.

Lifting your hips, you pushed your panties down to your hips and sat up with Dabi. Lifting your legs, you watched as Dabi kissed up your thighs and pulled your panties off behind him, all while you ran your fingers up the sides of his shaft rubbing in the slick from the top all down the sides. Waiting for him to sit, you crawled over the top of him, positioning yourself just right before you slid down over his length, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, squeezing as you went. Holding your back, he tipped you onto the bed and started to lick across your collarbone as he started at a slow pace, pulling out then pushing back in. “Dabi?” You questioned whether this was okay for him with what you went through, but you complied with his wishes. He knew what you were doing and he wasted no time in answering your question. “Come back to me,” he cried, and you could almost feel the pain in his voice before you could even enter his mind.

This pace was perfect for you, his length made it amazing as it reached all the right spots as well as having the thickness to make sure his veins pressed against your walls perfectly. All the way through it you had your hands around his shoulders, clutching on to him for dear life as you left scratches along his back, taking blood at the edges of his scars, causing him to press his face into your chest as he grunted as he rutted forward. Moving faster now, you could tell you both were close, from his hands gripping at your hips tighter now and your frantic pants as you moved your hand to his chest to push him away to bring him into one final kiss before you came completely undone. Listening to the fear and sadness melt away in his mind was something completely different for you, watching his mind clear so the only thing present at the time was you. You could tell how you made him feel certain ways – certain ways that you didn’t even think were possible for people like you two.

Chest to chest, he was extremely close now, whispering things to you that were almost incoherent as he rutted into you faster and faster – they were physically incoherent but you knew exactly what he was saying to you as you floated on the surface of his mind. He placed a hand to your face as he pulled you close to him to bring you into a final kiss. You couldn't even close your mouth properly as you were so close to your edge, immediately toppling over it you left your mouth open once again for him to sink his teeth into your plump lips and take a bite to muffle both of your grunts and moans as he came and held you there. Keeping you in place while he gathered his breath, he continued to hover over you as he placed his head in the crook of your neck to feel the steady rising and falling in your chest as you were coming down from your high. You couldn’t hold control anymore, you were slowly slipping from his mind but he felt something wonderful about it, you had taken away his pain and you were still with him; this time he didn’t tear up at the loss of your mind.

Whining at the loss of contact as he pulled out of you, he made sure to litter you with hickeys as he rolled over to lay beside you to make up for it. Finally finding your breath, you rolled over to face him but found you couldn’t, all you were able to do was lay there with him in a haze as you slowly brought your hands up to run your fingers across his chest. Grabbing your hands, you were forced to look up at him this time and you were surprised as he brought you into another kiss, and then another – this time they weren’t searing or needy, they seemed kind, patient and loving. Patient and loving like his mind as it cleared from everything he hated about his past and only focused on the kind present he held before him.

It was this kind of kiss that made you melt into him, placing your hands against his chest you scooted closer to him as you nuzzled your head into the crook of his shoulders and waited for him to embrace you. He slowly wrapped his hands over your waist and held you close to him as he drifted from his past to his present and now into the future he dreamed of.

Waking up, you took a look at yourself in your floor-length mirror, the image of yourself was blurry with a morning haze. Stepping out of bed, you found your panties on the floor and pulled them up. Stepping across the carpet you walked over to your mirror, your hands wrapped around your waist when you were finally able to see the scars and marks left on your skin from the previous night - a red handprint that almost looked like they were edging on burns wrapped your hips and purple bruises littered your neck and collarbone as you drabbed your hands up your body to touch at the marks.

Strong hands wrapped around you and a head perched upon your shoulder as you heard a grunt resonate from behind you. Kisses were starting to be littered against your neck and you could see the dark hair rest against the side of your face start to fall and pool against your shoulders now. You knew this was going to happen again; this was the one night where you didn’t wake yourself up screaming and this was the only time Dabi would admit to feeling safe. You knew this would happen again but you didn't know if this was going to be sustainable. But for now, you couldn’t help but lean into this man’s beautiful embrace as everything around you seemed to melt away.

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

This went on for weeks – he would come to you or you would go to him, it was something that was just happening now. It was almost every other night that you would be with him – sharing your body with him, as well as your mind with him. You both knew it wasn’t sustainable, you were the one that raised this thought and you could tell he was hurt by it, but deep down he knew it was true too. What you had with him was just a release and neither of you could say anything different about each other, it was an agreed-upon term – you weren’t together, this was just a thing that you did with him when you needed it.

There were some nights where he tried to start something with you or even you tried to start something with him and it just never got to anything else; this was happening more often now. It felt like your heart was slowly cracking into separate pieces – more pain tormented you each night that he said no to you. Even though you knew he wanted to say yes, it was the thought that you two would never be anything more than what you were now that was begging him to stop. Begging him to not go through this heart-break every night – to go through with something he wished would blossom into something but he really knew it was dead from the beginning.

For one night at least it wasn’t one of those nights again – those nights of hatred that felt like love to you both, everyone was down in the bar trying to take a crack at the child hero you had captured during the camp raid. The raid was something that was long forgotten about now, the event of the raid was a blur for you, especially how you were handling the latest developments. Yes, the events were a blur but the people hurt in that battle still lingered in your mind. Not just in your mind but right in front of you as well, this boy, hands caged in metal and face once gagged, his whole body tied to a chair. His mask was off and his face contorted into a permanent sneer as he just stared at you all. For some reason, it seemed like you were all waiting for something to happen before Tomura stepped in to take control of the situation. Reaching his hand out with all of his fingers he wanted to touch this boy's face but stopped when he heard a knock at the door.

Everyone froze as they listened, and in an instant, the entire wall was knocked down as pro heroes burst through into the bar. Before you could even think to move you were wrapped up in the roots of a tree, squeezed tight as you were held against your will, unable to move in the slightest ways. These heroes, they weren’t the ones in the forest, you didn’t know anything about them, but what you did know was that every hero had a universal weakness. Acting on instinct you had to think fast as to what you were going to ask these heroes to let you go.

“Please, I’m not meant to be here.” You cried out, trying to seem desperate, looking at all the others hoping they would catch your drift. “Please, will you help me?” You were screaming now as Dabi tried to lunge for you, playing on to your story. His hand nearly grazed you - was it bad that you wanted him to get you and to feel held by his arms again? Was it bad that at that moment in time all you could think about was how much you wanted Dabi and not how much you wanted to be let go from these wooden shackles that bound you?

“Madam,” luckily you caught the mind of the hero that was binding you all. Quickly you averted your attention back to the heroes and the events that were unfolding in front of you; there were heroes all around the room in which Kurogiri was being held down by multiple heroes. Shooting thoughts into his mind, you made sure he couldn’t think straight, and slowly you could feel him loosening his grip on you. Finally, you manipulated his mind into thinking he wanted to let you all go free, and instantly he dropped his hands and everyone was released. A breath that you didn’t know you were holding was released from your lips as you dropped to the floor.

In a wild flash, Kurogiri had you all teleported and you could barely feel a thing, except for a shooting pain in your leg. Looking down, you noticed one of your jean legs was ripped and your inner thigh was bleeding. That bitch of a tree man must have reached out for you again and shot splinters at you or something like that because every time you moved you could feel what felt like needles pricking into your skin and muscle tissue.

The battle continued - the heroes came for their precious student, but you were prepared. You stood your ground, doing what you could with your quirk, assisting those who needed it while Twice cloned you over to make sure you could distract everyone at once. You watched from the back as your clones started dying out and you could feel their pain. You watched in shock as he came out, the one in Tomura’s mind from the beginning – All For One. You watched in awe as the battle continued around you, unaware of the blows your clones were taking around you – your body slowly disintegrating as you could see each of your clones dying.

You couldn’t remember moving from your spot, you had completely blacked out – the pain that this battle was causing you was overwhelming. You could only remember the screams and roars of the heroes and villains around you, and throughout your mind, the pain from the heroes as you saw their worst memory being ripped from the back of their mind in your attempt to distract them from the battle. Looking up for a brief second, you could see your previously detained student shooting off using his quirk. Your mission had failed. You blacked out again and all you could see was a pink haze as you were flying off somewhere – flying as if you were being pulled towards something against your will. Those hands wrapped around you again and you could feel yourself hit the ground with enough force to knock you out completely this time, none of that half-asleep half-awake nonsense.

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥  

It had been days since the battle now, you had been staying with Dabi during that time and he had been taking care of you with the… normal… arrangements you both had. Days and days passed with this arrangement and you had had enough, enough of this feeling – feeling that all you were was just another painkiller for him to use and throw away again. You needed to find another way of escaping this feeling, escaping without using him to do it. Your mind screamed at you every time you did this with him – screaming, telling you that you were nothing but a toy for him to use, but your heart screamed something different. Your heart told you he needed this and that you had to give it to him, you wanted to give this to him. His mind begged for this from you.

Every night you could see through his mind and you could see he felt something for you but you would always have this thought in the back of your mind – it was right in the back and it was telling you that he only loved you because you were helping him forget, forget his past and help him forget everything he hated about himself. There was no joy in what you did now, it felt like a chore at this point. A chore to help him forget and help him through the night.

But your heart loved it, seeing this side of him – the side that needed you to be with him all the time, to finally see both sides of the coin, the side that was covered his entire life and was now finally revealed to you, the side that you were able to see in his mind but truly wanted to see in person. Is this what you really wanted though? To be in love with someone that really might only be using you as a way of feeling better? You didn’t know what to do and you knew you couldn’t bring it up with him, he was hurt every time you mentioned this to him, which was the reason it made you think that he might’ve not been using you in the way you thought he was. You wanted him to love you so bad but you knew you couldn’t force something on him.

It was late at night now and you were waiting for Dabi to come home. Tonight was the night, it would all be over after this – tonight was your final escape with him. Walking through the door he came straight down the hall for you, he opened the door and let out a sigh as he saw you sitting on the bed cross-legged waiting for him.

Pushing his jacket off slowly, he walked up to you, cupping your face in his hands he brought you in for a gentle kiss. Treasuring this moment, you wrapped your arms around his neck trying to let your hands roam all over him and make sure you would remember what he felt like. The roughness of his scars as you gently grazed your fingers over the tops of the seams that held them together, cold metal often coming to your touch as you passed over his staples. Pushing upwards, you trailed your hands into his hair, coming up from the base of his neck and weaving your fingers into his long black hair, curling it around your fingers and giving it soft tugs every so often. Pulling your hands out of his hair, you trailed them down to his face where you cupped his cheeks in your hands as he moved his hands down to your waist and pushed you further back on the bed to make room for himself too.

Pulling away gently, you placed your forehead close to his as you waited for the tears that were welling in your eyes to slip softly off your cheek. Pulling his head up, he kissed the tears away as he placed small kitten kisses all the way up to your cheek before he brought his hand up and wrapped it around the back of your neck to place a prolonged kiss to your forehead. Staying where you were but looking up at him through your eyelashes, you muttered a silent ‘I love you’ before you whispered to him, “Will you save me?”

Pulling away from you, he placed another needy kiss to your forehead before he answered you. “I will do whatever it takes, princess.” You couldn’t handle how he answered you, calling you his princess like that made you question whether you were doing the right thing or not. How could you do something like this to him? The thought of what you were going to have to do was making you tear up even worse.

Dabi opened his mouth to speak again but before he could console you, he stopped in his tracks; his train of thought was gone as he felt you rummaging through his mind. He could feel you pulling every memory of yourself to the surface of his mind and rearranging them so you were no longer a part of his life. He felt as if he couldn’t move, what you were doing to him was something he would have never imagined you would do. He could feel your presence slowly disappearing from within your mind, all of his memories of you gone – the way your skin felt against his when he would hold you close, your scent and the way your lovely (H/C) hair brushed his face as he laid with you, slowly wrapping small strands of it around his finger, he was forgetting what the skin on your face felt like as he brushed the strands to the side. He had forgotten how your beautiful (E/C) eyes had looked as they stared up at him through your morning haze. He was forgetting everything about you and slowly he could feel himself slipping away too. Slipping into a dreamless daze as you lulled him straight to sleep and tears dropped against his face as you placed him down on the bed.

Slipping away, you placed one final kiss to his lips as you made sure there was no possible trace of you left in his mind. Hastily you grabbed your things and ran out of the building crying. You had erased every presence from his mind, but how were you meant to cope with him still being in your mind after all of this?

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

Slowly walking through the shadows of buildings, you followed your leader and watched as he walked into a trashy docking bay. You waited for his voice in his mind to tell you when he needed you. Upon the signal, you and your team smashed through the side of the loading bay to protect your leader. A fight had begun, and you bolted in front of the short brown-haired boy to protect him from the man that was charging towards him. You almost stopped in your tracks once you saw the man leaping in front of you, flames shooting out from his hands. You had found him, but you couldn’t let your guard down now, he had forgotten everything about you and you had to be sure to remember that.

You couldn’t think fast enough as you rammed into him and he pushed you back, sending you flying back towards the man in the mask. You knew something was off with Dabi as soon as he started staring at you, he looked at you as if he was hurting, but still, you had to act as if you didn’t know. Dabi’s mind was racing with memories that were flooding back to him now, he was remembering you – he could remember distinctly now, your eyes as they stared into his, the feel of your supple skin as he held you, and how he helped you forget and in the end forced you to forget. He could remember now, he remembered everything and he had to tell you. Quickly he thought of the best thing to say to you to make it clear he remembered what you had done.

“Well,” he stood from his position and started looking you up and down before he walked back to where he was previously standing behind Tomura, “I never thought I would see you again, princess. After what you did.” He stared back at you and watch the expression on your face turn to shock as you realized that he was remembering.

You couldn’t give in to him, you were with the Hassaikai now and with this man in control of you, you couldn’t afford even one slip up. You needed a way to know what he knew or even just what he thought he knew. You waited as your leader finished his barter with the league and waited as you all walked away from the damage you had caused. Damage that might not come back together again.