#but I figured it warranted presenting the atmosphere

[quickdeaths]

Although it felt strange to walk without Sonia without taking her hand, Shinobu could at least be grateful for the reprieve from heat upon her cheeks. "For what it's worth, Miss Nevermind, I'd question the judgment of anyone who didn't think especially highly of you - title or no." After all, she was a rather unique, special person, and what reason could anyone have for denying that? "You're rather exceptional." Surely everyone could see that, even upon the briefest of conversations with her.

Of course, Shinobu has to wonder, too, why she seemed so set on saying so. After all, Anzu was her closest friend, and she praised or complimented her quite rarely. Perhaps it was just the matter that Sonia was a newer friend, and so the generalized appreciation wasn't as easily taken as a given? Or perhaps it was that Sonia, for all her skills and talents, seemed a bit more prone to doubt and introspection than Anzu, who had surrounded herself in so much ego and vanity as to be impenetrable to that sort of thing. Mm, they decided, that must have been it.

As the pair took their seats, Shinobu couldn't help but notice a small murmur rippling through the crowd near them. Among the student body, here to see their friends and classmates, they imagined it didn't matter, but to the high society types, those who might have flown in from elsewhere in the country, or even abroad, Sonia's presence did not go unnoticed. The archer had to stay within herself the protective urge to reach for Sonia's hand. The visibility was likely expected, but that didn't mean that it was welcome. Might things have been better for Sonia had Shinobu encouraged her to go with that gentleman instead, to a private box where she wouldn't have been reduce to some thing at which to marvel?

The curtains at the stage opened to reveal the orchestra, already seated, all dressed in uniform black clothes, either buttoned shirts and slacks, or blouses and long skirts. Shortly after, the conductor stepped onstage - a slender, middle-aged man with horn-rimmed glasses and wispy, thinning hair slicked back, dressed in a tailcoat with a white bowtie. A polite, restrained clapping filled the auditorium as he took his place, and the orchestra stood and gave light bows to acknowledge both the applause and the conductor himself. By the time they'd sat down, the applause had died down, though the various conversations - quiet, but not as quiet as those having them might have hoped - continued.

To Shinobu, at least, nothing had changed - it was impossible to take one's eyes off of Ji-yeon when she made her appearance. She was always a cool, fashionable person, but she had the same kind of overflowing stage charisma as Anzu. Her floor-length dress nearly masked the fact that she was wearing combat boots - or, at least, it would have, had she not announced herself with strutting, kicked-out strides that made sure to adequately display the laced, leather shoes running halfway up her shin. Meanwhile, a distressed jean jacket was draped over her shoulders, adorned with patches and messages of allegiance to various activist causes and left-wing political movements. Her ponytail - dark brown with faded, grown-out blue at the ends - bounced with each confident step, and she seemed, to Shinobu, completely bulletproof. So this was how she'd made her piece with being coerced into it, they thought. In fact, were Anzu there, Shinobu had no doubt that she'd describe it as 'rockstar energy' or something similar.

Another round of gentle applause accompanied Ji-yeon's walk across the stage, leading to her removing her jacket and setting it on the back of her chair, before sitting at a gorgeous cello already prepared for her at a special seat just in front of the conductor, and to the side, so that she was always in perfect visibility of the crowd. In anticipation, the conductor raised his hands, causing the clapping to cease, and then began the opening piece. The undercurrent of whispers and mumbled words continued regardless, and with Shinobu's excellent hearing, she could make out some of it. A handful of stuffier types seemed rather put off by Ji-yeon's appearance, but the majority of the conversation seemed to be about Sonia - her clothes, her prior meeting with Okuma, her future plans, and, occasionally, Shinobu's accompaniment of her.

These conversations didn't seem like they'd be stopping soon, causing Shinobu to frown. Sonia was simply here to enjoy the show as anyone else, wasn't she? To talk about her like that was unnecessary and invasive. Yet, the opening minutes of Brahms' "Tragic Overture" were interrupted by a sudden stamping of boot on wood as Ji-yeon rose to her feet. "To everyone talking over the performance," she started in a loud, commanding voice as the music abruptly stopped, "please take it outside, or shut up. I don't care if you like me, but I won't sit by and allow you to disrespect the hardworking members of this orchestra, or the other audience members, who care about the music." She said something to the conductor before taking her seat again, and the piece started over, with far less talking to interrupt it.

At the intermission, Shinobu stood up, having to pull her hand back from the instinctive gesture of offering to help Sonia up. "Well, that was something, wasn't it," she asked. Particularly the cello concerto, in her eyes. Ji-yeon was an excellent musician in any capacity, but when given a spotlight, her virtuosity wasn't matched by much. Shinobu hardly considered themselves any kind of expert, but they felt like she had a masterful command of technique, while still keeping an undeniable sense of style and personality in her playing that warded off any would-be accusations of sacrificing emotion in favor of sterile technical excellence.

"Miss Ji-yeon is really quite remarkable," she mused. "It's been a while since I've seen her perform, given how she'd stepped away from performance after her graduation - I'd nearly forgotten what it's like to watch her." Complicated factors of their relationship or not, Shinobu could never deny her talent, hard work, and unyielding dedication to pursuing things her own way. "Ah, but what did you think, Miss Nevermind? And, would you like to take the intermission to stretch your legs, or would you prefer that we just stay here until the symphony?"

Sonia shrugged: in the grand scheme of all of her social outings, Hasagawa had been rude but far from the worst she'd experienced. She'd told him she did not wish to accompany him to such gatherings ever again upon their parting, and it seemed to have stuck. So why did Shinobu look so angry? There was sympathy for friends of course, but she hadn't been wronged by him. "I do not like to say that I should have expected as much, I prefer to give everyone a chance," She replied, sighing. "But my dates so often turn out like this that it is difficult to remain optimistic. I am better off disengaging from it, until I must."

That was the problem at its core: she could never fully disengage by choice. There were two guarantees in life, or so her father had impressed upon her: death, and marrying a respectable man and birthing the next heir so Prince Arthur would be effectively shut out of any chance of taking the throne. For all the good he did for Novoselic aside, the most important one, her father told her in strict confidence, was ensuring his daughter would one day sit on the throne, and her children after her, to keep a selfish, close-minded relative as far away from the crown as he could.

"What I deserve and what will happen are not the same thing," Sonia reminded her. It had taken Shinobu holding, if not gripping, both of her hands to draw Sonia out of her head. She'd come to Japan to leave centuries of royal obligations behind her, just for a little while, and what she'd begun to find was that even thousands of kilometers and an island weren't enough to fully disengage. Everywhere she went, including Hope's Peak Academy, she was a princess. "And I wonder if you may think too much of me. As much as I would like to believe others would still find me appealing without my title and family, my past experiences leave me uncertain. I am not that special: I am just a person born into extraordinary circumstances who just wants to make the world a better place when I leave it and- Yaguchi-san?"

If Shinobu worried about running her mouth, it was nothing to the way Sonia now babbled on. Hands clasped in hers, Sonia had forgotten entirely that they stood in the middle of a mostly-deserted university hallway, with only her guards for company (and they tried their best to ignore the display of emotion that unraveled before them). Instead, she found herself confined, watched, if not scrutinized, by Shinobu. Despite how warm and tense it had become, the other girl refused to look away, and it would have been rude for her to do so when Shinobu had given her her full attention. Unwarranted, Sonia thought: it dawned on her that they were here to support one of Shinobu's friends, not have Shinobu be supporting her.

She needed to be stronger, she thought: complaining of bad dates didn't suit her, not if she was supposed to be a princess, the Princess. Regardless of the fact Shinobu cared or not, everyone else did. At least her own gestures of care came from a genuine place and not a desire for good press, as some members of the royal family exhibited.

"You are so very red," Sonia continued, eyebrows furrowed into a worried look. "Do you have a hand towel or handkerchief of your own? It is quite warm in here, perhaps the air system is not working." She shook her head, both at Shinobu's words and her own: a quiet, even hum from the air conditioning a few meters away proved Sonia wrong, and yet her cheeks had, by the feel of it and if she had to guess, flushed a deep shade of pink themselves.

"I do not blame myself, only my poor judgment for accepting the date at all," She continued. How was it getting so warm in the hallway with the air running? And why did she feel so short of breath, her chest tight? "But I suppose the identity of the person behind the cake will remain a mystery. They have their reasons, revealing themselves would likely be a complication. One they do not want: I can hardly blame them, after how the media was working to expose Gun-, that is, Tanaka-san's family history to the public."

It was a miracle they'd remained friends after it all happened, but it was a strength of both their characters, she supposed, that allowed it. Sonia breathed deeply once Shinobu had let go of her hands: maybe it was simply too warm for it. Spring had arrived, and the temperatures would only rise. "I am glad you enjoyed the chocolates, though. But I cannot imagine not being very taken with chocolate!" She laughed, the pink shade fading from her cheeks. The tension had dissipated in favor of amusement. "That seems rather unpatriotic to me, where I am from. I am quite glad you enjoyed Novosonian chocolate, and I would be pleased to share more in the future with you. But for now, yes, let us find our seats."

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Jurassic Park Daily - ‘Stegosaurus’ and ‘Control (V)’

Well now the chapter name looks like I want to paste something, ha.

It seems like it says something that the Jurassic Park staff couldn’t figure out why the stegosaur was sick for all this time, and then Ellie, an actual paleontologist, figures it out in about ten minutes.

It’s the “life finds a way” speech! Choss theory in general - Malcolm just saying - “this is complicated and unpredictable, so it won’t work” - feels too broad to qualify as scientific evidence to me, but I am so glad he brought up oxygen content, because that’s been bugging me since the earlier chapter that mentioned the air in the hatchery room was 33% oxygen, matching what they guessed to be the Jurassic atmosphere. Present-day oxygen content of air is 21%. These poor dinosaurs can’t breathe! But that’s not chaos theory, that’s a perfectly predictable problem.

I trust Grant to be able to identify a fragment of dinosaur eggshell and the general size of the animal it came from, but I do not believe he can identify a fragment that small as velociraptor specifically rather than a similar-sized animal (othnelia?). But it gets cleared up fast when they get the real numbers (Malcolm really is good at identifying the issues when he’s focusing on specifics rather than his theory) - statistically, if nothing else, it’s likely be a a raptor, because they’ve been breeding more than any other species.

This is the point where I really feel that Hammon’d determination to ignore problems has crossed the line from negligent into delusional. You have 29 raptors that you don’t know where they are. Muldoon knows how bad that is.

What I don’t get is how that could happen. The other species, sure. But all 8 original raptors are locked in a cage. The staff have video monitoring, and they can count to 8. Am I supposed to believe that the raptors are escaping from their cage every night and then all sneaking back in the next morning, like kids going to a party? (I want to say that’s way too intelligent for animals, but I think I did hear a story of an octopus doing that at an aquarium…though even so, that’s still one animal, not a group doing it in a coordinated way.) And even if they did, how could they raise young that way? The newly-hatched chicks would need round-the-clock care, which the raptors can’t give if they’re in a cage during the day.

Anyway, in the short/immediate term, 29 raptors loose in the park should be considered a crisis situation that warrants getting the guests back to the lodge immediately.

[cornbread-but-minecraft]

Cornbread's Music Fixer Devlog v1.3.0 - Volume Tweak Update 2 March 19th, 2024

this pack is definitely not big enough to warrant a devlog, but i just really wanted to go over the changes i made the past two days.

first things first, i lowered the volume of C418's overworld music to be consistent across all biomes.

for those unaware, prior to 1.16, bedrock edition didn't play any of its music at full volume, instead playing it at 10 to 30% volume, depending on the track, so that all the music is at around the perfect amount of audibility. unfortunately, most of the music since 1.16 hasn't had this treatment, instead ranging from 40% to 100% volume like on java edition, without any care for how it meshes with the existing music.

obviously, a full 900% jump in volume is about the most jarring thing you could ever listen to, and so i needed to fix it.

this is one of those "no duh. why didn't you do this in the first place" type things, but i initially didn't do this because i didn't know how i wanted to approach the volumes of the newer music, but i do now!

obviously, i'm not early-bedrock-era mojang, so i can't know for certain how they'd do this, but basically, for post-1.18 overworld music, i've just lowered the volume to about 20% of what it is in java edition, rounded to the nearest 10.

i chose to do this because, not only is 20% right in the middle of bedrock's previous range, but it's also the most common volume in it, so i figured it should take the place of java edition's most common volume, 100%. i rounded it to the nearest 10% since pre-1.18 overworld music is all at a multiple of 10, which effectively means all the post-1.18 overworld music, in this pack, is at either 10% or 20% volume.

from my brief testing, this has absolutely been doing wonders on making the music not suck to listen to.

also, apparently 'one more day' doesn't play on frozen peaks on java edition like it does on bedrock. i haven't gotten around to fixing that yet, but i will.

you've probably noticed i kept specifying 'overworld' music. nether and menu music, i've handled a bit differently.

since the official download for the bedrock vanilla resources only goes back to some minor 1.19 version, i didn't think i'd ever be able to find the volumes for the pre-1.16 nether music, but it turns out that music.game.nether and music.game.soulsand_valley, two unused sound events, aren't actually played at full volume like the others, but rather at 15%.

before finding this, i would have just left nether music at its current volumes. it's an entire other dimension, so the jump in volume isn't super noticeable unless you're looking for it, especially since all the nether music actually starts up rather seamlessly from the ambience. but i did find these vestigial volumes, so i decided to try to make nether music quieter anyway.

this presented an issue, however. the nether music being so loud contributes a lot to the dimension's intensely oppressive atmosphere, and 15% is really fucking quiet comparatively. basically, what i'm saying is i've doubled the volume of C418's nether music to 30%, which is still quite a bit quieter than in vanilla, but hopefully not so much so that it's an issue.

the 1.16 nether music is at 15% though, since it's at 50% on java edition, and 50% of 30% is 15%.

the 1.20 music is also now 15% volume on the menu, since it's at 40% on java edition, and menu music is at 30% on bedrock edition, and 40% of 30% is... well it's 12% but i thought 15% sounded nicer. actually, it's still a bit quiet compared to the menu music tbh. might tweak that still.

anyway, all the pack's changes now also apply to sound events that are otherwise unused with it enabled, since they can be played with commands.

and i might be re-adding 'one more day' to deserts and badlands. not entirely sure. in this pack, that track currently only plays in lush caves and some snow biomes, which are arguably both the opposite of a desert, but in vanilla, it plays just about everywhere. and nothing about it really screams "SNOW" except for my own personal associations with it. idk. i'll think about it.

[rutilation]

Caught up!  My meandering thoughts are as follows:

oof

ouchie

First off, if your work ascribes visual and/or symbolic significance to apples, penguins, and aquariums, and what’s more, the emotional core of your story is a found family of three would-be siblings, only one of whom survives to the end... I’m going to suspect that you maybe watched Penguindrum back in the day. 

If so, congrats on the good taste, Fujimoto.

Aki's my favorite character in terms of whose story I found most compelling--what with his five-car pileup of cruel dramatic irony.

I reiterate: ouch.

Don’t think for a second that I didn’t notice that Makima added insult to injury by casting Aki in the role of Denji’s abusive dad who he was forced to kill. Don’t open that door, indeed.

In terms of who I personally find the most charming, though, Asa’s my favorite.

In both halves of the story, there's a preoccupation with these little thought experiments that have no definite answers.  The city mouse and the country mouse, whether or not ignorance is bliss, and, in part two, the trolley problem. While I've seen people come away from the story with the impression that the narrative is positing a single answer--that ignorance is bliss, and that the country mouse is better off, it seems to me that these are being presented as, ultimately, false dichotomies, that there's no trick that will spare you from suffering, and that keeping your head down is not enough to avoid tempting fate. Hug your loved ones while you still can! So it seems to say.

So it goes in part two as well. There's a reoccurring theme of Asa making an error in judgement (or just tripping,) and precipitating some disaster or another. She blames herself, but it's later revealed that she was just one domino in a larger sequence of events, and that she doesn't bear enough responsibility to warrant beating herself up over how things turned out.

The flavors of the thought experiments are slightly different between parts. Whereas in part one the characters are asking: how do I personally avoid suffering in my own life, the question in part two is: how do I do right by other people?

I suppose it’s a fitting shift in priorities now that we’ve climbed past the first two rungs of Maslow’s pyramid.

I feel that the adversarial, zero-sum approach to fandom which ship-war culture engenders has blinded many fans to certain self-evident truths. Good thing I'm here to set the record straight:

Number One: the fact that both Aki and Angel have loved and lost before meeting each other enhances the heavy atmosphere of yearning going on between them. Why ignore one side of their doomed love lives or the other, when the hurt feels best in tandem?

Number Two: if Himeno were still alive, she absolutely would have suggested a threesome.  Look me in the eyes, and tell me I’m wrong.

At first, I didn’t understand why people had such a stick in their craw about the anime’s style being ‘too live action.’  While Fujimoto’s line work has a messy, impressionistic feel to it, the way he blocks and paces his scenes is very much in line with the New Hollywood vibe that the anime is also aiming for.

Then I found out this was mostly just a smokescreen for a bunch of otakus clutching at their pearls because the director said he didn’t like moe, or something.  Figures.

Mappa’s out here running a sweatshop, but the real problem is that they killed the heart and soul of the work by making Power’s hair strawberry blonde instead of pink.  ‘Mkay.  You guys do you. As for me, I'm going to go watch the ep. 12 credit sequence again and cry.

In the end, both Power and Aki helped Denji kill Makima. Power in a flashy, bloody, chainsaw-go-brrrrrr way, and Aki in an appropriately down-to-earth way: he's the only one who would have taught Denji how to cook.

I think it would be really funny if the blood devil came back as a boy this time around. If he got both a younger sister and a younger brother, both of whom are absolute little menaces, then Denji's transformation into Aki would be complete.

If I had a nickle for every time I was devastated by a ‘WINNER’ popsicle stick, I’d have two nickles.  Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

I like the symbolism of giving Nayuta a messy braid full of loose strands.

speaking of which: Nayuta, both your succulent and your brother are going to suffer if you keep over-watering them.

People keep saying Yoru's true form looks like an owl. I don't really see it. It's too stylized to call it definitively one way or the other, but I'm inclined to believe her design is evoking a raven/crow. Owls are associated with war only by way of Athena, and Yoru is... more Ares-ish. Scavenging corvids, on the other hand, are a common sight on battlefields.

The Nintendo Direct announcement coming out as I was catching up made me realize something: Pochita has spent the entire narrative playing Ghost Trick. He’s retroactively erasing tragedies from existence, all while moving heaven and earth to keep his favorite human alive. What a good boy.

That's about all I can think of for the moment. My queue is now full of chainsaws. Look forward to it I guess.

have started watching/reading chainsaw man

[30secondstoanime]

The Birthday Present

pairing: Pro!Hero Midoriya x Fem!Reader

genre/warnings: Reader Insert, Birthday Sex

Kinky Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Gets Out of His Comfort Zone, That's Not How You're Supposed to Use Your Quirk, Porn With Plot, praise kink?, very smutty, Rough Sex, role-playing, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Choking, Doggy Style, Fluff and Smut, after sex cuddles

word count: 7,467

→ summary: Your birthday is around the corner. What better gift than your boyfriend, the #1 Hero Deku, finally giving you what you want the way you want it: rough and kinky. But first plot!

a/n: Sorry about the crap summary and title, I'm working on that lol. So this is my first fic for the bnha fandom and first attempt at writing very explicit sex scenes and venturing into kinks/BDSM, so please be kind, but also I’d love feedback! This was supposed to be a cute four-page oneshot but turned into a sixteen-page, 7k+ word behemoth, hence the self-indulgent tag ‘cause I couldn't stop writing. I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor ;)

In a few days, you’ll be turning twenty-four. Your birthday has always been an odd day you think for someone with your quirk because age really was just a number. That’s not to say you weren’t planning to do something fun, at least if you could figure out what you’d like to do. Okay, so that was a lie. You knew exactly what or should you say who you wanted to do and that it involved getting your back blown out. As soon as the thought pops into your head, your epiglottis forgets its job, and you choke on the sip of UCC coffee, you had tried to swallow. You cough to clear your airway, gasping when air finally expands your lungs. You tap your pen nervously against your desk, eyes scanning the other pro heroes’ faces in your agency. It seems your sudden outburst hadn’t disrupted the comfortable silence of the natural lull of the workday. A beep from your hero pager pulls your attention away from people watching in the office. Coordinates flash in five consecutive seconds before the transmission ends. You stand grabbing your toolbelt and strapping it across your hips; you make your way to the front. As you near the exit, you hear your hero name being called. You turn and see Yaomomo briskly walking towards you.

“Hey Creati, you got the page too?”

“I did, sounds like they’ve made a bit of a mess of things.” You scoff good-naturedly.

“When do they ever not. Were they really like this during your time at U.A.?” She giggles and nods her head. You wonder if you’ll ever stop cleaning up after the nation’s top three heroes.

“Better get going then, we both know they share a singular brain cell, so there’s no telling how much time we have to fix things.”

“Atomic!” You laugh at Yaomomo’s weak attempt to scold you — the amusement in her black eyes softens the tone.

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Oh my.”

You blow out a low whistle. Ice and scorch marks are scattered across the street and surrounding buildings. Explosive ash is still gently falling from the sky, and black tendrils are haphazardly keeping electric poles, exposed building foundation, and an abundance of wrecked vehicles from collapsing.

“Creati, check the building foundations. Create new beams and weld them together if necessary. I’ll get started on the pole, we can’t have a live electric wire falling.” She nods, and you split off. The work is slow and arduous, but the orderly nature of reorganizing and coaxing atomic particles back into place helps the time pass quickly. You’ve just finished rearranging the anatomical structure of a car hanging from a, thankfully, undamaged light pole, so that it falls to the ground weightlessly. You touch the damaged side, pull it back together, and return the car to its original density. You give the car a quick tap with the toe of your foot to test the structural integrity, satisfied you step back taking in your handiwork. What had a few hours ago looked like a DEFCON 3 military mission gone awry is now back to looking like an ordinary Japanese street. Well, as normal as you and Yaomomo could reconstruct — you weren’t miracle workers, and Ground Zero’s explosive residue was hard to get rid of. Instead, the way it collected and hung in the atmosphere made it difficult for your quirk to erase without condensing the air. That was out of the question unless you wanted to suffocate Yaomomo. Which you didn’t, so the employees of these buildings would be dealing with the smell for at least a week. Sighing, you tuck your hands in your pockets and make your way over to Creati. Her welding mask obscures her face, but you know it’s in deep concentration. After she cuts the torch and pushes the protective gear up, she gives you a smile.

“All done?”

“Just about.”

“I’ll page H.Q. Might even lodge a formal complaint against those three bird brains while I’m at it.”

“(Y/N), you can’t be serious.” She shoots you an incredulous look.

“They make this huge ass mess and don’t even bother to wait for us to arrive before dipping. Total dick move.”

“Ah-huh.” You don’t like the teasing note in her voice.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You cross your arms defensively.

“Spit it out, Yaoyorozu.”

“You sure your foul attitude has nothing to do with not seeing Deku?” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll see him at home like I do every day. So no, I’m not upset about not seeing him.”

“If you say so.” She gives you a look, and you let out an exasperated puff of air.

“You cannot still be stuck on that!”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” She bats her eyes at you innocently while creating a duffle bag to transport the welding equipment.

“That God awful theory you and Ashido have about me having a hero kink for Izuku." You begin to walk side by side back to the agency. You hand her an energy bar from your utility belt.

“I mean, you do get very flushed whenever you see him on patrol. Like, if it were a hentai video, you’d definitely be drooling with your tongue lolling out of your mouth.”

“Ugh!” You shove her with your shoulder. “That is so gross.” Both of you laugh, and after a small lapse into silence, you give.

“Okay fine. I might get instahorny whenever I see Izuku in costume, but I can’t help it. He just looks so good, and it’s heightened because I know what he looks like out of costume, and then all I want to do is jump his bones, but of course, I don’t because propriety. So I’m left with all this pent up sexual frustration!”

“So, are you going to ever mention this to him? Your birthday is in a few days and if I may be so bold —”

“It’s never stopped you.” You mumble under your breath with a smile.

“I’d suggest you request it be your birthday present.”

“Pfft. Yaomomo, we’ve been together almost a year and a half, and while our sex life is fucking phenomenal, I’m talking multiple orgasms almost every time, amazing — it’s been very strictly vanilla. Not from any lack of trying on my end, but every time I’ve tried to spice things up, he gets as close as humanly possible to spontaneous combustion. Don’t even get me started on the one time I tried to get him to choke me while I —”

“(Y/N)! Stop, goodness, I do not need the play by play of your and Izuku’s sex life. I just,” she massages her temples, “wanted to make a suggestion. While I’m relieved you feel so secure in our friendship to be so open, please remember I went to high school with him. He’s like a little brother.”

“Oh, Yaomomo, there’s nothing little about him.” Her face pales, and you can’t stifle your cackle. It quickly becomes a full-blown laugh that rattles through your body.

“I went a little too far with that last comment, gomen. On a serious note, though, how would I even go about asking him? ‘Hey babe, it’s my birthday so I want you to fuck me until my knees are jello while in your hero costume because it gets me all hot and bothered oh and since I’m risking it all I’d love it if you tied me up and maybe choked me too.’”

You glance over your shoulder, a look of profound regret is plastered over Yaomomo’s face. You give her an impish grin.

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue does it.”

“Oh (Y/N).” Your friend shakes her head. When you finally turn the corner onto the street, your hero agency is housed, you catch sight of a mop of green hair. You pick up your pace, a mischievous grin on your face. Using your quirk, you redistribute your mass, so your footfall’s noise against the pavement is silenced. Izuku is talking with someone, his back turned to you. The goods were on display. When he’s in reach, you stretch out your arms, hands cupping his butt you feel him stiffen as you whisper against his ear.

“You’re under arrest for transporting illegal buns of steel.” You watch the blush creep up from his neck before capturing his entire face. He turns his neck, trying to get a good look at you.

“Wh-what!” You begrudgingly let go of his ass, and he turns his body to face you, his freckles standing out against the pink hue of his flustered expression.

“Sorry hun, I don’t make the rules.” You shrug your shoulders.

“I- I, (Y/N) that’s not even a legal penal code! A-and there’s no way I could transport enough steel on my person to warrant a body search.”

“Ooh Deku,” you loosen up the state of your atoms, allowing them to vibrate in mock arousal, “I love it when you talk legal code at me. Repeat it: penal.”

He flounders for a reply, mouth agape at a total loss for words. You giggle at his expression, a total deer in headlights. The person he’d been talking to finally makes themselves known.

“Atomic, you’re still teasing the living soul out of Deku per usual. Glad to know things haven’t changed ‘round here.” His shark tooth smile pulls an equally toothy smile from you.

“Eijiro! When did you get back? I’ve missed you.” You rush to the redhead, and he reciprocates your hug, holding you tight.

“Man, I’ve missed you too (Y/N). The States were cool, but there’s no manlier place than home sweet home.” You pull back and take him in. He looks the exact same if not a little bit more tanned.

“Damn straight.” Yaoyorozu arrives at the end of your reunion. Her excitement at seeing her old friend is nearly palatable. They catch up enthusiastically, and you saddle up next to your boyfriend, who’s finally gotten his blush under control.

“Hey, babe.” You give his cheek a chaste kiss, and he smiles.

“Hey, love,” Izuku gives your hand a squeeze, “How was your day?”

“It was pretty run of the mill except for the utter shitstorm Yaomomo and I had to clean up in Minato City.” You glance down and watch his feet shuffle from side to side.

“Huh, sounds pretty epic.”

“Not the first, second, or even the third word I’d use, but we’re all entitled to our opinions. And don’t you try acting coy with me, Izuku! That blonde ticking time grenade, the confused weather pattern, and your quirk were all over that place.” Izuku gulps.

“I expended a lot of energy cleaning up after you and your friends baka. As compensation, you’ve gotta cook me curry rice. Deal?”

He kisses your cheek in assent.

“Great!” You beam. “I’m gonna go change, be back in fifteen.” You disappear through the agency’s massive double doors. Yaomomo watches until you’re out of view before she walks over to Midoriya.

“So about (Y/N) ’s birthday . . .”

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

When you come out, you find a peculiar scene waiting for you. Yaoyorozu has crafted a fan for, you presume, Izuku, who is so red you could almost see the light refraction from his face’s heat and sweating by what looks like the gallon. Eijiro is by his side, trying to calm him down. You heighten the sensitivity of your cochlea to pick up the tail end of their conversation.

“It’ll be super manly, dude!”

“Bu-but I’ve never . . .” Your boyfriend seems tongue-tied.

“You’ve definitely got it in you,” Eijiro slaps Izuku on the back, “Plus Ultra!”

Izuku echoes Eijiro, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it.

You return to your average level of hearing and walk up to the trio.

“Everything good?” They all look at you with expressions that clearly scream, ‘No, everything is not good dumbass.’

“Riiight, foolish question. Izuku, babe, do you need me to help you?” He squeaks, and that stops you dead in your tracks. The last time he had squeaked in your presence was when he’d asked you out on your first date, and you think it was mostly because you had bluntly told him you had every intention of having sex with him if not after your first then for sure after your second date. He didn’t even squawk when you made good on your declaration, and you had been positive he was going to. Your assurance cost you a ¥2,000 bet with Ochako and Shoto. Whatever had transpired while you were changing had him spooked.

You crouch down and gently take his face between your hands. His cheeks are unnaturally warm. Closing your eyes, you reach out with your quirk to scan his vitals. What the actual fuck? Izuku’s pregenual anterior cingulate cortex is enormous. Your boyfriend is next level embarrassed. His heart rate is in the 200bpm range, which should have been impossible because it only ever got that high when he was exercising, and you were quite familiar with getting it there.

You’re honestly shocked his heart hasn’t started to palpitate with the sky-high levels of cortisol in his blood and high heart rate. Taking a deep breath, you begin to gently persuade the firing neurons near his PACC to chill, its size slowly decreases. You travel down to his hypothalamus and rearrange some of its chemical balance, so it stops producing corticotropin-releasing hormone, creating a negative feedback loop that would lead to his body to drop its cortisol production. You vasoconstrict a handful of the blood vessels in his face for good measure, hoping to cool it down. Your eyes flutter open, and the ruddiness is gone, and his cheeks feel cool against your palms. He gives you a weak smile and gosh that smile, these freckles, those lively emerald eyes. You lean your forehead against his, taking a moment to collect yourself. You kiss the tip of his nose before pulling yourself up, stretching once you’re fully upright.

“Well damn, I’m starving now. I know I said you had to cook for me, but I don’t think I’ll last. What do you say, Number 1. Hero, care to take me out to eat?”

Izuku gets to his feet, with a bit of help from Eijiro, who keeps a hand wrapped around his waist to keep him from stumbling.

“Yeah, of course, love. Just tell me where you want to eat.”

You grin in delight. Before making a decision, you turn to your two other companions. You’re not sure when Yaomomo had time to change, but she’s no longer in her hero costume.

“Would y’all like to join us? Izuku’s treat.” Your cinnamon roll’s protest is drowned out by their loud acceptance.

“I mean, if my bro is gonna treat us, then how could I say no?”

“How gracious Izuku, I’d love to share a meal with everyone.”

“Let’s get going then!” You grab Izuku’s hand and turn around, heading in the direction of the train stop. The walk will give you time to decide where you want to eat.

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Hold on one sec, almost got it.” You pace next to Izuku; the pressure on your bladder almost debilitating. At the click of your front door unlocking and seeing Izuku push it open, you rush through over the threshold. You kick the heels off your feet, your slippers abandoned at the entryway as you make a break for the bathroom. You can’t get your underwear off quick enough. The relief is almost pleasurable. You’d forgotten what it felt like to pee while exceedingly inebriated. Typically when you go out drinking, you elevate your liver’s production of alcohol dehydrogenase so you can avoid getting drunk, but tonight was your birthday celebration, and you wanted to get shitfaced, so you dialed it back. Now that you’re home and not interested in a hangover, you make the necessary adjustments to your liver. The night out had been a pleasant surprise. More people had shown up than you’d been led to believe would, most importantly, your younger siblings had stopped by — you hadn’t seen them since moving to Musutafu to pursue your hero career. You finish reminiscing over the night’s events. Quickly wiping, you flush the toilet and wash your hands. When you open the door, you find your slippers are there waiting. He was a total sweetheart.

You slide your sore feet in and sigh at the fluffiness. You make your way to your bedroom, surprised to find it empty. Where had Izuku gone? You take off your earrings, dropping them into your jewelry box. Making your way to the main bathroom connected to your room, you’ve just finished wiping away your makeup when you hear the door open. You walk to the bathroom door to peek and gasp as soon as you spot the figure closing the door behind them. Now you’d be the first to admit you are a horny bitch, but never have you felt your pussy throb with such a deep longing the way it was throbbing now. You stand still dumbfounded at seeing Izuku in his hero costume in your bedroom.

“Babe?” You try to suppress the quiver in your voice.

“Ma’am,” He tilts his head in greeting, “I got reports of a villain in the vicinity. I’m Deku, and I’m here to take care of you.”

Why the fuck did he just introduce himself? And a villain? You reach out with your quirk but don’t feel an unknown presence nearby. You start to walk towards him but stop at the foot of your bed. He meets you there, and you don’t know what to expect, but it definitely was not him pushing you onto your back. You fall with a muffled thud against the comforter. You stare up at him at a complete loss. You then become hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. The sparkling strappy mini dress leaves little to the imagination, and you’re positive that from his angle, Izuku can see your panties and the growing evidence of your arousal.

“Apologies, ma’am, but I’ll be using my quirk to restrain you as a precautionary measure.” Your mouth goes dry as you watch Blackwhip manifest wrapping around your wrists, pulling your arms above your head, and adhering to your shared bed’s headboard. You have to scoot yourself back a few inches to ease the tension in your shoulders. Holy shit. He just tied you up. This whole time he’s been standing at the end of the bed taking you in. You know your face is flushed, and you can feel your nipples brushing against the material of your dress now that you’re so turned on. Izuku’s hands come into view, and that somehow gets your mouth to work again.

“What are you going to do?” You arch an eyebrow and part your lips to let your tongue dart out and wet them. Fuck Yaomomo wasn’t off the mark with her comment.

“I’ll need to do a full-body search to ensure you’re not concealing anything illegal on your person.” You don’t have time to respond before his gloved hands caress down your pinned arms, across where your neck and shoulders meet. Leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You groan as the sensation travels down, pooling between your legs. He moves down your sides, slowly over your exposed thighs sticking strictly to the outside of your legs until he reaches mid-calf. You feel his hands move, and suddenly their inching closer to your aching cunt. Using his right hand Izuku runs a finger teasingly up between your clothed slit and your hips give an involuntary buck. He removes his finger and tuts at you, that pisses you off.

“What the fuck Izu —” You stop yourself when you see another tendril of black materialize near your face.

“Don’t make me gag you. My name is Deku, and you will address me as Deku-sama.” There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. You’re torn between being really fucking aroused and very vexed at this role reversal. You’d always been on top, literally and figuratively, and now here he was, your cinnamon roll, threatening to gag you and not even blushing about it. He takes your silence as understanding and begins to hike up the bottom of your dress. With your midriff exposed, he finally settles between your legs, his toned abdomen flush against you. He places an open-mouthed kiss just above your belly button, his tongue flicks out to taste your skin. Izuku’s lips continue to roam over every inch of your exposed abdomen, sucking and biting. He’s going to leave love marks all over your stomach, you’re sure. His hands travel up under your dress, coming to rest just below your breasts. You feel the flat of his tongue working its way towards his hands. When you can feel his breath tickling you already hard nipples, he pulls his face away. You squirm and pull against your restraint — you feel them tighten.

“What is it you want, villain?” Fuuuck. The word falls from his lips wrapped in sinful promise sending another steady pulse of need through your body. Your nervous system was on fire.

“I want you to touch me.” You try to taper down the pleading in your voice, but the mildly amused expression on Izuku’s face says you failed.

“Like this?” His hand runs down your neck, over your dress and through the valley of your cleavage, past your naval stopping at the band of your panties. It dawns on you that he was teasing you.

“Or like this?” You’re not sure when his gloves came off or how he managed it, but one second you’re covered by the flimsy dress material next, the straps keeping it up are torn, and the dress pulled down. You hiss at the shock of the sudden temperature change, but quickly warm up as calloused fingers massage your breasts. A greedy moan is the only answer you can manage as you arch your back into his touch. He leans closer, breath warm against your neck, and moves a hand down to grip your ass,

“Let’s see if these are illegal buns of steel.” Even with how incredibly husky his voice is, you almost laugh at his remark’s absolute absurdity. Still, having maybe foreseen your reaction Izuku wraps one of your nipples between his lips before you can utter a sound.

“Deku-sama.” You inhale sharply coming completely unwound as his tongue flicks and swirls. His mouth sucks and pulls playfully. When his teeth graze your nipple, you contemplate making your hands boneless to escape the restraints just so you could tangle your hands in his hair; even with the undercut, you knew you could make him moan. The idea is quickly dashed as Izuku releases your now overly sensitive bud with a resounding pop that sends the ache in your pussy into a frenzy. Good god , he hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet. He treats your other nipple with much the same attention. However, this time, he lets his teeth give it a gentle nibble, and the shock of the feeling causes your skin to prickle. You feel him grin at your reaction before giving your nipple a farewell lick. He captures your lips, shoving his hips down against your own, as his hands’ ghost over your neck. You hook a leg around his hip, pulling him closer, trying to create as much friction as possible as you roll your hips upward. He lets out a breathy chuckle, as his mouth moves to replace his hands. He kisses up your neck, his breath tickles your ear, and you stutter out a needy whimper.

“Someone’s eager.” You groan in frustration as he pulls back. His hands grab hold of what’s left of your dress, and you help him get you out of it. He runs a finger up your stomach, stopping just below your sternum. The tip of his index finger traces a lazy circle before leaving a trail of goosebumps back down to your hip. The pressure of his finger is replaced by his mouth, biting the flesh of your hip crease hungrily. He kisses his away across to your opposite hip, traces of his kisses wet against your skin. You feel his fingers toying with the lacy hem of your panties before he hooks them in the elastic, pulling them down. You lift your hips as they pass over the curve of your ass, and you wriggle in anticipation. Izuku braces his left forearm against your right thigh, pushing your legs wider. His index finger explores your wet folds, dipping briefly into your slit, before brushing against your swollen clitoris.

“Deku-sama, please .” You don’t care how desperate you sound, the ache in your pussy is becoming unbearable. The slow burn was killing you.

“Since you said, please.” He slips a thick finger inside of you, curling it just so it massages the soft and spongy spot that makes your toes curl and lewd obscenities fall from your parted lips.

“Aah, fuck. Fuck, yes, there, right there. More. Izuku give me more.” A second finger is roughly inserted. You cry out as a jolt of ecstasy consumes every inch of you. He begins to scissor his fingers back and forth, “It’s De-ku sa-ma,” each thrust emphasizing the syllables of his declaration. You rock your hips up, trying to get his fingers deeper because you are close. You can feel the dam getting ready to burst. When his thumb circles your clit, you feel yourself clench around his fingers. He inhales sharply. You bite back a moan as stars begin to dance across your vision. The rhythm of his fingers picks up, and the pressure on your clit begins to be too much.

“You’re about to cum.” It’s not a question, but you manage to pant a yes, and it becomes your undoing. Tongue replaces fingers before you can bemoan feeling empty, hands wrap under your thighs, keeping you exposed when they instinctively try to shut. His fingers dig into soft flesh, and the pain leaves you dizzy for more. He unhooks his left arm from your thigh, again using his forearm to keep your leg down. Two fingers spread you open, and his breath is warm, and you screw your eyes shut because fucking hell, you feel ready to erupt. You feel the warmth of his tongue as it slips inside you and starts to lick around. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps up your wetness. When he takes your clitoris in his mouth, you feel yourself at the edge of a precipice.

“Y-your fin-fingers. Deku-sama.” You frantically tug against your binds as you arch your hips rutting into his face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You feel yourself drowning in pleasure when his fingers join back in the fray. You’re full, and his tongue is everywhere. Inside you along with his fingers, pressing in all the right places. There’s no room to be embarrassed by your body’s wet sounds as you thrust against his fingers or the sounds he’s eliciting from you — loud, throaty, and gluttonous. He laps up the juices wherever they end up, on your thighs, in your folds, the space between your pussy and ass. At your clit he teases with nibbles, quick flicks of his tongue, and long flat strokes. He was treating you like you were his favorite meal. Coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths. You lose track of time. The air crackles with electricity, Izuku, the electromagnet to your copper coils. It sparks against your skin. Were you doing that? You couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter because something was building. You feel it in your core, your quirk causing your atoms to buzz in excitement. He lets you hook your legs around his back, locking your ankles. You make a strangled noise when a particularly aggressive thrust combined with the head-splitting euphoria of Izuku’s tongue on your clit brings your Earth stuttering on its axis.

“Oh fuck, oh kami. Shit, Deku-sama!”

You flicker in and out. One second howling Izuku’s name like a prayer to the Gods, hips rolling up to meet his mouth. The next, you find yourself weightless in a void no longer in a corporeal form. What the fuck? It lasts no longer than a second before you return to your body and the sound of him cooing against your aching cunt.

“That’s it, cum villain. Cum for me.” And cum, you do. Waves of fiery ecstasy set your body aflame. You clench your fists and use your legs to pull Izuku’s face further flush against you. When you think you can catch your breath, Izuku surprises you by coaxing you into another smaller orgasm. You don’t know how he did it, but you really can’t complain, you’re feeling blissful as fuck. The bed creaks as he shifts back onto his knees, unwrapping your legs from around him. Blachwip is deactivated, and your arms fall uselessly to your sides. You feel your legs quiver from exertion, and you watch your chest rise in fall sporadically as your breathing levels off. You prop yourself up on your elbow to give Izuku a once over. He’s got a bit of sweat on his forehead, you can see the outline of his erection against the front of his hero costume, and your cum glistens on his nose, mouth, and chin. Not sure how you manage it, with your body feeling so close to putty, but you scoot back, pulling yourself up into a seated position, and rock forward onto your knees so you’re facing him.

You move closer, so your knees brush against his. Now that you’re close enough, you can see how blown his pupils are. They almost wholly eclipse the dark shamrock of his irises. He had it bad for you. You could fix that. You grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting it down to your lips so you can lick it clean. When your tongue traces the outline of his mouth, a low moan rumbles in the back of his throat. You get his mouth open with a hard nip to his bottom lip. Tasting yourself in his mouth and on his tongue makes you squeeze your thighs together briefly before you let your free hand wander between your legs to stroke your clit and moistening labia. You give the tip of his nose a cutesy peck that almost brings a blush to his freckled face, but he remains in character, so you palm his cock with your damp hand grinning devilishly when he stutters an exhale.

“I want you, hero.”

Izuku’s chuckle is rich, and you can feel it reverberate against where your chests connect. You start to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, the short buzz of his undercut tickles your fingertips. Sliding your hand up, you finally get to tangle your fist in his hair, your grip tightens, and you pull his head back, exposing his neck. Your tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to just below his earlobe, all the while your hand strokes him into fully hardening.

“I’m not fucking around, Deku.” Your voice is thick and your tone dark, dangerous. He grabs the wrist of the hand that’s between his legs and growls,

“Neither am I villain slut.” You swallow hard at his inflection on the word slut. You’d never been called a slut during sex, and under any other circumstance, you’re sure it wouldn’t have sent a thrill of arousal pulsing from your fingertips down to your toes. He brings the hand up above your head, reaching behind his head to grab your second hand. You give him a feral grin, and his eyes flash before he sends you to your back. You’re about to stretch out your legs when he commands you to flip over onto your hands and knees. You do as you’re told, biting your lip as warmth begins to once again pool between your legs. You wish you could help him out of his costume, but it sounds like your help wasn’t needed. His dick grazes against the back of your thighs. A finger follows the curve of your spine. You arch into the touch and moan when it dips at your hip to tap your clitoris.

“You’re so wet already. You villains really know nothing about bedroom decorum.” He skims a hand over your stomach, stopping to grope and tease your hardened nipples.

“Oh? Keeping a woman in suspense isn’t exactly proper in my book De-ku sa-ma.” You look over your shoulder with a smirk.

“You’re,” he thrust into you without warning, quickly turning the grin on your face into an open-mouthed ‘oh,’ “not,” he pulls out, so the tip of his head just barely touches your cunt, “a woman.” He pushes into you, swearing under his breath as you push your hips back to meet his momentum. A ragged breath escapes your lips as you adjust to him, filling you. Shit, the boy is thick. His nails dig into your hip as he continues to fuck you at a painfully slow pace. Fingers tweak your nipples, and you feel your whole body flush with pleasure. You clutch the bedsheets in two tight fists when he starts to quicken his thrusts. His chest is slick with sweat against your back, his tongue tracing circles into your shoulder. An aggressive stroke sends the head of his cock rubbing up against your G-spot, and you feel your walls squeeze around him.

“Shit, shit, fuck Deku. That’s it. Just keep putting pressure on that spot.” You feel your elbows buckle, and you expect to crash into the bed. Instead, black tendrils wrap around your arms to keep you upright. This is definitely not how Lariat intended Blackwhip’s tendrils to be used. The thought makes you giggle. It seems that this was not a sound Izuku wanted to hear coming from you. He bites down on the spot of your shoulder he’d been suckling, making his displeasure known. You feel him adjust himself behind you, perhaps too quickly, because he slips out of you, and you protest immediately with a loud whine.

“I’ll give you something to whine about.” He thrust back into you, your knees go weak, and your pussy’s stimulation begins to pull the taught rope of your impending orgasm closer to snapping. One of his hands grabs the hair at the base of your neck, tugging with just enough force to tease a guttural mewl from you.

“That’s more like it.” You’re so overstimulated, with the rhythm of his dick coming in and out of you. The attention he’s paying to your clit, you scarcely have the headspace to be shocked by the personality change. Izuku doesn’t release his hold on your hair; instead, he deactivates Blackwhip and uses the grip to guide you, so your back is flush against his chest. You can smell the muskiness of his sweat with him so close. It mingles in the air with the scent of your arousal. Sex, the whole room smelled heavily of your fucking. He brushes a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. You open your mouth, taking it in, holding it gently between your teeth, your lips acting as a cushion. You suck on Izuku’s thumb, letting your tongue swirl over the tip treating it how you would if you were instead sucking on the head of his cock. You hollow out your cheek and release his thumb with a satisfying pop. Your reward is the sound of Izuku’s heated gasp. The sound tightens the coil in your groin. You feel his right hand lightly trailing up your side. You expect him to stop to cup your breast, but a tingle runs up your spine when he skips it entirely. His thumb rests a few inches under your right ear, the fleshy part of his palm rests against your trachea, the remaining four fingers occupy the same spot under the opposite ear. You can’t hide your excitement as he begins to apply light pressure to your neck. It’s amplified when he whispers in your ear,

“Whose slut are you, villain?”

“I’m yours. All yours.” He squeezes a little tighter, and you squirm, gripping his left hip for stability.

“Yours, Deku-sama. I’m all yours.” You choke over the words while he loosens his grip satisfied with your correction. The brief bout of intoxicating lightheadedness dissipates quickly, but he keeps his hand around your neck.

You feel him, hard and slick, throbbing inside you, and you know he’s close. You prepare to ride out the coming crescendo that you’ll set off with your silver tongue.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you, hero? I can feel your cock pulsing.” He squeezes your neck tighter than he has before reminding you who was in charge. You dig your nails into his hip and bite your lip. Was he turning into a masochist, or were you?

“I want you to cum in me. Make me your bona fide villain bitch — think you’re up for it, big boy?” You were being so bold, goading him. It does the trick. He releases his hold on your neck, you’re a little sad, but are swiftly distracted by a sudden burst of heat and green energy crackling, the telltale sign of Full Cowl being activated. What the hell was he up to? Your answer comes moments later when his hands push your bent legs further apart, hooking his arms under your thighs to lift them up. You feel weightless, free, and so very wanton. Then like being dosed with ice-cold water, you come back to your senses; you’ve always been terrified of being picked up during sex. Your arms flail, searching for anything to grab hold of. They settle awkwardly at Izuku’s neck. Your breathing is a little erratic.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you?” Oh, he was being a total ass.

“Absolutely not.” You bite back.

“Heh.”

Sensing your discomfort, he places you back down on your knees, his hand returning to your neck — where it belonged. Shit, it was you, you’re the masochist. You feel him throb inside you, the head of his penis gets a little bigger and his cock harder. His movements become more sporadic. You take his free hand and lead it to your clit, you’d be damned if he cums before you. His groans become music to your ears, loud and ravenous as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts. Soon that’s all you can feel, like tunnel vision nothing else matters, there are no other options, but his cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside you as his fingers dance around your clit. He flicks and pulls, rubs circles, and you savor every second of it. Everything cumulates into a blinding flash of white-hot light as if you’re staring directly at burning magnesium. You hear him crying out your name, and it mixes with your carnal pleas into a cacophonous soundtrack to your mutual climax. He finishes inside you, the thick viscous liquid of his orgasm, filling you with more warmth than you anticipated. As you ride out your orgasm, you don’t stop gyrating your hips until you feel Izuku become soft. You let out a shaky breath as you come to a stop to catch your breath. You’re thankful that he doesn’t seem eager to pull out quite yet while you bask in the quiet exhilaration of having orgasmed three times this night.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

You nod your head slightly, words out of reach with your euphoria’s hum still clouding your mind. Cum trickles down between your thighs, the sensation almost ticklish, but far more erotic. With nothing connecting you to Izuku, your body gives in to its exhaustion, falling forward unceremoniously. He wraps an arm around your waist, setting you gently down on your stomach. Rolling onto your back, you shimmy up onto a pillow to support your head. You glance up at Izuku and sigh in content. Hair stuck to his head, abs contracting as he slows his breathing (his heart rate close to 180bpm), and his left-hand traces the scars on his right arm absently. Even in such a worn-out state, he looked otherworldly. You lock eyes, and you pat his side of the bed next to you.

“Cuddle with me.” At hearing those three words, he sheds his façade, his eyes soften, his jaw loosens, and he eagerly obliges your request. He rests his head on your chest, your fingers playing with his hair as he gently brushes your side. You stay like this for a few minutes until he starts out of your arms like someone’s lit a fire under his ass. He sits up, you follow suit intrigued by what’s got him so worked up. You watch him reach across towards his nightstand. He pulls out a notebook and a pencil. You have to suppress your snort as he begins scribbling furiously. You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, catching bits and pieces of his muttering.

“. . . dominated . . . choking . . . loud . . . buns of steel. . .” You can’t stifle the laugh that escapes you. He glances up and gives you a sheepish grin, his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“You fucked me into another dimension, jot that down in your sex notebook.” A blush erupts across his face.

“I-I what? Seriously?”

“Mhmm, as seriously as my orgasm.” Embarrassment flickers momentarily in his eyes, quickly replaced by intense curiosity. You dare say you see a little triumphant gleam too.

“What happened, tell me everything, love.” You recount what he’d been doing with his tongue and fingers. The feeling leading up to it and what it looked like in this other dimension.

“Sounds like you’ve unlocked another facet of your quirk.”

“Looks like it, but it’s not really useful.” He gives you an inquiring look; you roll your eyes. He could be so dense sometimes.

“I can’t exactly have you eating me out in public every time I want to astral project now, can I?” His blush returns full force.

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“Possibly, but I’m beat. My legs feel like jello, and I’m starting to feel sore.” You massage your neck, glancing at your exposed breasts and the marks that speckle them. Izuku looks at you with worry.

“You can’t fix it with your quirk?”

“I can, but where’s the fun in that? One of my favorite parts of sex is feeling it the next day. I’m definitely going to tomorrow and maybe the day after thanks to you.” You give him a wink and admire as he fumbles with his words.

“Oh! Well, I mean. Yeah. No problem. I think?” He was definitely back to being your cinnamon roll. You giggle quietly.

“Before I go clean up, I’ve gotta know. How did you do that.” You motion with your hand, hoping he picks up what you’re putting down. He does.

“Simple, lots of research.” You squint at him, touching the pulse at his neck. It was slightly elevated.

“Ah-huh, and what else?”

“No-nothing!” The pulse quickens a little more.

“Did you role play with someone?” The idea sounds absolutely preposterous, but when he pushes your hand away from his neck and gets up off the bed, you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“You’re using your quirk, that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war. So, who was it with? Shoto? Eiji? Or was it Katsuki ?” The light hue of pink that creeps up his neck is all the confirmation you need.

“Ah,” you bob your head sagely, “it makes sense, babe, he gives off a total masochist vibe. I’d have practiced with him too. What was it like? Would he be open to a threesome? Or would it be a foursome since he’s got that not, so secret thing going with Eiji? Could I even handle the three of you?” You wonder out loud.

“(Y/N)!” Izuku rushes into the bathroom, adamantly trying to end this conversation. You weren’t letting this go, oh no siree, so you get out of bed and walk to the bathroom where Izuku’s turned on the shower and is standing under its current.

“Nice try. You’re giving me the details.” He sighs defeatedly.

“Can it wait until we’re in the bath.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting.

“I guess.” Izuku grabs you, pulling you into the shower with him. You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. He gives the top of your head a kiss.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

Happy fucking birthday to me. You smile to yourself.

[dweetwise]

have a semi-rushed riconti one shot because i couldn’t not write them for valentine’s day 💕

ship: ace x felix warnings: none word count: 4180

The problem with secret admirers

Holidays usually weren't something the survivors had the luxury of celebrating.

The occasional seasonal decorations in trials along with some ridiculous, thematical outfits seemed more like a sign of their Eldritch captor's morbid sense of humor than evidence of the passing of time. But sadly, lacking calendars and all, it was the most accurate estimate they had.

So when the Entity plopped down some fireworks and talismans on the generators to proclaim the Chinese new year, it barely affected any of them.

Yui and Feng seemed more on edge than usual, the decorations crude imitations of the festivities they were used to back home. Adam had told the group about the year of the ox and the Chinese zodiac, the teacher donning a new hoodie he’d received for the occasion.

For Ace, the holiday meant nothing more than looting as many firecrackers as he could manage, along with making questionable “horny” jokes to the few killers that had received ox-themed outfits.

But in the midst of the survivors' celebration or lack thereof, they'd completely forgotten about another well-known February celebration.

When Ace returns from a successful trial and goes to stash yet another firecracker into his generous collection of items, he immediately notices something that doesn't belong.

Inside the trunk, on top of the organized chaos that is his pile of items and add-ons, lies a note.

Curiously unfolding the piece of paper, Ace makes out somewhat messy handwriting on a worn piece of paper.

'Your smile lights up the room'.

“Oh, ha ha, very funny,” Ace says, turning to face the small group of survivors by the campfire.

“Huh? What's up?” Steve perks up, others following suit and turning to watch the spectacle.

“Someone left me a little prank note,” Ace says, rolling his eyes and flicking the slip of paper over his shoulder.

“What?” Claudette says with a frown, immediately reaching for the discarded note.

“What does it say?” Cheryl asks curiously, coming up beside the botanist.

“'Your smile lights up the room,'” Claudette reads.

“Aww, that's adorable!” Kate exclaims. “A Valentine's day card!”

“The joke being that we're continually outdoors,” Ace explains. “Meaning my smile does jack shit.”

“Are you sure? Maybe they meant figuratively,” Claudette gently prods.

“Yes Claudy, I'm sure I'm not getting mystery love notes,” Ace snorts at the incredulous suggestion, before turning back to the others. “Come on, whose idea was it? Fess up!” he demands, looking over the group

When nobody makes a move to come clean, others also looking around in confusion, Ace eventually focuses his stare on Nea, Meg and Feng, the trio of troublemakers sitting together by the fire.

“The hell you looking at me for?” Nea cusses.

“That’s lame as fuck,” Meg agrees.

“I'm tempted to make one now just so you’ll see—” Feng starts.

“That's a great idea! We should all make Valentine's day cards for each other!” Kate suggest, missing the gamer's point entirely.

“Look, there's a drawing too!” Cheryl suddenly exclaims, pointing at the back of the mystery note still in Claudette’s hands.

Ace sighs and leans over to look, fully expecting a doodled caricature of himself or even a crude phallic sketch.

Instead, he finds a pretty good drawing of some sort of flower. It’s not perfect, but it looks like someone clearly put a lot of work into it.

“It's a clover,” Claudette informs, glancing up at Ace with a smile. “No doubt for luck, even if it doesn't have the iconic four leaves.”

“Uh. Maybe,” Ace says, a little taken aback at the information. Someone really went through a lot of effort just for a small prank.

“So? Who's it from?” Steve asks impatiently.

“It still doesn’t say, Steve,” Cheryl sighs in irritation.

“I mean, Jeff and Jane are the artists,” Quentin points out.

“Uh-huh, sure, Jeff would draw a flower card for Ace and not his botanist girlfriend,” Meg snorts, making Claudette duck her head bashfully.

“And Jane—" Steve starts, excitedly turning to the former talk show host.

“No,” Jane interrupts the teen. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but hell no.”

“No offense taken, sweetheart,” Ace grins good-naturedly, the cheesy flirt making the woman grimace.

“What about Bill?” Nea suggests out of the blue.

“What the hell are you on, kid?” Bill snorts, and even Ace has to bite back a laugh over the thought of the gruff veteran writing love letters.

“Just trying to think of someone in his age range!” Nea protests.

“Well, did anyone see anything?” Quentin asks. “We can’t all have been in a trial when the note was placed.”

“I’ve been in like three trials today,” Feng complains.

“I don’t think any of us really keep track of people at the fire,” Kate says. “Anyone could have walked by and put it there.”

“Aww, so we’re not gonna know who it was?” Steve frowns.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Jane says.

As the commotion seems to die down, Claudette hands back the note back to Ace.

“You should keep it. It seems you have a secret admirer, after all,” Claudette says, smiling.

“Guess it can’t hurt,” Ace says, reluctantly pocketing the card. He’s still not sure it's genuine, but is intrigued by the sudden turn of events nonetheless.

Surprisingly, it seems the kids aren’t quite ready to give up on finding out the culprit. Some time later, Ace sees Cheryl, Steve and Quentin huddle together by one of the tree stumps, Cheryl looking to be taking notes on a map.

“Did you ask the ones who just got back?” Cheryl asks.

“Yup! Steve says. “Jeff was mostly confused, and David laughed his ass off. Laurie said she hadn't seen anything weird before she got taken to the trial. And Tapp just looked like he'd lost all hope for humanity,” Steve summarizes.

“Sounds about right,” Quentin huffs.

“Okay, so we've ruled out us three, Laurie, Jeff, Claudette, Jane, Bill, Tapp and David,” Cheryl recaps.

“And Nance has Jonathan, and Felix has his girlfriend,” Steve reminds.

“We should definitely rule out Nea too, since she’s way younger than him,” Quentin says. “Meg and Feng too, I guess."

“You're right, they always bully Ace too,” Steve casually remarks.

Ace rolls his eyes behind his shades and keeps shuffling his cards, not understanding why the group is so hell bent on talking about him like he’s not even there.

“Oh, and Yui,” Cheryl says.

“Good point,” Quentin says.

“Huh? Why?” Steve asks, confused.

“She, uh…” Cheryl falters. “Girl talk. I know it's not her.”

“Okay!” Steve beams.

And that pretty much sums up Ace's expectations for their little operation to succeed. If Steve somehow still hasn't figured out that the Japanese woman is solely interested in other women, Ace doesn’t have much trust in his detective work.

“Kate?” Cheryl suggests.

“She’s making Valentine’s cards for all of us as we speak,” Quentin snorts. “I don’t think she’d play favorites.”

“What about Dwight?” Steve suggests.

“Well… it’s definitely awkward and weird enough to fit his MO,” Cheryl considers.

“I thought he was into Jake?” Quentin says.

And that’s about the time Ace tunes out and goes to bug Tapp to play cards with him, hoping the detective will be happy to pretend like this entire thing never happened.

Ace doesn’t know how long it is before he’s finally taken to a trial, but it feels like an eternity. The atmosphere around camp is awkward as people trickle in and out from trials and someone always feels the need to point out he was on the receiving end of an anonymous person’s affection. The reactions, unsurprisingly, range from awkward confusion to straight up laughter.

So when the fog finally surrounds Ace, he actually welcomes it. The familiar sight of the Autohaven gas station is enough to take his mind off the teasing back at camp, at least momentarily.

But another problem presents itself right as he rounds a corner of scrap and finds Élodie on a generator—

“Hey, come here often?” Ace jokes, crouching down next to the machine to get to work.

—And the woman immediately gets up to leave.

“It wasn’t me, so don’t get any ideas,” Élodie scowls in his direction.

“Huh? I didn’t—” Ace tries to explain, but she’s already taking off in a sprint, and Ace thinks he hears her mutter “creep”.

Ace sighs and barely resists the urge to bash his face against the generator in frustration. This day just keeps getting better.

To Ace’s utter delight—that is to say, absolute annoyance—his mystery admirer becomes the biggest source of entertainment for the survivors. He doesn’t mind playing along for the first few jabs at his expense, thinking the others will surely get bored after just a few hours.

They don’t.

Most of the group still seem determined to figure out the person behind the note, others are content to gossip and joke about the possibilities, and some go as far as to blame Ace for intentionally stirring up drama. His not-so-subtle suggestions to let it go are shrugged off, and after a few days, Ace resigns himself to his fate and figures the sooner he lets the whole thing sort itself out, the better.

It doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

To add insult to injury, even the killers seem to have a sudden hard-on for him, focusing Ace with single-minded determination every chance they get.

It's only a few days later, when the Pig kneels down Ace's prone form to place a trap on his head, that he realizes why.

“There you go, lover boy,” the woman's voice sounds mocking despite being muffled by her mask.

“Wah?” Ace asks, the device attached to his jaw making it hard to speak.

“I heard someone has a little admirer,” the Pig says. “I figured it warrants some special treatment.”

The word is accentuated by throwing Ace up on a hook, and the gambler's following scream is as much from pain as it is from frustration.

When Ace gets back to the campfire after having his head popped by the killer’s trap, he sits down on a log furthest from the group, hoping to get a breather—

“Hey, look who it is!” Ash immediately interrupts his moment of solitude, sitting down uninvited next to Ace. “How you doing, champ?” Ash grins, elbowing him in the side.

“What do you want?” Ace asks, feeling much more irritable than usual because of the constant teasing.

“I mean…” Ash says, before looking around and lowering his voice. “Have you figured out who it is?”

Ace rolls his eyes and resists the urge to slap the man with his own prosthetic hand.

“Come on, you can tell me!” Ash grins in a very suspicious way.

“If I find out, you’ll be the first to know. Trust me,” Ace whispers, lying out of his ass.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Ash laughs, way louder than necessary. “I’m happy for you; at least someone around here will be getting laid!”

Half of the camp erupts into snickers and the other half turns to glare at Ace, notifying him that their conversation was definitely loud enough to overhear.

“Not in front of the children!” Jane sneers, like Ace enjoys having his sex life publicly broadcasted.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Ace quips with fake cheer as fog starts creeping up his legs, thankful for the Entity’s timing even though he barely got back to the campfire. “Time for another trial!”

When the fog clears from around him, Ace is in the killer shack in Red Forest with Cheryl and Felix right beside him.

“I'm gonna go find Zarina,” Cheryl whispers to Ace, informing him of who their last teammate is.

“Sure,” Ace says, knowing it’s good to split up, as Felix has already started repairs on the generator in the shack—

“I need to privately ask her about the note!” Cheryl beams and is sprinting away before Ace can reply.

Which is just as well, because he might have said a few choice words to the kid through his annoyance. Thankfully, he's left with Felix, one of the few people who have treated Ace normally throughout this entire thing.

“Fuck this,” Ace curses, joining the handsome German on the generator. Felix glances up but doesn't ask, and Ace appreciates being given the space to rant. “This is the worst thing that's ever happened!”

“The note?" Felix asks.

“What else? It seems it's all anyone ever talks about!” Ace rages, throwing one of his hands up in frustration and nearly causing the machine to explode. “I swear, this is worse than middle school,” Ace huffs. “I have girls gossiping, kids pestering and killers bullying me. And for what? A shitty piece of paper!”

Damn, it feels good to get this out. Ace doubts Felix cares, but it's nice to get to vent to someone he knows won't make the situation worse.

“Whoever left the note must be an idiot,” Felix comments bluntly, and it gives Ace pause.

Sure, Ace is frustrated, but he's still a little sentimental over the note and cute gesture behind it. Regardless, he shouldn’t be surprised that the no-nonsense architect would find the notion ridiculous.

“I'm just so done with it,” Ace sighs. “At this point, I'd take any explanation. Even an 'oops, wrong trunk, it was never meant for you'. Sure, I like being in the spotlight, but this is getting unbearable.”

Felix doesn't say anything, only keeps working away; probably embarrassed being forced to discuss Ace's (lack of) love life.

“I—” Felix starts after an awkward silence.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Ace interrupts with a chuckle, not wanting the German to be any more uncomfortable than he already clearly is. “Didn't mean to talk about ear off about this stuff. Let's get this gen done, huh?”

Felix immediately seems relieved, and Ace jumps at the chance to change topics.

“You ever been to China?” Ace asks, nodding at the firework decoration on top of their generator.

As they chat about one of Felix's business trips to Shanghai, Ace is simultaneously glad for a distraction from his Valentine's fiasco and melancholy about their shallow friendship.

Maybe he'd take this whole thing more seriously if there was any possibility it would actually lead to something with the one person he's even remotely interested in. If Ace was in his prime, he'd probably have made a move on Felix months ago, girlfriend and heterosexuality be damned. Young and reckless Ace wouldn't have cared, happily flirting his ass off.

Meanwhile, old and slightly less reckless Ace has to settle for shitty jokes and sneaking glances at Felix.

When the Ghostface finally makes an appearance during their second generator and proceeds to chase and tunnel Ace to death despite the others' best efforts to save him, Ace isn’t even surprised anymore.

“I'm starting to wonder if the note is even legit,” Quentin says one day.

“How come?” Kate asks, cocking her head.

“Don't you think Ace's secret admirer would have come clean by now?" Quentin prods.

“Maybe it was just the Entity messing with us?” Laurie suggests.

“If it was a prank from someone, I’m kinda proud of them for pulling it off,” Nea says. “Especially for this long!”

“I think it’s mean,” Claudette says. “They’ve allowed this to go on for way too long. Just look at poor Ace!”

Everyone turns to collectively look at Ace, who is just trying to play some goddamn solitaire in peace while the rest, again, seem content to talk about him like he’s not even there.

“He looks the same as always,” Meg snorts.

“He’s been tunneled to death the last then trials in a row,” Laurie scolds.

“I’m fine,” Ace insists.

“I think his secret fan is just shy!” Kate continues and sparks another debate, oblivious to Ace’s annoyance.

When Ace gets back from yet another unsuccessful trial and sees a group of gossiping people and a grinning Nea, he groans in exasperation.

Before anyone can bring up Ace’s least favorite subject, Felix butts in.

“Ace,” Felix addresses, coming up beside the group. “Do you have time to teach me that perk you used the other trial? With the longer aura-reading?”

“You want… one of my perks?” Ace asks, surprised.

Felix has always seemed more altruistic than others, and it’s no secret Ace's perks were only used by… Well, Ace.

“Um, yes. If it’s not a bother,” Felix says, discreetly glancing at the group of gossip-hungry survivors waiting to attack Ace’s misery.

And it dawns on Ace that Felix is giving him a distraction to slip away.

“Oh, of course!” Ace grins. “Right this way!”

As soon as they’re out of earshot from the campfire, Ace starts prattling away.

“Thanks for covering for me!” Ace beams. “I thought they’d have gotten bored by now—"

“It was me,” Felix interrupts grimly, making Ace pipe down and turn to look at him.

“Uh… come again?” Ace asks, confused.

“I did it. I wrote the note,” Felix confesses, looking at Ace in determination.

“What? Why?” Ace asks, incredulous. When Felix's bravado falters, he keeps going. “Look, you don't have to cover for whoever it was,” Ace sighs. “I don’t blame you for wanting this entire thing to be over—"

“I'm serious,” Felix says. “I've been lying for way too long. I should have come clean before, but I was too much of a coward.”

Alright, what the actual fuck? Why would Felix, of all people, have sent Ace a love note?

While he’s gaping stupidly, Felix continues:

“Claudette was right, it’s my fault for letting this go on for so long. I’m sorry.”

“But… your girlfriend—” Ace starts, struggling to wrap his head around the whole thing.

“Will hopefully move on once she realizes I'm not coming back,” Felix says. “I've started to accept that I'm not getting out of here.”

“Well, that sounds cheerful,” Ace comments.

“Sheiße, I didn't mean it like that,” Felix winces. “I just… thought I'd do things differently this time. Since I never had the courage to, in my old life.”

“So… where do I come into the picture?” Ace asks, skeptical.

“I…” Felix says, wringing his hands in a nervous gesture. “Wanted to see how you would react to the note. It was stupid.”

“Huh? How come?”

“I caused you nothing but harm,” Felix sighs. “First you thought I was mocking you, then the others kept bothering you, and even the killers were giving you a hard time. I'm sorry, I should never have done it.”

“No, I mean—” Ace flounders for an explanation. Sure, he'd been annoyed, but none of the things that happened were Felix’s fault. “Why give something like that to me?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Felix says, scratching at his neck while averting his eyes. “I admit I haven't celebrated Valentine's day much, but I assumed…” he trails off.

What? Felix was seriously trying to test the waters of… getting together with Ace?

It slowly starts to make sense. Felix’s strange behavior. The messy handwriting on the note, probably from Felix’s nerves. The surprising artistic talent of the sketch, after a lifetime of architectural drawings.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Ace says with a smirk, not able to keep the cockiness from seeping into his voice at the knowledge that Felix, somehow, seems to be interested in him.

“Sorry—”

“I said unexpected, not unwelcome,” Ace interrupts.

And then gets to watch the realization slowly dawn on Felix, the perpetual worried frown on the other’s face smoothing out as his eyes widen in hope.

“You don't mind?” Felix asks.

“Let's just say I'm surprised you haven't caught me looking,” Ace grins. “I never expected someone as handsome as you to return the attention,” he can't resist flirting.

“Ähm, well, I…” Felix flusters from the compliment, looking at the ground. “Am not very good at this.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ace says.

Then, he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out the infamous note he’s kept on him this entire time. Felix’s gaze follows his movement as Ace carefully unfolds the paper, crumpled and smudged from having been with him trial after trial.

“I thought you threw it away,” Felix says quietly, eyes wide in awe.

“You don’t just throw away a good luck charm,” Ace chastises playfully, pointedly brushing his thumb over the clover drawing. “Especially not one that’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”

Ace bites his tongue to stop prevent more mushy sentiments from slipping out. Felix is still staring way too intently and not saying a word, so Ace clears his throat self-consciously tucks the note safely back into his pocket.

“I can’t believe you kept it,” Felix finally says, an adorable smile on his lips as he meets Ace’s eyes.

“Well, seeing as we’ve now established that we’re both sentimental saps…” Ace starts with a smirk, stepping closer to Felix to test the waters. “I have a question.”

“Oh, umh… Yes?” Felix says, straightening his back but still seeming nervous.

It's adorable, and Ace wants to kick himself for not noticing anything sooner. Still, there's no time like the present.

“Be my valentine?” Ace asks with a grin.

Felix's posture instantly relaxes, and the smile is back on his face.

“I'd love to,” Felix says.

Ace’s grin widens until he feels like it’ll be permanently etched onto his face. This is a much better outcome than he ever expected when he found an unassuming note with his items.

“So, ehm…” Felix starts after they’ve been staring at each other for a beat too long, snapping Ace out of it. “Do you… should we…?” Felix falters, nervously brushing a stray lock from his face.

“Wanna find a place to sit down and chat?” Ace suggests, not feeling any need to rush things now that he knows where they stand with each other. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a break from the others.”

“Me too,” Felix says, seeming relieved. “I admit I’m not looking forward to what the others will say about this.”

“Fuck em!” Ace says. “They’ve had their fun, I’m not gonna let them put you through the same shit as they did me. We don’t even have to tell them.”

“No, I want to,” Felix insists. “If I have to hear one more rude joke about you from Feng…” Felix’s mouth pinches into a thin line.

“Aww, babe,” Ace teases, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. “You don’t have to defend my honor.”

“I do, and I will,” Felix says with surprising determination.

“Well, in that case, I won’t stop you,” Ace grins.

“Good,” Felix says with a smug little smirk.

And the sudden assertiveness makes heat creep up Ace’s neck, quickly starting to regret his suggestion to take things slow.

“I, uh, I think I saw a pretty cozy clearing not far from here,” Ace says, eager to get the chance to get to know more about his companion.

“Lead the way,” Felix agrees.

They end up sitting next to each other under the stars and talking for what has to be hours, but goes by in the blink of an eye. No longer having to filter himself and keep their conversation casual is a much-needed break from the past few days, and the smile never once leaves Ace’s face.

Talking to Felix makes the feelings Ace has tried so hard to ignore come back full force, reminding him of why the man caught his eye in the first place. Sure, Felix is still more attractive than anyone has the right to be, but he’s also insanely smart and surprisingly witty past the initial anxious exterior. The way he smiles and gives his undivided attention even when Ace talks about silly, insignificant things not only makes Ace forget all about his recent frustrations, but also takes his mind away from the strange world surrounding them.

And when Felix eventually scoots even closer and looks at Ace with nothing but fondness in his eyes, Ace has no trouble throwing his initial hesitance out of the window and going in for a kiss.

It’s not earth-shattering or particularly intense, it’s just really, really nice and makes Ace’s heart do stupid leaps in his chest. It’s been so long since he even kissed anyone, and getting to smooch the person he’s been secretly pining over for months and have said person eagerly return the kiss?

“Why the hell haven’t we done this sooner?” Ace voices his thought when he pulls away from the gentle kiss, making Felix huff a quiet laugh into their shared breathing space.

“I should have just signed the note,” Felix says.

“Good thing you can make it up to me now, Valentine,” Ace grins.

Felix chuckles warmly and a callused hand comes up to gently cup Ace’s cheek before tilting his head up into another kiss.

And even though Ace isn’t normally one for holiday celebrations, he’s looking forward to spending many more with Felix by his side.

[arastarboy]

The Sparrow's Heart

Chapter 1 - Death

The bells rang ever so loudly in his head, their harrowing sounds growing evermore present, like an incessant nuisance. Until this critical juncture, where they at last silenced themselves. He found peace at last. The droplets of rain striking his smeared visage cleansed of the impurities that stained him, but there was an untraceable bitter taste that lingered on his tongue where the rain fell. The coldness spread from his core to the extremities, swallowing him whole. It wasn't long before the calming touch of the rain he relished mere moments ago, now felt like nothing at all. Genji turned his gaze from the endless cloudy sky to where he felt some sensation. He looked down, to see his severed arm paint the earth with a sorrowful crimson. A blade impaled through his sternum, the sparrow still felt the steel extend its reach beyond his bareback. Weakness overcame him but in a moment of solace, as he accepted his faith and prepared for departure to the endless nothingness that awaited him, he mustered the strength to grasp the hand that wielded the bane of his existence with the arm that remained tethered.

"Are you at peace, Hanzo?" The Sparrow muttered, an inquiry met by damning silence. "You've fulfilled your duty and slain your only brother." Still, he was met with silence and with frustration mounting a second wind sparked new life within. A grip that fixated on Hanzo's wrist now took him by the collar drawing Hanzo closer to his brother, as death's grip tightened around Genji. "You're despicable. You didn't learn a thing from our father. You let the elders played you like some pawn."

The blade from Genji's abdomen was extracted, at last, the venom in his dying words finally began to take effect upon the apathetic Hanzo, invoking the turbulence of emotions, he so desperately attempted to suppress, to surface. Angered, Hanzo gave his brother one final push, forsaking him to the earth. A solemn vow to fulfill his duty to the clan he valued above all else, including the life of his brother, upon which he metaphorically spit on with a last act of disrespect. "You're but a disgrace to the clan. You are not fit to be Shimada. You have forgotten the burden the name carries. We can no longer abide by your childish behaviour, Genji."

Turning heel the last living Shimada departed, kicking dirt onto the body that would soon be a corpse. It was only mere moments ago, that he could appreciate the colourless darkened sky in all its glory. It was monotone and drab, but there was beauty in simplicity. Beauty that slipped from his grasp with each passing second, slowly the crying skies above became nothing but a hazy reflection until it became nothing at all. An endless void from which light could not escape, the eternal nothingness. Genji verbalized nothing for he damned his faith, he did not embrace death willingly and it is only in his twilight he came to realize. Death had forced thyself upon him. How he longed for the pleasures of the flesh that he once drowned in, without a thought for consequence. A female companion wrapped around one arm and a drink that would make any man far more honest than he was capable of being in the other. Even the sounds of the arcade machines now played in his head like an addictive melody, even if such sounds were anything but. "I don't want to.." But the choice was not one for him to make.

"Calling Overwatch HQ, Agent ID: X-90843. Operation: Dragon's Breath. Code Alpha: Requesting immediate medical assistance. The subject is in critical condition. EMT has stemmed the bleeding but the wounds still prove to be fatal. Transporting subject to Tokyo facility. Priority: Valkyrie."

"Out of the way!"

"Operating room now!"

"Where is she?!"

"She's on her, ETA 15 mins. Tracer is with her."

"He won't make the 15 mins."

The hands of time mercilessly marched on. With each second that was lost to the sands of time, Genji's spirit communion to the great beyond intensified. A pitiless existence, transfixed onto the great divide between life and death, unallowed to cross into either.

"Even if she gets here now, there's nothing she can do.."

"Then it's a good thing Overwatch's medical research is ahead of its time wouldn't you say?"

A voice commanded the attention of the room as the doors to the operating room flung open. The committer, however, was careful not to contaminate the cleanroom and abide by the strict protocols set in place, dressed in a white lab coat, flaxen hair tied up and away from potentially hindering her work, a stethoscope slung around her neck. She walked with purpose and urgency, just a pace short of running. Approaching the patient with one glance she assessed his condition, the accompanying report was studied just as quickly and put to the side, which only served to reinforce what she had already predicted. "You over there!" She commanded personnel as if this was a battlefield and she was the presiding commander. Beeps of all kind sounded off, each one indicating one critical condition after another. They were cascading, mounting, becoming overwhelming.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!"

Even as the room around her descended the spiral of chaos, she stood steady at the eye of the storm, steadfast and resolute, armed with the skills and knowledge to navigate the storm. With two paddles she marched onto his bedside. "Move!" She demanded. "Clear!" She carried as she imposed the two paddles onto his chest. The electrocardiogram detected no significant change. So she tried again. "Clear!" And again. "Clear!" And Again. "Clear!"

"Dr. Ziegler.." A nurse placed a hand on her shoulder, to distract and detract but the same complexion of determination persevered. "Clear!" She slowly retreated the paddles. Perhaps it was time to admit, admit that even for all the advancements in medicine she made, all the times she stubbornly defied the odds, there are some souls the grim reaper was unwilling to let loose once more onto the world. It was then, the eternal void answered her remorse. The monitors once more established a steady pattern. The heartbeat she read was weak, but it was stable.

"Induce hibernation for at least a month." She directed. "Providing he can maintain this heart rate for another hour we can proceed with the operation. We'll need to amputate both legs. The tissue has already begun to die, we need to act quickly before an infection sets in. Ready the therapeutic cybernetics, we'll install them right away, as long as the neural interface is successful he should wake up feeling as if nothing has changed."

Drawing a pen from her pocket, she recovered a holo pad upon which she scribed all her directives and approved with her impression at the bottom, before handing it off to the appropriate staff to follow through.

"Prepare the healing pod. There's not much tissue left, but we'll at least be able to regenerate what remains."

The doctor turned to the patient once more, sapphire hues carefully studying what remained. From what patches of skin not stained by crimson, she could deduce the man either maintained an effective skincare routine of sorts or was blessed by genetics. He was an ideal "specimen" so to speak, a good bone structure served as the framework for his figure, upon which he maintained an ideal muscle tone. Perhaps the picture of health so frivolously the media often advertised. Yet for all his physical virtues, he'd now be forced to forfeit nearly all to cling to what little life still sparked within. A sense of remorse now burdened the prodigal doctor. The man appeared to be around the same age as her, uncertain as she didn't have the opportunity to study identity details yet, being consumed by the severity of his injuries. Despite his youth, he was massacred, defiled, what remained was a husk of who he once was. Wounds so deep it cut to the bone, and in some instances wounds, the cut bone was openly exposed to the contaminant-less air of the operating room. Angela bit her lower lip, a growing frustration burrowed in her chest, this was more than attempted murder this was all-consuming hatred unleashed onto another, an act of sincere evil.

Irrespective of the therapies that would restore his body's full functionality, in some instances enhancing his capabilities, allowing him to discard the limitations of the fragile human body, the extent of the mental trauma he'd now be forced to cope with remained an uncertainty. He'd continuously tread the line between man and machine, would he be able to establish equilibrium? The porcelain skin of her thin digits caressed the edges of the gaping wound upon his chest. It was a prayer if anything. Not that she invested much faith in an omnipotent force beyond human comprehension, but if there ever was such a thing, let it show him mercy. There she felt some reassurance, an answer to her prayer of sorts, a strong steady rhythm to his breathing as if he was stubbornly defying the odds and clinging to life. The crestfallen doctor found some solace, at last, which manifested as a subtle smile that curved to her pale lips. "Don't give up." She whispered

"Dr. Ziegler. Commander Morrison, Blackwatch Commander Reyes, and Captain Amari are here to see you." She turned her head in surprise, seldom did the three heads of Overwatch convene. To add to the exceptionality of the moment, the three gathered to addressed her, whereas more often than not, her correspondence with top brass involved exclusively Morrison. Intrigued Angela pried herself away from the table and departed the room. "Prep him for surgery." She instructed before her impromptu exit.

"Commander Morrison, if this is about the situation in Switzerland my team there is more than capable of handling it." She quickly commented, taking a stab in the dark as to what pressing concern would warrant such an intervention here.

"It's not about that Angela. But this a sensitive matter, let's find somewhere quiet." The air in the atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. Angela felt the temperature of the room plummet and her bones grow stiff. Something ominous hung between the two parties convened here, She studied their expression and she could already deduce whatever the matter was, it was something she wouldn't be able to stomach. The doctor sighed, venting the doubts that restrained her before she followed the three into an isolated room and as the door shut behind her the sense of tension only wrung tighter.

Nearly an hour had passed.

"No way!" She stated thunderously, her voice carrying to the nearby halls, warranting the few curious eyes to wander to the room through the glass window. All such gazes were met with a scornful one from Reyes, that immediately re-directed them back to their duties.

"Angela, calm down. This benefits Overwatch and the people of Japan. We haven't gained any ground in our fight against the Shimada, this is our best chance." Morrison interjected.

"I won't!" She protested with vigour once more.

"Angela, you're being stubborn." They presented a unified front, with even Ana echoing their sentiments. Angela felt as if she was being cornered, forced to do their bidding or else, but she was not so easily toppled, she'd stand her ground and uphold her morals. Superiors or not, she had no intention of following through.

"Stubborn!? I developed that technology to increase the survivability of our soldiers on the front lines. The technology isn't even finished, neural compatibility caps out at 75% on even the most trained soldiers who have been using enhanced augments for 10 or more years and prolonged connection could permanently damage the nervous system. But you're asking me to administer an upscaled version of that technology to a patient who barely escaped death. You're trying to turn him into a living weapon for your war and I won't do it! It's unethical and that putting it mildly." Angela explained, all the details laid bare before top brass, every argument a sound objection against their stance. Yet even after sharing a glance, they appeared to remain unmoved. "He doesn't deserve this…"

"Yes but I understand that the cybernetics can shock his nervous system awake once initialized it might even bring him out of his hibernation state," Morrison added.

"I-" Angela prepared to defy them one more, dissuade them if possible, open their eyes to this corrupted train of thought but she was interrupted by a hand being hammered onto the table that divided the two sides. Reyes, at last, stood from his seat and approached, the taller man now towering over her. Eyes that knew no compassion attempted to pacify her but it was met with a gaze deterministic gaze that did not crumble to such petty displays of power. Angela stood her ground against that scowl.

"Angela-" But Reyes was quickly interrupted. "It's Dr. Ziegler."

"Fine." After a huff, he continued, unperturbed by her open defiance. "I am the one responsible for Genji Shimada, as I am the leader of the operation, assigned by that man right over there." An extended index pointed to Morrison sitting across the table and the doctor's vision tracked to meet an apathetic gaze. "I allowed you to save him but if you won't do as you're told I'll easily give that to someone who has the stomach to do what is necessary since you do not."

"It's not a matter of having the stomach for it, it's about wanting to do what's right, and it's my technology," Angela answered his blatant insinuation of her cowardice. A slap to the face, how she would like to respond in kind but such an action would only weaken the position she fixed herself in. Ethics guided her judgement, and she could not comprehend why it didn't at the very least guide Morrison and Amari as well. Her response was met with a satisfied smirk from the Blackwatch commander. More than an insult, now he was mocking her. She didn't have the power to stop the proverbial train travelling at Mach speeds and he knew. So through his mannerisms, he provoked her, provoked her to do something imprudent and permanently validate him. Ziegler clenched her fist, ready to do just that.

"All technology you develop while working in Overwatch belongs to Overwatch. All I have to do is hand over all this tech to someone who sees things a little differently." Reyes carefully navigated the dynamics of power in this conversation, slowly robbing Angela of all of it. If this were chess, he'd be but one move away from checkmate and now he reached for the final piece to do just that. "But I wonder. Can you trust someone else to do it right? Are you willing to play with someone else's life just to defy a direct order, doctor?"

Enraged, Angela gritted her teeth, canalizing all her rage into that right fist, ready to unleash it all unto that smug face and permanently free him from his arrogance. Faith intervened however, a device mounted to her wrist sounded off an alarm, reminding her of her priorities and keeping her grounded in this trapped cage. She looked at Reyes. "You're despicable." She said with conviction, before marching through him and shoving Reyes aside with her forearm to exit the room.

"That was over the line Reyes," Amari commented, reflecting on his conduct before the doctor. It was met with nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders as a retort.

"Over the line or not. She has no choice now." The Blackwatch commander triumphantly remarked, without a thought to his methods.

Morrison simply observed, in silence, hesitant to the leap to the defence of either of his friends. As he saw it, the objective they established was accomplished, however crudely it may have been achieved.

Angela slowly traversed the halls to her destination, her thoughts all-consumed by the situation imposed onto her. She tried to internally reconcile the two opposing sides with an explanation that was sufficiently satisfied but she couldn't conjure on. From every which angle she approached this problem, it was unjust. She just simply couldn't do it. She soon turned her gaze up from the floor, her team was ready to undertake the surgery. What deliberations she had regarding the previously discussed subject would have to wait, as now this required her unbridled focus. As she entered the room a nurse had offered her a mask, one she placed against her face and the automated features of the masked worked to secure its position there. Angela looked down at her gloved hand where the sensation lingered, the feeling of his beating chest, the feeling of him fighting for his life. She was unsure why she clung to that feeling but it gave her some respite at this moment. Ste stepped forth, and beyond the curtain, there he was; Genji Shimada.

--

Links to this Chapter on:

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13817101/1/The-Sparrow-s-Heart

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[unaccomplishedwriter]

- s a v i o r -

. Nicholas Scratch x Reader .

Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

{PART FOUR}

Your first impression of the little Morningstar was not a good one.

The second she laid eyes on Nick, she flew to him in a flurry of questions and scoldings. It wasn’t until after she’d calmed down that she noticed the odd atmosphere, and turned, along with the rest of her coven, to finally rest her gaze on you.

You still had a gentle silver ambience, as if starlight was caressing your body. The humming sound coming from the pulsation of your inner powers faded as you attempted to conceal your aura a bit more effectively. Soon, your presence dimmed and finally revealed your countenance more clearly. Your brows were furrowed and a frown graced your face, but otherwise not a hair of yours was out of place.

“Who are you?” Zelda stepped up and demanded, putting herself between you and the rest of the coven. You couldn’t help the quirk of your lip as you opened your mouth to retort, but then your gaze landed on Nick, who’s arm was still tightly gripped by Sabrina. She almost gave off the impression of a mother keeping her unruly child in check, and you quickly found your face morphing back into a frown.

“I’m no one you know of. If you need identification, just consider me a friend of Nick’s,” you replied curtly, turning your stare back to Zelda. The woman was very domineering, a trait you didn’t necessarily dislike. Her soul gave off powerful pulsations of anxiety, no doubt amplified by the inexplicable disappearance of their Hare Moon. She stared you down for another moment before turning and barking orders for the coven to return home, electing to ignore you for the meantime. This rendered you a bit speechless as you now hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do next.

An attractive boy with curly hair and dark skin looked you over curiously, before being tugged away by an equally attractive girl sporting silver hair. They dragged along what looked to be a statue and another girl in a state of confusion who was giggling wildly. The trio and statue aroused your curiosity as well, and if you were more bold you might’ve followed them. Instead, you found yourself looking for Nick’s familiar presence in the bustle, his body having moved away from yours at some point.

A few feet away, Sabrina was attempting to herd Nick along with the others, but before she could get him to move, he made eye contact with you, pulling himself away from her. He spoke a few words in her direction before turning away, leaving her to make her way back alone.

Nick mentioned previously how they had broken up, but now you weren’t so sure. It definitely didn’t seem that way to Sabrina, but before you could dwell more on the thought he’d already made his way in front of you.

“You should come with us. It’s better for you to get a grasp on our situation so you can figure out what it is you need to do,” he exclaimed softly. His hands made their way into yours with an ease that no doubt would have made the Spellman girl’s eyes red, and only then did your face crack into a smile.

“I don’t think I’m welcome. Besides, it’s not just your coven I have to worry about,” you reminded. He paused for a second, before glancing down at you with that familiar, sheepish grin of his.

“I’m pretty sure most of Greendale’s issues stem from the Spellman House.”

He didn’t say it explicitly, yet he did. Instead of referring to his entire coven, currently housed at the academy, his wording made it obvious. All roads pointed to Sabrina Spellman being the cause and key to fixing Greendale’s problems, which meant the Spellman House was the best place for you to begin your mission.

As you walked towards the academy, the place where you’ll possibly be staying for the foreseeable future, Nick explained in more detail everything that’s happened so far, starting from Sabrina enrolling in the Academy of Unseen Arts.

If you were being honest, you weren’t exactly fond of Nick’s coven due their very large part in the degradation of the stability of this domain. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that the problem stemmed from one person; the little Morningstar and her selfish complexities.

Starting with her refusal to cut ties with her mortal friends, it seemed that Sabrina Spellman brought disaster upon anyone who associated with her ever since. When Nick explained that although the coven’s problems originally began with Sabrina refusing her birthright and its responsibilities, the girl assumed the mantle only after everything went to shit, complicating her coven’s situation and Nick’s sacrifice.

You couldn’t help but to see red.

He may not have mentioned it, but from the dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you could tell Nick’s suffering didn’t end when he was freed from Hell.

It seems that you needed to take a long look at what you were willing to do to save your domain, and getting rid of the problem at the white-haired root seemed mighty enticing currently.

Electing not to share such thoughts with Nick, you continued to listen quietly the rest of the way there.

The pagans seemed like the biggest threat to your mission, from what you could infer from Nick. They were definitely cooking up something big, and you felt unease settling in the pit of your stomach. The vacuum of power in Hell caused for much bigger consequences here on Earth, and now forces that are much darker and older than you’d ever thought you’d have to deal with were about.

The witches may not have a clear picture just yet, but you knew very well what the startling, confident arrival of pagans in someone’s domain meant.

Pagans didn’t necessarily reject the existence of Fate. On the contrary, their willingness to patiently pursue what they see as the inevitable arrival of their deities actually aligns with all the laws of Fate and destiny.

That is what makes their existence in Greendale so troublesome.

Whatever the pagans are cooking up has a very high likelihood of succeeding.

Lost in thought, before you knew it you two had already arrived at the academy. Unsurprisingly, Sabrina was waiting for you there. 

“So, Nick,” she started, crossing her arms. She gave you the once over, lips pursing into a thin line. It took all you had not to roll your eyes, instead bracing yourself for the round of questioning you just knew you were going to receive.

“Explain who your friend is again? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her.” 

You knew that last line was a jab at you, but you ignored the childishness of the situation and waited in silence for the boy next to you to respond.

You supposed such a comment was meant to elicit insecurity, but honestly, you’ve never spoken about Nick to others either. It almost felt wrong; like the intimacy you two shared wasn’t meant for prying eyes and chattering mouths to behold. He was the first human you helped; the first person you came into contact with outside of your own kind. 

Well, if you don’t count that insufferable Dark Lord of theirs. 

Somehow, between all those secret visits and ardent conversations, you began to not only treasure your time spent with the boy, but Nick himself. You felt a bond between the two of you borne from the intensity of the feelings you’d shared. With Nick, you didn’t feel as if the weight of a literal world had been thrust upon your shoulders. It was as if you were actually making someone’s life better, and there was no better feeling than that. 

“She’s someone who’s important to me,” Nick, after a long stretch of silence and stares, finally responded. “Very important.”

As you watched the girl in front of you flare her nostrils, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that bloomed in your chest. At the very least, you knew your position in Nick’s heart wasn’t a low one. For some reason, the thought made you inexplicably happy. 

“And why is she here?” Sabrina forced out. You raised an eyebrow, but supposed the question was warranted enough given the situation. 

Supposed. The irritation wanting to present itself through snark bubbling at your throat indicated otherwise, but you held your tongue.

“(Y/n) is here to help. She has unique abilities that might be able to influence the situation given enough time.” 

During your visits to Hell, you’d explained the way your powers worked to Nick. As an agent of Fate, a stela could not interfere directly with the people and events of a domain. They could only act independently, or at the most suggestively. Your powers were more of an indirect nature, influencing things behind the scenes. 

A domain’s, and ultimately a person’s, Fate, was still up to them.

The girl hummed in acknowledgment, and before she could fire another question your way, a sharp summons by Zelda caught her attention. 

“We’ll finish this later,” she tossed out over her shoulder, before hurrying toward the direction of her aunt’s voice. You couldn’t help but shiver at the pure commanding aura just the voice of the Zelda woman gave off, her persona reminding you of your own Head Stela. Scrunching your nose, you turned to Nick to see him inclining his head toward a corridor to the left. 

“What’s wrong?” You queried, a bit worried. The look on his face seemed unpleasant, and you instinctively reached for his hand. The frown between his brows eased, and he glanced down at you with a soft expression.

“Nothing,” he said gently. “Let me show you around.”

You and Nick spent the next hour touring the academy grounds, you receiving a detailed backstory of the events that had happened recently and the academy’s history in general. 

At some point, you two had run into Ambrose and Prudence, the duo attempting to find a way to cure the girl’s sisters of their afflictions. 

“What happened to them?” 

You asked softly, making your way in front of Dorcas. The poor witch seemed to have been turned to stone, a horrified look permanently etched onto her face. Behind you, Agatha span around the room in circles, constant giggling and trills escaping her mouth. 

Prudence couldn’t help the sneer that instantly came to her face, but calmed down at the thought of getting any help she could get for her sisters. Studying you, she stared holes into your body as if she could burn right through it. Shrugging it off, you turned towards Ambrose instead, who gave you a quick rundown of the situation. Apparently, the girls had been the first victims of the now war with the pagan witches, and had been reduced to the state they were in now.

Turning back to Dorcas, you placed a glowing hand onto the girl’s body, sending a thrum of energy into the statue. After a beat, you were delighted to feel a dull thrumming bouncing back at you. A wide smile spreading across your face, you addressed the three other sane occupants of the room.

“She’s still alive,” you exclaimed. “And definitely kicking.”

Prudence gasped, and immediately made her way to your side. 

“She’s strong,” you told her, “Some people would have immediately lost consciousness in such a state. As long as she holds on, there’s hope.”

Ambrose was also by your side after that, shooting question after question about Dorcas’ condition and how to save her. After a while of back and forth, you shook your head in regret.

There was nothing you could personally to save her.

“I can keep her soul active. At the very least, it’ll keep her life force strong enough that her consciousness doesn’t fade.” 

Prudence teared up, before shaking her head vigorously. “That’ll be enough. We will figure out how to save my sister together.” 

She now seemed much more friendly to you, choosing to hold you by the arm and lead you to the dancing form of other sister, Agatha.

“She’s gone insane,” Ambrose started. “Prudence tried to organize her thoughts earlier, but they’re too scrambled, too chaotic. It is most worrying.” 

At some point, Nick excused himself, making an excuse that you barely had time to catch before he’d disappeared. Somewhat put off, you elected to ignore it for now in favor of helping those in front of you. 

You still had a job to do, after all. 

“Agatha?” 

You called, slowly approaching. The girl paused, before inclining her head towards you. Her shoulders shook as she lost herself in her own mind, a broken soul that you yearned to fix. It was a chaotic cloud, formless and desolate. You knew this girl wasn’t without her own pain, no doubt the premiere subject of the madness her mind was now drowning in. Reaching for the girl’s face, your palm once again released an aura most curious to Ambrose. He’d made it a point to ask you of it later, eager to learn how your powers worked. 

He and the rest of the coven still knew nothing about you, but you’d proven yourself friendly so far and that was all he could be bothered to concern himself with.

Touching your forehead to Agatha’s, you found yourself being pulled into the depths of her memories. Images darted before you, certainly out of order and hard to condense into some form of cohesion you could go off of. Instead, you chose to cling to the next memory to flit by, determined to find an anchor for both yourself and the girl to cling to.

It happened to be the moment she’d first laid eyes upon the god Pan, also the one Prudence had witnessed secondhand earlier when she’d attempted to pull Agatha back to sanity. 

This moment must be the most significant contributor to her current state.

Now, you’d done your fair share of learning about the pagan gods, but few stood out as Pan did. The god was madness personified, dooming anyone who viewed his countenance to torture within the recesses of their own mind. It was not quite as deliberate as what you’d witnessed with Nick and Lucifer, but it wasn’t too far off. The poor witch was reliving the worst moments of her life, trapped within a disarrayed cycle she couldn’t escape from.

Nearly being overwhelmed yourself, it took all your willpower to interrupt the nightmare. Placing yourself between Agatha and Pan as the memory repeated itself, you once again grabbed her face and held on tightly.

“There’s nothing to see. You are in your own mind and he isn’t real. You are the god here,” you told her firmly. Agatha’s eyes locked onto yours, fear obvious in her features. You cycled your energy through her body and yours, gradually easing the girl into a more calm state of mind. 

“He..he did something to me!” she stuttered out, franticly grasping at your wrists. Her soul pulsated wildly, threatening to break the lull  and resume its previous chaotic form. 

You slowly nodded, keeping your aura calm and steady.

“He did,” you affirmed. “But it was only in your head. You are in control here, not him. He can’t do anything that you don’t allow him to; he exploits weakness. And you’re not weak, are you Agatha?”

She slowly shook her head, her gaze never leaving yours. You continued to feed your energy into her, coaxing her soul into a gentle slumber. 

“I’m going to help you now. You will sleep, and be at peace.” 

Putting Agatha’s soul to rest was the only thing you could do for the time being. The extent of the breakdown of her mind was too deep, and it required repeated therapy of her mind and soul. You could hep recondition her soul, but the issue with her mind would probably require the help of her sister Prudence, who’s strong will and overall intimacy with the girl was higher and would be of more help.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you lowered the now unconscious girl’s body to the ground along with your own, placing her on the floor. 

 “I put her soul to sleep,” you informed Prudence and Ambrose, swiping a stray hair from Agatha’s face as you gazed down at her. You felt your core throbbing weakly and knew you needed to rest, but you didn't regret it. As you spent more time in your domain you would no doubt get stronger, and you’d be able to help even more people.

You were genuinely looking forward to making your mark with the people of Greendale.

Prudence lowered herself to settle on the other side of Agatha, caressing her sister’s face in worry. 

You reassured her that continued therapy by the two of you should eventually return her sister sane, and a watery smile made its way onto her face. 

“Thank you,” she sighed, her exhaustion evident. You gave a small smile, nodding return. Ambrose placed a hand on your shoulder, beckoning you toward the corner. 

There, he spoke of the things Nick neglected to, or rather chose not to. Specifically of his and Prudence’s quest, and the events that followed their return.

From Ambrose, you learned of Faustus Blackwood, and the alarmed humming of your inner core alerted you of the significance of said man. Apparently he’d become the Dark Lord’s newest vessel, and you reminded yourself to pay the man a visit later. 

Of course, thanks to one Nicholas Scratch, you never got the chance.

A/N: I finally updated 🙃 I’ve made it a point to finally get a tag-list going for you guys’ sake due to my unreliable release schedule lol, so if you guys would like to be added please leave a message or comment requesting me to do so! The next chapter should come a lot sooner as my hours as work have finally been cut down a teensy bit more due to everything going on.

[artificialqueens]

Pros and Cons, 1/3 (Witney) - Marion

Summary: The wives of two conmen become fast friends (and maybe more) as their husbands plot an elaborate heist. As the planning progresses, Willam and Courtney grow closer and begin to think that maybe their husbands deserve a taste of their own medicine.

A/N: Partners of partners in crime to lovers AU? I’m not even going to pretend that I didn’t steal this plot (with permission) from Ortega. I’ve had this done and waiting to be edited for about four months now so I figured I’d finally try getting the first part out before the end of the year. I haven’t forgotten about Academic Dishonesty, and hopefully I’ll finish that in the next few weeks now that I’m on break. Shout out to Ortega, Freyja, and Jazz for betaing this and making it so much more readable!

The dock was quiet, as usual. Courtney liked it that way. Perhaps not as much as actually being present during one of her husband’s meetings, but it’s not like her input would have been appreciated anyway. Instead, she had been sent out with the wife of her husband’s new partner to “get to know each other while the boys talk”. She had wanted to argue, but it wouldn’t have done any good. It was better to do as she was told than make him angry in front of his team.

Willam seemed to think the same of her own husband as well. Considering the way that he had acted when they had first arrived, Courtney wasn’t surprised about that. She had left without protest, or a word to anyone. When they had reached the yacht’s deck, she picked a chair - the one Courtney thought of as her own - and sprawled onto it without a glance at Courtney. Had she seemed more inviting, Courtney might’ve attempted to talk to her, take her husband’s advice and get to know the other woman. They were going to be seeing a lot more of each other over the next few months, shouldn’t they at least try to be friends? But Willam had all but asked to be left alone, and Courtney wasn’t in the mood to get on anyone’s bad side.

So she left the boat and walked to the end of the private pier to be alone with her thoughts. With her sandals next to her, she gently kicked at the water as she sat. She wasn’t sure how long had passed before she heard someone approach. She watched as Willam wordlessly took a seat next to her.

As the silence stretched between them, Courtney searched for something to say.

“So how did you two end up together?” she asked as the silence began to feel insufferable, not bothering to look away from the sun setting in the distance.

“He was good for me,” Willam said, her voice even.

Courtney tore her gaze away from the sunset and raised an eyebrow. “That is what ‘good for you’ looks like?” He could have been putting on a show of dominance in an attempt to impress his new teammates when they had arrived, but Courtney had a feeling that Willam’s husband was always like that.

Willam didn’t bother to turn to look at her. “PhDs aren’t cheap,” she said, as if that told her everything she needed to know. Maybe it did.

Courtney nodded. That was something she could understand, even if it hadn’t been a problem for her. “I can imagine, given the amount they charged for my Master’s.”

That got Willam’s attention. She raked her gaze over the other woman, as if reassessing her initial conclusions about her. Courtney felt something warm swell in her chest. It wasn’t pride at her achievement, though she felt eighty pages and countless sleepless nights spent evaluating the results of her research warranted it. No, she knew that feeling. This was different. As if she had received approval that she hadn’t even known she’d been waiting for.

“I hope they gave you your money’s worth,” Willam said, “my program didn’t teach me shit.”

“Oh?” If her interest in this woman hadn’t already been piqued, it was now. What had Willam studied, gotten a PhD in, that she felt she hadn’t learnt anything from? If she had to guess, she’d say fashion design, but that didn’t feel right. Willam seemed to her more like someone who wore designer clothing rather than created it.

Willam nodded decisively. “No one would take me seriously without a degree so I figured there had to be something that they were gonna teach me that was super important, but no. There’s nothing in computer science that you can’t learn from fucking around in your free time after finishing your homework.”

Courtney was taken aback. She hadn’t thought that Willam was stupid, but she hadn’t taken her as a programming prodigy, either. “You knew everything they teach you for a PhD by the time you were eighteen?” she asked. She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice, but she was sure that she had failed at that.

Willam shook her head. “No, but by twenty, yeah. I got a bachelor’s in acting first. It was fucking stupid but I couldn’t really change it by the time I realized.” She shifted, pulling her legs up from where they had been dangling over the side of the dock and tucking them under her. “And I graduated high school when I was sixteen, not eighteen.”

“Why are you out here then? You’d probably be more useful in a heist than like half the people in there combined.”

“Probably the same reason as you. I mean I’m sure your shit is useful too,” Willam said, and Courtney knew she was right. They weren’t here to be masterminds, they were here to be pretty. And they were out here because their husbands didn’t need pretty right now, they needed masterminds. And surely those two things couldn’t intersect.

Courtney shrugged. “It’s still stupid that you don’t get a say in any of this. I’m sure you’d be a better hacker than Tim in there.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you studied?” Willam asked, done with the subject at hand. Of course she’d be good at what they’re doing, there was no need to dwell on it.

Courtney shook her head with a smile. “You’ll laugh.”

“Probably,” Willam said, no hint of jest in her voice. Somehow, the sincerity of it emboldened Courtney instead of scaring her away.

“I studied forensic psychology.”

Willam snorted. “Like criminals and shit? Is that how you ended up here?” she asked.

“It’s complicated,” Courtney said, a bit deflated.

After a few moments of silence passed, Willam nudged her with her shoulder. “C’mon, I think they’re gonna be done soon,” she said, standing and then holding her hand out to help Courtney up.

Courtney took it without hesitation. A buzz she couldn’t quite name moved through her. She couldn’t tell if she was excited or terrified of the next few months, but she felt certain that things were going to change.

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

“Do you love him?” Willam asked as she rifled through a rack of fur coats that Courtney had been side eyeing since they reached this side of the store.

“What?” Courtney asked, certain that she had heard correctly, but willing the other woman to pretend she had asked something else. She hadn’t recognized anyone when they had entered the store and she knew that her husband’s most loyal lackeys were in the conference with him, but she still felt the urge to look over her shoulder and see if anyone had overheard the question.

“It’s a fair question,” Willam said, apparently unwilling to give Courtney the out she had been hoping for.

“Is it?” Courtney asked. Willam turned and eyed her, looking like she was sure that she already had her answer. Courtney supposed that she had, indeed, given her one through omission.

“Yeah, it is.”

Courtney felt herself grow a bit defensive. “Okay then, how about you answer it. Do you love Jace?”

Willam looked her in the eye, her gaze steady. “No.”

Her bluntness surprised Courtney, though maybe it shouldn’t after having known her for as long as she had. Having spent time with her nearly every other evening for two weeks had made it obvious that Willam would say what she thought without hesitation, at least as long as her husband wasn’t around.

Nonetheless, Courtney wavered. “Did you ever love him?” she asked, her voice quieter than before, hoping they hadn’t drawn the attention of those around them.

Willam turned back to the rack and shrugged. “He was the guy with the most money that treated me the least shitty. There wasn’t really an expectation on either side.”

“He’s the one that treated you the best? The crime boss that doesn’t let you speak in front of his colleagues?”

“I didn’t say he kept the title for very long. Besides, he wasn’t a crime boss when we met, just like third in line or whatever. And honestly I could say the same thing to you. If everything you say about Jace is gonna sound like you’re insulting me then maybe we should talk about Rick. He’s a keeper, isn’t he?”

Courtney wanted to hide. Willam’s tone had remained steady, but her searching through the rack had become more erratic. It wasn’t the way that Willam had said it, or the way that the atmosphere had changed as she spoke that left Courtney uncomfortable - it was what she said. She was right, of course. But she didn’t need anyone reminding her of it.

“Touche,” she all but whispered, and turned away to look for something a little more her style, and a lot further from Willam.

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

In the last month, there were times where being around Willam felt insufferable. But not always, and certainly not on the days where they ignored why they were spending time together in the first place. No, on those days, Willam was tolerable. Better than tolerable. Funny, quick-witted, honest, perhaps the best friend Courtney had had the chance to see with any amount of regularity in years, and breathtakingly gorgeous. That last one could become a problem, Courtney could admit to herself when she was alone, but her resolve was strong and her self preservation was even stronger.

Upon seeing Willam in a bikini for the first time, Courtney began to wonder how much she really believed that.

“No more sitting around whining when they have their meetings on the yacht,” Willam said as she emerged from below deck. “If they’re gonna have us this close to the beach, we’re gonna use it.” She didn’t wait for a response before leading Courtney off the yacht. She didn’t need to. Wherever she went, Courtney would follow. That’s how it had been since she had first presented Courtney with the idea of “let’s do something fun!” during their second evening together. Even at her most overbearing, Courtney couldn’t seem to keep herself from her side for long.

Walking behind her along the dock, Courtney tried and failed to keep her eyes off of Willam. Her hair was tied back in a fishtail braid- there were new colorful streaks, courtesy of not having to try to look professional as a stay-at-home wife. Scanning down her tanned back, Courtney couldn’t decide what was drawing her eyes more, the newly discovered tramp stamp on her friend’s back, or the enticing ass below it.

Stop it, Courtney reminded herself. Trying hard to focus attention anywhere else, she continued her sweep down to look at the ground. Except–

“Are you wearing platform crocs?” Courtney asked, unable to hold back the question. If she had learned anything about Willam in the past month, it was that she took her shoes seriously. Courtney never would have imagined Willam having anything to do with what she was wearing now, aside from perhaps taking any opportunity to mock them.

“Yeah,” Willam said, glancing back at her. “I was gonna wear my pool party pumps, but those are more pool than beach. These are fucking great for the sand, though.”

Courtney could not imagine any way that the shoes would be good for the sand. Easier to clean, perhaps, but while they certainly seemed like a better idea than pumps on the sand, they still seemed like a recipe for disaster. Still, Courtney kept her mouth shut. Maybe she didn’t know Willam’s tastes as well as she thought.

The beach was nearly empty when they arrived, owing to the fact that most of those who shared the property preferred to spend their Tuesday evenings plotting a bank heist or figuring out the most effective way to steal from their workers’ wages. Generally, that thought led to a spiral of guilt over the fact that she hadn’t found some way to force her husband to be a halfway decent person, but Willam drew her attention away from it with ease.

“You’re too much of a prude to go skinny dipping before sunset, aren’t you?” Willam asked.

Had she had a drink, Courtney would have done a spit take. Skinny dipping? With Willam? She wanted to argue that she wasn’t a prude, but what could she say to convince Willam without having to give a different reason that she wouldn’t go skinny dipping with her? It didn’t sound unpleasant, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it sounded a little too pleasant, and she wasn’t ready to face that fact, not yet.

Willam rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, Court,” she said, spreading out the two towels she had brought next to each other in the sand. She put on a pair of sunglasses, and laid down on one of the towels.

Courtney looked down at her. “Didn’t we come here to swim?” she asked.

“What?” Willam asked, her voice tinted with the slightest amount of panic. “There’s fucking sharks out there, I’m not going out there!”

“Shark attacks are a lot more rare than horror movies would have you think,” Courtney said, taking a seat on the open towel. “Trust me, I’d know. Where I’m from even the rivers have sharks, and I’m in one piece.”

“Remind me that I can’t ever go with you to visit your family,” Willam said.

Courtney felt her mood drop, but tried not to let it show. “I’m just saying, we humans kill a lot more sharks than they do us.”

“And I’m just saying, if you wanna see me get wet, you’re gonna have to take me somewhere without monsters.”

Courtney felt her face heat and hoped that Willam’s sunglasses would keep her from seeing the flush that she was certain was rising on her cheeks. Willam hadn’t meant it like that, she was sure, but that didn’t keep her mind from wandering where it shouldn’t. Willam was her friend, her straight friend at that, and they were both married. Married to men they didn’t enjoy the presence of and who made it clear that they thought they were better than their wives by some divine right, but married nonetheless. She had to get a hold of herself.

“Are you gonna just sit there, or what?” Willam asked.

“I mean you’re just gonna lay there, what’s the difference?” Courtney asked, glad for a deflection from her thoughts.

“Yeah, but I’m tanning, and that’s a thing people do. You’re just sitting around on the beach like a weirdo.”

Courtney hadn’t quite realized that she was looking for an out until she found one. If she could get away from Willam, even just for ten minutes, she might be able to get a hold of herself. Being around her for hours every week was intoxicating, and she needed to try and sober up if she was going to spend the next few hours next to the nearly-naked frame of the woman beside her.

“Actually, I forgot to put on sunscreen. I’m gonna run back to the yacht for a minute,” she said, hoping it came out casually rather than quick and flustered.

“I’ve got some in my bag,” Willam said, sitting up and reaching into the purse next to her. “C’mere, dumbass, I’ll get your back.”

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

“Any idea how much longer they’re just gonna sit around planning?” Willam asked as she reclined in her seat. The mall didn’t strike her as particularly Willam when they had been dropped off that afternoon, but as their time had progressed, it seemed that she fit better than Courtney had ever anticipated. Half an hour in the pet store and one Yves Saint Laurant purse later, Courtney felt as though she had never quite seen Willam as herself as she was now.

“Planning’s important. It takes time to make sure nothing is gonna end up getting screwed over,” Courtney said.

Willam rolled her eyes. “I know that, I just didn’t think that they were capable of thinking this long without their brains breaking. Besides, I bet we could pull something together in a third of the time.”

Courtney’s eyebrow shot up. “You think so?”

“I know so. I mean c’mon, all of them have, what, like three brain cells all together? I mean we’ve got at least five. Besides we’ve got psychology and computers and feminine wiles on our side,” Willam said, trailing her hand up her thigh in demonstration. It was really, really in Courtney’s best interest that she not lift her hemline any higher. “What have they got?”

Courtney pulled herself out of it. Straight. Married. Friend. “You mean aside from the money and weapons and hired thugs?”

“I’m sure if we needed them, we could get some of those too,” Willam flashed Courtney a grin, “but I doubt we’d need ‘em.”

“If I ever need to pull off a heist with a quick turnaround, I’ll keep you in mind,” Courtney said with a snort, but it seemed as though Willam’s attention had been pulled away from the topic already.

“Oooo girl, look to your left! Hot ass alert!” Willam said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Courtney followed Willam’s gaze and wrinkled her nose. “That guy’s like seventy.”

Willam looked at her like she was stupid. “Not him, dumbass, the blonde in the mini dress!”

Courtney looked back again.There was a tall blonde woman, about their age, standing in line to get a smoothie. She was wearing a tight black mini dress and did, in fact, have a nice ass. Maybe she really didn’t know Willam’s tastes as well as she thought. The thought made her mind drift. So maybe Willam wasn’t straight.

Still your friend. Still married, both of you. She scolded herself.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Willam said. “And don’t try to pretend you don’t like girls either, you’re not subtle.”

Courtney felt herself flush. Had Willam really seen her looking, all this time? She must seem like an ass.

“Sorry,” Courtney said, trying and failing to find some excuse.

“Don’t be,” Willam said. “I like the attention. And I already know I’ve got a nice ass. It wouldn’t hurt for you to compliment it while you’re staring at it.”

Courtney had been certain that she couldn’t go any pinker, but she began to lose that conviction. She really needed to work on her subtlety.

“I know you don’t always walk behind me because you trust my directions. And you’ve got a nice ass yourself. Now c’mon, there’s another store I want to check out before we get picked up.”

Unprompted, Courtney could’ve sat in the same spot for hours replaying the conversation, but she didn’t get the chance. Willam’s hand wrapped around her own and began tugging her to their next destination, with no courtesy given to the fact that Courtney had spent the last few weeks using all of her willpower to avoid imagining feeling those hands on her skin.

[sloppy-butcher]

Angel of Music

The Wraith (Philip Ojomo) x Survivor!Reader 

ok so

I’m probably very late to this, like 3 years late, but whatever just hear me out

My smooth brain has been going crazy lately for Phantom of the Opera and i just realized how similar Wraith’s “Angel of Music” cosmetic is to the drama (i mean, i known it is inspired by it but like). 

so now with this glorious revelation, me and the monkeys in my head have come up with the brilliant idea to write a Phantom of the Opera inspired Wraith fic. gods speed you funky lil dudes. 

note;; this is going to be very OOC for him. I’m am going to model wraith to be more like the phantom he is dressed as, thus expect a more devilish, seductive creature rather than the tree-man we already know. also, he can talk now. maybe sing

literally no one asked for this

word count: 4110

TW: Death and blood. Stalking and obsession. Musicals 

This place is an undeniable and indisputable nightmare. An eternal night that twists and corrupts all with shadows and despair. From the repetitive game of cat and mouse that almost always ended in death to the ever-present feeling of eternal damnation, there is absolutely nothing inherently good about the Fog. There wasn’t even light. As if stuck in the haze of an ecstasy-trip, time bleeds into itself seeming to stretch on forever yet also never move an inch. A true paradox.

And to make matters somehow even worse, you had started to hear voices in your head.

It first spoke to you on one of your regular trips into the woods. Scavenging for tools and items that could be used in trials, you hummed to yourself. Oblivious to the world around you, lost to the music playing in your head. It was easier to forget the horrors of the night and give in to the melody of some old song than to ponder on dangers yet to come. You found personal peace in singing, drowning out all your earthly worries by the power of your own imagination. The fog swirled and swelled with the rise and fall of your song and out in the darkness the voice made its presence known. ‘Sing louder.’ You obliged willingly.

Initially, you had chalked it up to your heightened sense of purpose and inner monologue being superimposed so as to form its own being. You would command yourself in third person, detaching and driving your body as your thoughts spoke. Intuition personified. This theory made sense; endless panic often causes those to develop the most peculiar of coping mechanisms. In passing conversations with the other trapped souls you realized that they too had their quirks; one had a rubber band that he snapped on his wrist whenever scared, another rubbed dirty into her palms to stop them from sweating and so on. Unfortunately, you had developed the most bizarre habit out of everyone else. You only started to question the voice’s true intention when its orders became more sinister.

‘Leave him.’ It spoke over your shoulder referring to your teammate dying on hook, an open exit gate before you. ‘Run away.’ It commanded to your half-way through healing another when you spotted the killer fast approaching. All these new and selfish instructions, although ensuring your survival, left you feeling hollow inside. You escaped but at what cost? The lives of your friends. If it really was your true self talking to you then, by default, did that mean you were as evil as the voice was? No! You plead. You were a good person. By God you were human, and the weight of all the death and suffering inflicted by your obedience to the voice began to crush your conscience. You couldn’t even look the others in the eyes anymore.

You couldn’t just ignore the voice either. When it spoke there seemed to be an almost physical force behind it, driving it and giving it momentum. Sometimes it even felt as if someone was standing right behind you reaching out and instructing you with their hand as they whispered in your ear. There was also the fact that you drew strange comfort from the voice. In this desert place, so drained of softness and angry with hate, you depended on what little gentleness the voice offered you.  

It even occurred to you that maybe, the voice wasn’t even yours - as in it belonged to someone else entirely. An unknown watcher, a ghost or phantom, who somehow had a deep connection to you, a one-way mode of communication. A large part of you wanted desperately to believe that who were just overreacting and that it was all just in your head. Regardless, you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

For what felt like days now the voice had been uncharacteristically silent. You noticed it in your first ever trial with the killer that could go invisible with the toll of his bell. There was no guidance, no consoling vector to take your hand and help you through your problems. You had been left alone like a new-born chick, blindly searching for the love and warmth of a guardian. Feeling completely lost, the panic that sat on your chest was overwhelming in that trial. But oddly enough, no matter what you did wrong, how many times you blew up a generator or accidentally revealed your position, the killer never disturbed you. You didn’t even see him until the end where, standing in the exit gate looking in on the realm, you spotted the figure. Bright eyes gleamed back, a bloody weapon in his hands. He allowed you a moment longer to gawk at him before ringing his bell and disappearing into the night.

Even after escaping the voice didn’t return. Your ears yearned for the sound of it, hungry for its filling noise. You sat alone at the campfire, eyes staring unblinking into the mesmerizing flames. It was so lonely, the panic and unrest mixing into a dangerous concoction in your head. There was nothing good anymore. Why do you keep on trying? Perhaps it would be better if you just gave in already. You almost jumped out of your skin when, as if manifested by your desperate cry, the voice called.

‘Come.’ It sounded from the treeline, darkness bending and beckoning you into it. It didn’t feel real. Perhaps you were imagining it. ‘Come,’ It said again sensing your hesitation. You looked around at the other survivors none of which appeared to notice the disturbance. You faced the forest again, it opened to you like the mouth of a great fish. Your feet itched to run to it. There was a powerful pull and before long you followed it.

The woods were freezing, broken branches grabbing out as you passed them. Through all these adversaries, pushing past doubts and warranted skepticism, you kept your eyes focused ahead. Even with all the warning flags the voice had given you, the pure desperation you had to find anything even remotely kind lit the fire of will under your feet. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? You were dead either way. The trees swayed and whined as a tired wind blew through their crumbling leaves, oddly not even making a noise. As the voice continued to call, luring you away from the safety of other people and fire, you spotted something ahead of you. There just through the fog, like a lighthouse over a raging sea, was a light. It bobbed and sway and wondered away from you through the trees. It was hypnotizing to watch the light flicker deeper into the trees, your feet not needing motivation to follow.

The light and voice mingled in your head, overwhelming every sense until it felt like you were walking through a dream. Your pace was sluggish and sloppy, you couldn’t feel the ground anymore. Just as it seemed you’d never catch up to the light, it suddenly stopped, blinked a few times then popped out of existence. You went to its last location, looking around for any possible signs of anything to help you but instead found yourself completely surrounded by an all impressive mist. It danced through the trees creating unbreakable walls of wood and water. It felt wrong to be here, your head spin around for an exit which came to you in the form of an out-of-place stone archway.

The bright yellow of the stone contrasted brilliantly against the somber atmosphere it lived in. Your mind wasn’t your own as you unknowingly went to it. Beyond the mouth of madness lay a beast in wait, purring as he felt your impending arrival. Eagerness overtook him and slowly the wooden door creaked open to welcome you inside. The tunnel that lay behind was one lit by old candles tinting the world with a much-appreciated golden light. It stretched on for miles, leading down into the earth where, at the bottom drifting up to you like a breeze in a cave, the voice beckoned.

‘Come.’ You stepped inside. ‘Come to me.’ If, by some strange miracle, you could have stopped yourself for a brief moment from descending the tunnel, you might have noticed the voice’s odd word choice. You might have even noticed the person on the other end licking his lips and smiling. Walking as if through honey, you unhurriedly made your way to the yearning voice. Before long the warm light that had bathed you drew back its loving embrace and faded back to absolute darkness.

At the edge of the last candles reach was a room - so large and empty of light that it appeared to have no roof, no walls, no end. You couldn’t help but feel like you had walked into the lair, the most secret and quiet place, of a monster. You couldn't shake the feeling that you had passed the point of no return. The artificial night swallowed you whole; your eyes strained in the pitch black, your ears burning from the total silence save for your own beating heart. The shadows inspected you, looking you up and down while you were none the wiser. His eyes also ate you up, so pleased to have you alone that he let the moment slip into an uncomfortable length.

You wanted to speak, make your claim against whatever had brought you here. You could sense something out there just outside of your already limited view. But the silence held you tight in its suffocating grasp. You dared not even breath. You had to wait for him to make the first move.

“Bravo.” The voice called from somewhere behind you, startling you to the point of drawing a gasp. “Bravo! Bravissimo!” Someone started to clap. You could hear him stepping around you, his voice echoing endlessly around the room, impossibly loud and booming. Although there was something deeply unsettling about the voice, the only thing you could take from it was odd comfort. It was real. A person. A guardian Angel! You spun around on your heels desperate to see the source of your guidance however he managed to remain hidden in shadow. You swear you could hear him grin at your confusion.

“You listen well, my dear.” There was no denying it, it was the voice. Although only now, when it spoke so openly, did you notice that it was inherently male. So relieved with the news that you weren’t going completely mad with disembodied voices, you glazed over the other implications this reveal came with. If it wasn’t yourself than just who have you been talking to all this time? And, the more pressing matter, just who were you stuck with in the room.

The stranger claps again and moves around in the black, shuffling from one side of the room to the other and at times seeming to even be above you, looking down. “I am beyond impressed my dear.” The stranger smiled, unbeknownst to you getting closer with very advance. “Do you know where you are?” No reply. Honestly you had no clue. You had never been in this place before - it felt so detached, so different when compared to all the other realms you had grown accustomed to in the Fog.

“Hell.” The voice answered, purring like a cat with a trapped mouse, teasing it - relishing off its fear. “The deepest pit. And, what’s more, you came here all on your own free-will.” He moved again not content to stay in one spot for too long, trying to view you from every possible angle before he made his last move.

“Won’t you sing for me. My Angel of music. You know the one I mean.” His words hit you like a ton of bricks. A song? As you wracked your brain for whatever he could be referring to, a faint idea began to materialize right in the tip of your tongue. Words of a melody that you swear you had never heard before but still feel familiar with in your heart. The voice, it sang to you. How could you forget!  

“Every night I was there. Whispering my song to you in hopes that one day, you could join in with me.” That was true. Each time you dared to drift off to sleep, the voice would appear. He sang to you, gently and softly, talking into your ear to lull you safely away - only to wake hours later with no memory of the night before. Perhaps that is why you were always so attached to the voice, why its absence impacted you so deeply. There was a build of pressure behind you and suddenly he was there. The stranger towered over you without even looking, his chest pressed tight to your back. Exploring hands went down your arms and slowly brought them up like the two of you were about to start a dance. His head hung low to your ear, his breathing touching your exposed neck. He sucked in and exhaled meaningfully, taking in your smell and touch and your reaction to his closeness.

“Sing.” God, his voice was so smooth, demanding and rich. A sonorous tone that had never been shown to you before this. It shocked you to your core. He sighed again, one hand moving to caress your neck with the other holding your own hand. “Sing my Angel.” Up till now you were passive, sitting ideally in a dream-state as you let the stranger do as he wished. But now you wanted answers.

“Let me see you.” No answer came from the man be it verbal or physical. He remained completely unphased and unchanging.

“Sing.” He commanded again, no anger or annoyance in his tone only patience and hunger. He yearned for you to sing with him, to join in with his symphony. For too long has he gone silent, his soul dying along with his music. The bells no longer tolling and his music fading out like a lit match in the rain. When he found you, fallen like an angel right out of Heaven, humming alone to yourself, he felt the fire of passion ignite within him. You were perfect to him and now, you couldn’t resist him. You were defenseless, night having accustomed you to its unfurling beauty to the point that you were addicted to it – needed it, just as he did. There was no way either of you could go back now. You breathed into him, your nose filling with the smell of pine and smoke, and hesitantly after closing your eyes, you began to sing the words now burning hot in your head.

“Say you’ll share with me,” It wasn’t really singing, rather just breathless talking – a whisper that only the keenest of ears could hear. Regardless of what you sounded like; the stranger cherished every word that left your mouth. He started to shake, his hands holding on to you for support.

“One love, one lifetime.” He joined you now, singing as you did in a volume that only you could truly appreciate. His raspy, low-pitched voice mingling wonderfully with yours, sounding almost desperate to get the words out. Lips grazed your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“Say the word,” His hands tightened their grip as if to empathize his lyrics. “And I will follow you.”

“Say you love me.” Your combined voices bounced around the darkness stirring whatever creatures lay in hiding, your harmony compelling and immensely sorrowful. While a part of you faded into the song’s words, swaying and melting with the stranger content for once, something crawled into your head. The song was ending, and while you wished to stay forever in this blissful embrace, you demanded to know the face behind the voice. Your moment was coming.

“That’s all I ask of -” Slipping out his grasp at the moments climax, you spin around to finally lay your eyes on the stranger. He froze under your gaze, surprised by your sudden action. Looking up at an incredibly tall man, you felt your knees threaten to give out. Staring back were the glowing eyes of a killer, the very one that had, not long ago, tormented your friends. You couldn’t help but gasp and step away from him, breaking his hold on you. You inspected him as best you could in your lack of light, squinting your eyes as hard as you could but nothing in the darkness made itself known to you save for his unmistakable eyes. The stranger noticed your efforts and, fuming at your defiance to play along with him, raised a hand.

“You wish to disobey me? Fine!” The ground shook under foot, his shouting voice ricocheting off the rooms stone walls and sending the world into disarray. “Look at me Angel! In all my glory!” He snapped his fingers.

Suddenly your senses were overwhelmed by blinding white light. You flinched, shutting your eyes to the dramatic change in the room. When next you opened then you found the room to be hazed in familiar yellow candlelight. As if by magic, all candles had all be simultaneously lit. Your attention darted around like a trapped bird before resting on the man standing in front of you, his arms open and expression unreadable. Bathed in new light you could see him in immaculate detail.

Yes, it was the invisible killer, no doubt about it. But something was off about him. He looked different somehow; maybe it was his prim suit, navy fabric decorated with golden lace that fit his slender body snugly giving him a sense of proper and divinity. Behind him hung an extraordinary cape that fluttered in a non-existent breeze. On his face sat a white mask, crooked and dirtied from years of neglect which, in all honesty, covered little to none of his truly disfigured and burnt flesh.

Unparalleled fear began to rise in your chest. He was so tall, powerful and strange that it terrified you to be standing next to him. You stepped backwards, edging closer to the exit. The stranger’s eyes flickered. How could you fear him? He had never hurt you, Angel. All he has ever wanted was to be by your side, to never be lonely in the dark again. He has given you no reason to distrust him, he has never shown you his monstrous side. Yet still you shrunk away from his touch, choosing rather silent suffering than a lifetime of music with him. He felt something break inside him.

You saw his hand twitch, his off-center head bobbing as his labored breathing intensified. He took a small step forward and you replied by taking a large one back. He halted and so did you. Next to the broken thing that rattled around in his bones, he heard something else. A beating heart, weak and faint but somehow still alive. It moved and leaped, reaching out for you to take it and hold. Just standing in your company he heard music start to swell in his ears. You had listened to him once before, maybe he could get you to again.

The stranger's head dropped; through the lumpy cape you saw his shoulders deflate. What was he doing? Playing possum so as to catch you off guard? Whatever it was, you didn’t let the tension ease out your legs. You waited for his next move, ready to run if he tried anything suspicious. You didn't expect the sound of his voice to suddenly start singing again.

“Say you’ll share with me,” He sang his solo, his voice that of an airy murmur as if afraid to sing alone. Every word he sang clung to your ears, kissing your heart and mind with a complex sorrow. Your guard started to halter.

“One love. One lifetime.” He paused, swallowing the lump building in his throat warning to overflow and render him speechless.

“Lead me,” He raised a cautious eye to find you still waiting, offering him the chance to try coax you closer. A fist clutched his chest in an attempt to sooth his aching heart. “Save me from my solitude.” He was certain he was crying but he couldn’t feel the tears; you had his undivided attention.

“Say you want me here...” He faltered here, hand itching to reach out and grab you. “Beside you.”  The stranger could barely form audible words anymore, so slurred and choked up that you unknowingly leaned forward to try hear him better. 

“Anywhere you go,” He tried again, begging you to close the distance and join him. It was heartbreaking, this phantom, this person and the way he sang to you, each syllable dripping with an ocean of unimaginable pain and beastly hopelessness. It was infectious really; you could feel his sadness take over your heart shaking it in an iron grasp. Miserable eyes glared you down as you took the smallest step forward. “Let me go too.”

He didn’t continue - he couldn’t. The horrors of the whispering darkness and this god-awful place left him near-drained. Everything pushed down on him, suffocating him until he thought he was going to pass out. He could only keep his eyes on you. Blurry from tears he held onto your figure like your were a buoy in a raging sea, his only safety, his air. The stranger heaved from trying to maintain his composure. Finally the curtain fell and you gave in. 

Your foot falls were the only sounds that broke the silence in the room. You approached him with little to no conflict in your mind. Yes - he was scary. Yes - he was a monster. But the way he looked at you now, the way he sang and spoke; no killer would beg to be loved the way he did. It was like he was afraid of the dark, of being alone, of being condemned to an existence of pitiful silence. You craned your neck to look up at him, sucking back the wreckage still wavering just outside his control. 

“Pitiful creature of darkness,” The words tumbled out of your mouth, through teeth unfazed by their possible repercussion. You were speaking from your heart. A small hand connects with his unmasked cheek taking in the feeling of old, burnt skin and years of mud. He leans into your warm embracing having forgotten what it was like. “You are not alone.” 

Even on tip-toes you still were short of his lips. It was only when he gave in and leaned down that you were able to kiss him. Eyes closed, shoulders tensing, you melted into the kiss. His lips were rough, chapped, but gentle. He didn’t give anymore pressure until you asked for him, dragging you tongue along his bottom lip asking for entrance. He opened to you gratefully. Inside his mouth housed monstrous sharp teeth and an excited tongue and moved inside your mouth, tasting ever inch of you. He was greedy, demanding everything of yours. When you had nothing more to give, he relented and let you go.

You sank back on your heels gasping for breath. You noticed he was smiling, an odd sight of such a distorted and sad face. 

“My Angel. My Muse.” You felt him move on top of you, a hand sneaking behind your back making to bend over so as not be pressed uncomfortably against his chest. “I have many names of which to call you. I am eager to use them all.” He laughed, the sound rattling your whole body with its bass leaving you quivering. “But you, can call me Philip.” He tilted his head in a mock bow, his free hand grabbing the edge of his cape and fanning it out in respect. You offered you own  meek nod. His smile only widened at your compliance. 

“Come now,” Philip said standing up to his full height, his hand still securing your back. “Let me take you away. Away from all this numb light and into the darkness where no one will find us.” He raised his arm and cape and quickly brought it down around you, sweeping it around the both of your until he had you cocooned. 

The world fell into black again and all you could sense was him; his breathing, his reinforced arms cradling you. You could also hear a faint thumping when you put your ear to his chest - his heart. Once diseased and weak now pumped with vigor and delight. He had you in his grasp and he was never letting you go. You were his everything; his Angel of music.

[bigdreamsandwildthings]

Review: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (Suzanne Collins)

Rating: ★★★★★/5

"It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under. It's sooner than later that you'll be alone. So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder? For when the bell rings, lover, you're on your own. And I am the one who you let see you weeping. I know the soul that you struggle to save. Too bad I'm the bet that you lost in the reaping. Now what will you do when I go to my grave?" I wasn't sure how I'd feel about reentering the world of the Hunger Games, but my god, I enjoyed it immensely. I'm so pleasantly surprised. Coriolanus Snow has lived through the war with the districts. He lives in a penthouse suite, he goes to school at the Academy, and he has a bright Capitol future ahead of him. When he's assigned to mentor the girl from District 12 at the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus sees it as a challenge, and his ticket to university - because underneath the facade he presents, the Snows' money is dwindling, and his future could very well be at stake. But Lucy Gray may be more than he bargained for, and his future even less certain than he already believes it to be. The thought of a prequel novel about Snow, of all people, left me feeling very lukewarm when I heard about this one. Yes, he was a decent villain, I hated him SO MUCH, but was he interesting enough to warrant an entire novel? Turns out: fuck yes. Oh my god. I love how Suzanne Collins can work such structure into her novels and mixes the familiar with the new. We know Panem from the 74th Hunger Games 64 years in the future - this is the time of the 10th, and so much is different. This novel really bridges the gap between what Panem becomes and where it started, namely as North America as we know it. So, we know the format of the Hunger Games from the series, and that is indeed present here, but it's done in such a different way. Without the glitz and glamour of the future, without the mandatory watching and spectacle of it all, it somehow hits so much harder, knowing where it's all heading. This is a punishment for the districts, and it's horrible, but at the same time, no one seems to know what happens beyond the reaping. Fascinating. I thought I might find it hard to read from Snow's perspective, but I empathized with him more than I wanted to, and maybe even more than I should have. He's a vain person, very concerned with status, but he grew up in a war - he has faced hardship in his life, and his reaction to that has been to control things. To make it so that he can't be hurt again, no matter what that costs him. And I just...I get it. It's so wonderfully conveyed here that even when the eventual twist came and I had to hate him, I still just understood, and I can appreciate him so much more as a character in the original trilogy now. As for Lucy Gray and the Covey, what a wonderful addition they made to this otherwise quite beige/gray/bland world. They were the colour that this story needed. Lucy Gray's songs are also an absolute highlight of this one for me; I felt like I could hear them when I read those lyrics, and it made it so very engrossing and atmospheric. And the Hanging Tree! I got full body goosebumps at the scene of her writing it. She is lovely, and motivated so differently than Coriolanus that the balance was almost a relief. Their relationship was sometimes hard to read, but I believed it. What drives this from an engrossing, intense read up to the level of a fave for me is the moral philosophy that Collins weaves through her words. How she presents us with this character who has to choose control, has to fight the chaos, in order to move on in life because he is so convinced that human beings are ultimately selfish and no better than animals. That we'd all kill each other without some kind of overarching controlling figure to tell us not to. The path that Panem has taken to reach Katniss's time is now just so much clearer; it's because of Snow. At the end of the day, I just really enjoyed this. I know others have said it's meandering, dull, etc. but I truly never found myself bored. I wanted to read this, and when I wasn't reading, I was thinking about it. That is enough for me as a reader, but this book goes above and beyond that to being actual quality in terms of writing, plot, and characters, too.

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Xiaojun, Ten, Jaehyun ➔Genre: Supernatural Thriller ➔Warnings: Violence | Death  ➔Word count: 5,139

➔Definition of stranger 1: one who is strange: such as a person or thing that is unknown or with whom one is unacquainted

  He checked his teeth in the mirror. He puckered his lips and stretched them with his fingers to make sure his facial expressions would appear right. He picked the lint from his jacket. His shoes were too big for his feet, but they were all he had. He practiced his speech on the way there, his tongue hitting the front of his teeth to pronounce the words correctly. He felt like he could pass on without a hitch.

  When he got to the office, the line was over fifty people long. Each man before him wore a similar suit: lint-less and grey, void of any personality. A pass only went to those that could blend in with the horde. He saw a man a few heads away wearing an orange pocket square that he knew would be flagged. You couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Doing so would result in an on-the-spot fail.

  He checked the time. He looked back and saw the line growing longer behind him. The whir of machines in the office made him feel tired. He checked the time again. He tried to shake away a fleck of dirt from the top of his shoe. He moved up a few feet. He yawned.

  As he got closer to the front, he could hear voices. The nerves in his stomach were eating him from the inside out. He adjusted his glasses and looked behind him, once again. The smile he gave the man behind him did not change the mans face. Everyone in the line was miserable, waiting, exhausted down to the bone. When he faced the front, a scream pierced through the air. Most of the men in line did not react, but he couldn’t stop himself from jumping in the air in surprise. The heart in his chest was trying to see its way out of his body. He had heard rumors of what happened to people who jumped the line, each one more horrific than the next. He never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those punishments. 

  “This is insane.” he muttered underneath his breath.

  He craned his neck to see any commotion, but the front of the line looked miles long. He watched the people sitting at their desks in the vast office, their eyes on their computer screens as their fingers clicked away furiously. Any interruption would upset the system, he knew. Any interruption would result in another fail, or worse.

“Hey,” a voice whispered behind him. “Hey, pss. Psss, hey.”

  He turned around to see the man, one person behind him, vying for his attention. The man was the only one stepping out of line, his body too animated, and his voice too jarring. He ignored the man and turned his attention back to the front. He had to keep focused. He heard the “Pss.” again, but he was good at staying disciplined. It was best not to draw too much attention to yourself he repeated to himself. It was best to fly underneath the radar, or they could find any reason to indict a fail. 

  His time finally came, and he was too scared to look at anyone but the woman at the front, a large podium hiding her body. She was pretty, not a hair out of place, and a uniform that looked just as drab as his suit. She looked bored by her job, her ruby red lips firmly set into a grim line. He wondered what it would be like sitting here day after day, your only job deciding which people get a chance, and which people don’t. 

“Name.” she said.

“Xiaojun.” he said. 

“Class?”

  Xiaojun brought out his Class T badge and presented it to her. It was the lowest class possible, but he presented it as if it were wrapped in gold foil. She took the badge and scanned it before handing it back to him. She did not care what class he was in. 

“Reason for passing through?” she asked. 

“Work,” he said. “Business, I mean.”

  Since it was Xiaojun’s very first time passing through, he didn’t know what to expect. The less you said, the better. It was hard to get to the other side if you had marks on your badge, if you were bad, or too talkative. Luckily, Xiaojun’s history was squeaky clean, and he could keep quiet as a mouse. He was proud of himself.

“Your return date is three Sundays from now,” she said. She stamped a few pages on her podium and looked up at him, her eyes not really seeing him. “Not returning on that exact day will result in your death. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

She continued, “ Any and all decisions on the other side are yours and yours only. You break the rules, you’ll be removed indefinitely. Now, if you go into the room on the right, someone will attend to you. Have a safe trip and remember where you belong.”

  Xiaojun looked to his right to see a plain white door with a small window waiting for him, a door he would have sworn wasn’t there just moments ago. He turned back to the woman to ask a question, but she was already ushering the next man forward. The noisy man behind him was desperately trying to get the woman's attention, and people were starting to notice. Before Xioajun walked into the room, he saw several of the desk people tear their eyes from their screens. Interruptions weren’t uniform, and would result in failure. 

“Hurry up,” a voice said, pulling him forward. “You’re not the only one here today.”

  The room was empty except for a man waiting by a white, brick wall. He was in a suit so black Xiaojun felt he was getting ready to be sucked into a black hole. His blonde hair was parted severely down the middle of his scalp, the ends just touching the tips of his ears. There wasn’t a bead of perspiration on his forehead or upper lip, which wasn’t something Xiaojun could say about himself. Xiaojun approached the man, ready to extend his class T badge if need be. He was too afraid to look the man in the eyes, but Xiaojun was sure he was used to how people looked at him. The murky red of his pupils was hard not to notice, and even more disturbing was the way they looked Xiaojun up and down, as if his eyes were an x-ray machine. The man swept his eyes from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, all while giving him a look of distaste at what he saw.

“Your skills,” the man said. “Show me.”

 Xiaojun wasn’t used to showing off what he could do for those who didn’t need it. In the grand scheme of things, he felt useless. So many others could do great things, but his skill didn’t warrant a lot of respect. But Xiaojun stepped up anyway, his hands gesturing out like a circus performer.

“I need one of your hands,” he said, keeping his voice gentle so as not to alert the man of any danger.

 The man, whose name badge read TEN, held out his hand without hesitation. He had seen his share of skills walk through the door. Most skills were quite trivial, but each one, in Ten’s eyes, was important in their world. Ten giving Xiaojun his hand meant that he could document every abuse of power in the other world. Ten would remember Xiaojun, cataloging him into the back of his mind for future reference. 

“This might hurt a little.” Xiaojun said.

  Before Xiaojun could take hold of Ten’s hand, a siren sounded. Through the small window, Xiaojun could see the noisy man being dragged away by two hulking figures. The noisy man’s screams were loud, the sound of his fists connecting with muscle too unsettling for Xiaojun. The tantrum the noisy man was having made the atmosphere grow darker. The energy was shifting, and Xiaojun felt scared down to his core. Just as he was getting ready to face Ten and ask him for directions on what to do or how to help, Ten jerked his hand away like it was Xiaojun who was causing a scene.

“Lucky you. Demonstration over,” Ten said. “Cross through. Return three Sundays from now. Failure to come back will result in the death of yourself and everyone you know.”

  Ten ran out of the room and straight towards the fight, his red eyes the only thing Xiaojun could pick out from the crowd. Xiaojun looked at the blank wall before him. There was a ripple in its face, one that beckoned him forward. It would take a few seconds for him to cross over, to finally secure his first turn into the other world. Instead, Xiaojun went to the window, his nosiness making it difficult for him to break away. The other world could wait. He tip-toed so he could see everything and stuck his nose up against the glass. On the other side of the window, Ten was standing before a bunch of people who had finally controlled the situation in their favor. The noisy man was still freaking out, the veins in his neck moving like worms. The ones assessing the damage were all talking, and everyone around them was observing the situation closely. Not many people looked as fearful as Xiaojun felt. It was his first time witnessing what happened when you didn’t follow the rules. 

“What will they do to you?” Xiaojun asked out loud. 

  The noisy man dropped to his knees. The sound of his knee caps hitting the hard floor was enough distraction. The men holding him loosened their grip for a second, but it was enough for the noisy man to get to his feet and hurl his body towards the room Xiaojun occupied. At the last minute, Xiaojun moved out of the way and backed into the corner. The door to the room flew open and banged against the opposite wall leaving a dent. The noisy man stepped through and locked eyes with Xiaojun. The veins in his neck were breaking through his skin like tentacles that threatened to wrap around Xiaojun’s throat if he got in the way. With cold fear running through his veins, Xiaojun pressed his body against the wall.

“I won’t hurt you.” Xiaojun said to the noisy man.

“But I will.” 

  A man entered the room. Xiaojun had seen him before. His name was Jaehyun, and he was someone everyone knew about but no one ever got to see with their own two eyes. Before the noisy man could breach the brick wall barrier and escape, Jaehyun brought his hand up before him and snapped his fingers once. A loud static crack was sent through the air, and the noisy man burst into fine white powder faster than Xiaojun could blink. The powder was all over Xiaojun, in his hair, and on his perfectly lint-free suit. He coughed some up, and blinked in disbelief. Meanwhile, Jaehyun was completely clean, and he was breathing heavily, as if obliterating a man was a sexual release for him. 

“One down,” Ten said, stepping into the room. “So many more to go.” 

 Jaehyun put his arm down by his side and gave a dismissal look to Xiaojun when he saw him still standing there in the corner, like a coward. He swiveled around to Ten and touched him on his shoulder. 

“Johnny and I are coming by later,” Jaehyun said. “Have someone clean this mess up. We have a lot of work to do. I’m not dragging this on the bottom of my brand new shoes. ”

“Is he still out there in the world?” Ten asked. “I’m surprised no one’s caught him yet. But, I suppose, it is like trapping smoke in a bottle.”

Jaehyun looked at Xiaojun, turned back to Ten and nodded. “Soon enough.”

  Xiaojun stared at Jaehyun’s back as he walked out of the room. Ten followed, his red eyes serving Xiaojun a brief glance of disapproval.  They kept talking, their voices gradually tapering off as distance was put between him and them. Left alone in the room, Xiaojun brushed some of the white dust from his hair. He felt like he was going to be sick whenever he remembered that it was someone else’s remains. 

“You have twenty seconds to vacate,” a cool voice over the loudspeaker said. “Choosing not to step through will result in a-”

“-A failure,” Xiaojun said. “Yes, I know.”

  Xiaojun stepped up to the barrier and touched his hand to it. The wall rippled again, the white brick disfiguring, as if it could feel his energy getting ready to be sucked into it. He moved his fingers into the other side and felt each one stuck in what felt like a cold jelly. 

“Okay,” he said. “No fear. Maybe, a little fear.”

  Xiaojun’s arm went through the portal first. He pushed his chest through and walked into it, the black veil swallowing him up. When he came through the other side, it felt like hours had passed by. He walked out into the sunlight and looked around. He was in a fast food parking lot, and someone was honking their car horn. 

“Get out of the fucking way!” the man in the car yelled. He slammed his meaty fist down on the car horn and let it blare until Xiaojun moved out of the way.

“Nice place.” Xiaojun muttered.

 He settled himself on a grassy hill, watching as a nearby seagull munched on discarded food. On this side, Xiaojun noticed that his suit was completely clean. There was no white powder on his body, no proof of what he had been through at all. He looked at the sun and held up his hands to block it from view. When he was done eagerly taking in everything around him, he shoved his hands into his pockets and went on his way.

  You didn’t say anything. You watched a last wisp of black fog fly into Haechan’s ear and disappear. If you could stomach that, you could stomach anything. You looked him in his eyes, any uncertainty slipping away. You belonged there. Your eyes swept over his body, at his suit and shiny shoes. You noticed that he had two arms, two legs, two eyes, a pair of lips and a nose. There were no teeth like a monster would have, and no red eyes staring back at you. In fact, he was almost too normal, too human-looking. You resisted the urge to pull at his cheeks and stretch them until he formed into something else. Haechan peered into a mirror hanging on the wall and straightened his tie. He made eye contact with you through the reflection in the mirror. His gaze made you feel sleepy, so you sat on the edge of the bed and slumped your shoulders forward.

“There’s something wrong with me.” you said.

Haechan ran his hand through his hair and smiled. “That wasn’t the conversation starter I was expecting.” 

  Sluggishly, you gave your attention to the motel room door. You anticipated someone coming through it, splinters of wood all over the carpet, and a bullet through your heart with your name on it. You imagined people in military gear stepping in, their boots forcing the carpet to sink in, and how they’d step over your lifeless body. At that moment, Haechan snapped his fingers in front of your face, and you looked up at him. You looked but you didn’t see. You couldn’t focus for too long. You assumed you were in shock, but shock felt an awful lot like horror. He knelt before you and kept waving his hands in front of your face. Eventually, your eyes started following his fingers as they moved from left to right.

“I remember.” you said.

  Haechan groaned and rested his palms flat on his knees. He picked himself up off the floor to give you some space. You thought he would pluck a beer from the mini fridge and take a long swig, but he didn’t. You thought about asking him to give you one, but you needed to be on alert. You were already failing.

  A memory of that day flashed through your mind. You looked around the room at the damage that was no longer done. It looked like the room was never destroyed. So much felt different, yet so much felt the same. Being around Haechan again felt like you had never left him. 

“What do you remember?” he asked. His voice was soft, soothing. He pulled out a chair and sat down. He leaned back, stuck his hand into his pockets and pulled out his knife. It clattered onto the desktop beside him, spinning around in circles on its face. He had hardly touched it.

“What’s that for?” you asked.

“Protection.” he said.

“For who? Me or you?” you asked.

Haechan just smiled and repeated his earlier question, “What do you remember?”

“Everything,” you said, your eyes concentrating on the spinning knife. You remembered the initials: L.D. “I didn’t, originally. I woke up the day after feeling like it was a dream. It wasn’t a dream.”

“Maybe you’re dreaming now,” he said.

You glared at him and blinked slowly. You continued. “ I couldn’t put any of the pieces together, but I knew they existed. I could feel them, just out of sequence. I was convinced they had happened the way I saw them, and that I was crazy. I couldn’t think about it too hard, or try to remember. If I did, I began to feel my throat closing in on itself.”

  You touched your hand to your throat, tightening your fist and squeezing. The knife stopped spinning, and it was pointing directly at you. Haechan picked up the knife and held it in the palm of his hand. Your eyes were brought downwards, to a backpack laying on the floor. It was the kind of backpack you’d take hiking, but this one wasn’t full of anything but clothing. He placed his foot in front of it so you wouldn’t fixate on it.

“You know how this all sounds, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said. “About as crazy as watching you turn into a cloud of smoke and not freaking out about it.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Continue.”

”There is nothing else to say,” you said. “ I filled the days up as best I could. It didn’t really feel like I was there, just moving through like a...like a..stranger in my own home. The nightmares wouldn’t stop.”

“What kind of nightmares?” he asked, his interest perking up. Up until then he was listening to you, humoring you. He leaned forward to hear you better. 

“Ones with monsters who have big teeth,” you said. “Sometimes they were people I knew. Mostly my therapist. I always woke up before I was eaten alive.”

“Were you scared?”

  You looked up at him. He didn’t have a notebook in his hand, but his position was the spitting image of your therapist. Seeing him like that irritated you, and he could tell. Haechan stood up and kicked the chair back into place. It was too late. You could feel the red hot anger jabbing itself through your ribs.

“Was I scared?” you asked. “I almost died. You almost got me killed, and then I go home and dream these horrific things. Of course I’m scared, Haechan. I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know what you are.  I go for two weeks without remembering anything but you, and then things start happening one after the other when I’m just trying to survive. I was attacked. In broad daylight. In my own home.”

“Attacked?” he asked.

  You had him on edge, and you liked the way it felt. Your words roused him and wiped any smirk from his face. He looked towards the door like you were earlier, his eyes on the knob. For the first time, you noticed the industrial-sized locks all along the back of the door. Each one was different, most of them thick. You didn’t remember either of you locking any of them and yet, they were all in place. It felt like the only thing that existed was you and him in the room, nothing else. 

“There was a pizza man.” you said.

“What did he look like?”  he asked, tearing his eyes away from the door. “Teeth, like in your dreams?” 

You blinked. “I think so. Actually, I don’t really remember. He was chasing me down the stairs. I made it outside and he disappeared. I hailed a cab. I knew I had to find you, I knew the answer was to come back here. I was waiting at the curb, I looked up and- ”

“-were you followed by anyone?” he said. “ I need you think really hard. It will be difficult to remember, but you need to try.” 

“No,” you said.  “The only person I came into contact with was the taxi driver who, by the way, hates this place.”

  Haechan went to the window and looked out. The sun was setting. It didn’t even feel like you had been there that long. He took the string from the side of the curtain and pulled it. The thick curtains came together, meeting in the middle with a kiss.

“Are you keeping someone out?” you asked, your eyes on the door. “Or are you keeping me in?”

  Haechan didn’t answer you. He was going around the room touching things and picking them up, just to put them back down again. He opened the bathroom door and looked inside. Before he could shut it, you put your hand on the door to keep it open. The inside of the bathroom looked different from when you had last left it two weeks ago. It looked like it had just been redone, with a brand new tub, window, and an updated toilet and sink. 

“I think we need to have that conversation now.” you said, looking at him. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Haechan closed the bathroom door. He went over to the fridge, opened it, and took out the long awaited beer. Only, when he took it out, he threw it against the wall, causing the bottle to explode. You covered your face and head with your arms, not daring to look up again until you could hear his breathing become even again. A shard of glass flew by your face. You focused your eyes on it as it made a turn and hovered in mid-air. Many fragments followed, moving in slow motion to join the first one in the middle. They all spun in circles, like a tornado of glass, until they mended itself back into the fully intact bottle it had been before Haechan obliterated it. Before the bottle could drop back to the ground and shatter again, he caught it and set it on a table.

“I’m not from this world,” he said. “I’m not like you.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked. “Are you from outer space? Are you from Europe?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Everything you’ve witnessed is real. The monsters. Me. The taxi driver’s fear is authentic, and there is a good reason for that fear. This motel has a portal to the other side in it. How you’ve been feeling for the last two weeks? It’s residual energy from that portal. You’re not supposed to remember me, or anything about this place. What I am, where I come from, it’s a little hard for humans in your world to grasp. It’s affecting you. You feel tired, right? You feel like you can’t think straight? That’s my world trying to protect itself from you. “

 You tried to digest everything he was saying, but the grogginess was palpable. All you could see at the front of your mind was the glass. You remembered how the motel looked before you left it, and how it looked now. Haechan made that happen. You opened your mouth to speak but closed it again. Your thoughts were hard to collect and bring together. When you opened your mouth once more, your voice was raspy. You said, “Where do you come from? Is it... Hell?”

  Haechan looked offended. You registered the hurt in his eyes before it disappeared. He tried to recover with a clearing of his throat. Before he spoke again, he reached into his pocket and handed you his knife, urging you to take it with his eyes. You didn’t.  “Not hell,” he said. “That’s a very different place. I’m not evil. Take the knife, if you don’t trust me.” 

“If you’re not from hell,” you said, ignoring the knife. “Where are you from? What is it like there?”

“It’s another world, sort of like a dimension. It’s almost like this world, only a little different. Time is different, “ he said. “Everyone’s...special.”

“Special? Can they turn into a rolling fog too,?” you snorted. Your voice was on the edge of hysteria. You were trying to make light of the situation, trying to convince yourself that what you were hearing was a prank. 

“Some of us,” he said. “Everyone's skill is different. Some people have one thing they can do, others have more. Some use it for good, some for bad. Power runs adjacent.”

“Do all of you turn into monsters?” you asked. “Is that what you really look like underneath that handsome face.”

“The monsters are...” he began to say before he changed direction. “ You think I’m handsome?”

“No,” you said, covering yourself.  “Don’t change the subject.”

“Anyway,” Haechan continued. “You don’t have to worry about them. They are bottom feeders, and I won’t let them hurt you. It’s the ones that look like me you have to worry about.”

“Like those men who came for you that day?” you asked. “They didn’t sound like they wanted you alive.”

Haechan nodded. “If they find me, I’m as good as dust. One snap and it all ends. They’ll never stop looking for me. Usually, I keep moving to avoid them, but something..or someone..has been keeping me here.” 

  The way his eyes bore holes into yours, the way he cocked his head to the side, made your skin burn underneath your clothes. 

“What did you do to have them hunting for you?” you asked. 

“I never went back,” he said. “They don’t like it if you don’t come back. ”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because this isn’t my world,” he said. “As you can see, if people know about us, it puts us in danger. Less time means less time for something to happen that’s out of our control. “

“Why risk it in the first place?” you asked. “If other dimensions exist, why come to this shitty existence?”

He shrugged. “You’re all easy to use. Your bodies. Your minds. You’re play things. For a lot of us- the normal ones- there is something about humanity we admire. The chance to be normal is one hell of a drug. It’s very hard to resist once you’ve had a taste.”

  You were aware that he was still holding the knife out for you to take. You took it from him and tossed it onto the bed. It bounced on the mattress and drew both of your eyes to it. You stared at the handle where his initials were. You met Haechan’s eyes and felt a pull towards him. As he was opening up to you, the sleepy feeling threatening to pull you under was starting to lift. Your mind felt more clear.

“Telling you all of this has repercussions, “ he said. “I don’t know if you want to throw that knife away so easily.” 

“I can handle myself.”

  You went to him, crossing the room without fear. You reached your hand out to touch his cheek but thought better of it at the last minute. When you went to pull away, Haechan caught your hand and rested his cheek gently against it. His skin was soft and warm. He felt human. The tender moment lasted only a few seconds before he rejected it and moved away from you. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said. “If they’re made aware that you know about any of this, they’ll hunt you down. If you think the hunt for me is scary, imagine them hunting a life they have little regard for. You don’t want your family nailing missing posters for the rest of their lives.”

 “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t freaking out right now,” you said. “But I would also be lying if I said I didn’t feel safe around you. You feel different.”

“I’m the most wanted man in both worlds right now,” you said. “Be careful of what you say.” 

You licked your lips. “Yeah? And what kind of man is that? What can you do? Is your power limited to what I saw?”

  Haechan laughed. There was no lightness in it, only darkness. He sneered and crossed his arms. You wished for the tender moment back, for him to reveal what kind of humanity he picked up while living in your world. Instead, he let the laughter bubble out of his throat until it spilled over, and there would be no putting it back together again.

“There is still so much I don’t understand.” you said, trying to get him to stay open. “You’re telling me that this hell dimension exists, that there is a portal to it right in this very motel, and that the people in that dimension have special powers. They want you dead. They’ll want me dead because I know the big secret. I need more answers, Haechan.“

“Your world,” he said. “-this human monstrosity- is just one place of many. It exists separated only by a thin veil. You can see it, if you pay attention. The glimmer of heat in the street on a hot day. Diners at 3 a.m. with pies in their showcases, whose slices never really disappear.  Have you ever seen something move out of the corner of your eye? That feeling creeping up your spine, those eyes watching you while you sleep.Those sleep paralysis creatures you think are demons are real. The things that move across this world if you truly paid attention would drive you mad, if you knew. Lucky for us, humans rarely notice anything. You spill into bars unaware of who is watching. You get into taxis and make chit chat with the drivers. You offer up so much of yourself without realizing. I’m beginning to think you’re all the monsters you’re so afraid of.”

[klove0511]

Welcome to Your Future

Title: Welcome to Your Future Author: klove0511 Artist: ncdover1285 Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: T Warnings/Spoilers: Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, season 9/10 Sam Winchester, Mutual Pining, implied unrequited sam/cas, Show level violence, Demon Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Suicide (no actual suicide) Summary:  When Dean is suddenly pulled through time, he's confronted with a broken little brother a decade older than he should be. With Sam determined to send Dean back to his own time, will Dean be able to figure out where his present day counterpart is and fix things for Sam? Art: Tumblr  Story:  Ao3

Dean checked his hand, checked the pot in the middle of the table, then glanced at his fellow players. Two had folded already, and he was sure the last guy was bluffing. So was Dean, mostly. A pair of tens wasn't a phenomenal hand but it was better than nothing. He glanced again at his cards, put on a calculated grin and said, "Raise," as he tossed another few bills into the pot. 

The guy's eyes did the same dance between Dean, his cards, and the pot, and he took a swig of his beer before he tossed his cards down. "Fold. Congrats, kid."

Dean grinned but tried to keep it out of the realm of cockiness. He'd won fair and square, but there was no need to rub it in their faces. He collected his winnings and straightened the bills, estimating that he had at least $500 in his hand. A good place to call it for the night. No need to play until they got desperate enough to pick a fight. He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and took his leave, relieved when none of the guys looked too disgruntled. It had been a good night, and he wasn't looking for trouble. 

The cool night air was refreshing after the smoky atmosphere of the bar. He took a deep breath and made his way to the Impala. He'd drive back to his motel, then check in with his dad in the morning. They were on separate hunts at the moment, and Dean had finished his early. Tomorrow, he'd find out if Dad needed backup in Arizona or if he had another case for Dean to work. Tonight, he'd count his winnings and get a good night sleep for once. 

He was maybe ten steps from the car when his stomach lurched, and the world tilted sideways. Throwing his hands out to catch himself, he fought down nausea as his vision blacked out momentarily before resolving into a dimly lit room that he didn’t recognize.

When the world stopped spinning, Dean took stock. He was in a library with heavy oak tables and stone pillars, filled with low half bookcases and a variety of swords. Someone was passed out in one of the seats. Not a public library, then, but some rich asshole's house. His gaze flicked around, searching for a threat or an explanation, before settling on the figure slumped over one of the tables. His instincts tingled. Long hair, but tall and built like a guy. Plaid flannel shirt. Smelled like cheap whiskey. At least a dozen books were strewn across the table, and at the next table over were a bunch of herbs by a beaten-up copper bowl. Dean’s eyes danced over the guy, noting at least two bulges that probably indicated concealed weapons. Make that a rich, armed asshole. And maybe a witch.

He didn't know what a witch would want with him, but he was sure it wasn't good.

He pulled his own gun from the small of his back before slowly approaching. He considered just shooting the bastard, but he could use some answers. Where he was, for starters. He got close, almost close enough to touch, when the guy groaned and rolled his head to the side, one hand fumbling for the empty tumbler just out of reach. Dean stepped back out of the guy's range and flicked off the safety.

The soft click was obviously enough to alert the witch, though, because he froze, hardly even breathing. The hair moved, revealing a beard and a jawline that sparked recognition deep in his gut. But his dad would never let his hair grow that long. And it was hard to tell when he was sitting, but Dean was pretty sure this guy was longer and leaner than John Winchester had ever been. Never mind the spell ingredients. John Winchester wouldn't be caught dead using magic.

"Who are you?" he asked, lowering his voice to a growl in an attempt to intimidate.

If possible, the guy in front of him stilled further. He was statuesque, could have been carved from marble for all he moved. Finally, an eternity later, the guy breathed out a name, reverent and disbelieving. "Dean?"

He didn't recognize the voice, but the guy clearly knew who Dean was. Which made sense, given the circumstances. The evidence pointed to Dean being summoned via some spell this jerk had done. He hadn't heard about anyone summoning a person before, but he learned new things every day.

The guy never answered the question, just turned slowly and sat up until Dean could see his face. The familiarity lurched against his consciousness again. He didn't know this guy, but... he did. He was older, bearded, and broken, but he thought he recognized his kid brother under there. He faltered, lowered the gun minutely. "Sam?" he asked, unsure.

The guy's eyes widened in what might be surprise or fear, but he nodded.

Nausea threatened to overtake him again. Dean may not have an explanation yet for what the hell was going on, but he believed this guy. Sam. He believed Sam. Instantly, he dropped his aim, turning on the safety and holstering the gun in one smooth motion. Still, he was wary. This wasn't his little brother, not really. Not unless school had aged him a decade or more.

This Sam was gaping at him like a fish, or like he was some kind of fucking miracle, which sat all kinds of wrong with Dean. He didn't seem like he was going to start supplying answers on his own any time soon though, so Dean was going to have to take the initiative.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings in light of this new information. "Want to tell me what's going on, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard and dropped his eyes. "I don't know." He glanced back at Dean with a shrewd look. "What year is it for you?"

That confirmed one thing, anyway, though he was sure Sam was lying through his teeth about not knowing what was going on. "2004.”

Sam started, leaning back in surprise.

Dean waited, cocking an eyebrow. Sam needed to give him something. Some explanation.

Sam's jaw worked and a furrow appeared between his eyes. He gave a weird half smirk that Dean couldn't interpret and said, "Welcome to 2014."

 Alone in his room, Sam couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. The spell had worked. Just not how he'd intended. Certainly not how he had expected it to work. Dean at 24 was a sight to behold, all confidence and cocky attitude, full of easy grins and so much optimism. Dean had thought he was being skeptical, sure, but the second he knew he was talking to Sam he'd dropped his guard. Sam's Dean would never. Not now, not after having met too many doppelgangers of themselves or people they knew. It stung, but it was safer, and he breathed easier knowing that his Dean would have asked for proof that he was really Sam.

It felt good, though, knowing Dean was in the bunker again, even if it was the wrong Dean. Tomorrow he was going to have to figure out how to send him back to 2004, and then go back to figuring out how to find his brother, or, more likely, his brother's dead body. He still had nothing more than a shitty note to go on, and he had already been scraping the bottom of the barrel with this spell. Cas had told him it wasn't likely to work, and Sam just hadn't cared. A slim chance was better than no chance. Of course, it hadn't worked. Had instead yanked his brother (his gorgeous, alive, never gone to Hell brother) from the past. Even younger than the version that had pulled Sam back into the life, the version Sam had been entirely unable to resist.

He closed his eyes and willed away his erection. His brother was dead, and this vision from his past needed to go away before he did something truly inappropriate. Worse, before Dean found out just how bad things got in the next decade of his life and decided Sam wasn't worth coming to Stanford for. Or... No. They'd learned, painfully, that messing with the past did nothing. Warning Dean of all the problems Sam would cause in the future wouldn't do anything good. Wouldn't stop the Apocalypse. Wouldn't bring Sam's brother back. It would just erase the trust that he had maintained in Sam for years, warranted or not, and it had been that trust that kept Sam going after losing Jess and Dad.

 Dean sat alone in the room Sam had given him. It was bare and musty, like it hadn't been used in years. He had a lot of questions that Sam hadn't been willing to answer, and honestly, Dean thought they were both probably too drunk for a useful Q and A tonight. That was why he'd agreed to go to bed and figure things out in the morning. The problem was that he couldn't sleep, and the questions circling his brain were getting louder with every lap. Chief among them was what the hell was going on with Sam? Even factoring in the extra decade that Sam had lived, he looked old. Worse, he looked desperate. Dean just wondered what he was desperate for. The question that followed naturally from there was where the hell was 2014 Dean? He should be here taking care of his brother when he was such a mess. Sam hadn't denied that he'd been doing spell work, which, best case scenario, meant that he was hunting again. What had happened to the Sam that wanted out of the life at any cost? Who had turned his back on his family to go to college? Something had gone down, and Dean was absolutely sure he wasn't going to like it when he found out. No matter how mad he was that Sam had wanted a normal life more than he'd wanted his family, no matter how much he resented that Sam got a shot at college and a life that wasn't hunting, Dean had been proud of his brother for making it into Stanford. 

The way Sam had looked at him—it was unsettling. Dean wasn't sure where the present version of himself was, but with that look... Well, Dean had suspicions. He wasn't going to get any sleep until he had some answers, so it was time to do some digging. He padded out into the hall, careful to keep his footsteps quiet. Sam had said he was in room 21, and a quick check of his door revealed that Sam had put him in 15. Heading away from Sam's room, he started checking doors as he went. Three rooms identical to his, down to the mothball smell, and then he hit the jackpot with room 11. Weapons were mounted on the walls, the bed was rumpled, as if it had been used recently, and the air was fresh. Reasonably fresh. Ok, it smelled like old pizza and gym socks, but at least it smelled like something besides dust and stale air. His eyes were drawn to the box of magazines on the desk as he flicked on the light, and he knew he was in the right spot. A box stuffed full of Busty Asian Beauties could only mean that he was in his room. Dean's room. Current him's room. Whatever.

There were photos on the bedside table, and he grinned as he flipped through them. He didn't recognize most of them, but he knew why they lived in a prominent place. Happy memories, all of them. It was weird, watching Sammy grow up in stutter stops across the four pictures he was in, and Dean frowned, realizing nothing looked recent. The last picture of Sam was easily years younger than the Sam he'd met tonight. Replacing the pictures on the table, he did a slow inventory of the room. There was a note on the bed, and on closer inspection, there were stains on the bedspread. Blood. Diluted blood, like someone had cleaned wounds here and never bothered to clean up. A touch revealed that it was dry and stiff. Days old at least, no telling if it was more than that. He checked the note.

Sammy, let me go.

He recognized his own handwriting but felt nothing other than confusion. Why would he write a note like this? This place was awesome, and he knew, instinctively, that no matter what else had changed in the intervening decade he would kill to have his own room. The decorative touches spoke of someone who had settled in, who wanted to be here. Not a Dean that was planning on leaving his brother. He frowned harder. How could this have happened? He managed to get his brother back, despite years of no contact while Sam was at Stanford. A decade later and they were still together, living in the same weird mansion with no windows. They had made it. Hell, they had both made it past their thirtieth birthdays, a feat he hadn't even dared to hope was possible.

So why had he left?

Blood on the sheets. Note saying to let him go. A profoundly messed up little brother. A room so untouched it may as well be a shrine to present day Dean. If it hadn't been for the note in his own handwriting, he'd say 2014 him was dead. With the note... Hunt gone wrong? Dean must have blamed himself, so he took off. Which meant it had probably been Sam hurt. Judging by the quantity of blood on the comforter, it had been bad. He cursed himself. He'd probably patched Sam up and ditched as soon as he was stable enough to leave alone.

The thought of patching Sam up in this room, rather than taking him to his own spoke volumes to Dean. They had separate rooms, but this Dean obviously loved his brother as much as Dean did. He shuddered at the thought that maybe that affection had been given voice, and that was why he'd fled.

He turned off the lamp and closed the door. Time to see the rest of this place.

 Sam stumbled into the kitchen and was surprised to find it smelled of freshly brewed coffee. It cut through the hangover fog enough to jolt Sam into confusion for a moment, and then he remembered. His brother (not his brother, not his brother) was sitting at the table, contemplating his cup of coffee and picking at a plate piled high with bacon. Dean looked like he was nursing a mild hangover himself, which made Sam wonder what he'd been doing before the spell had caught him.

Dean smirked at him, which Sam ignored, then said, "Interesting place you got here, Sammy."

Sam groaned internally. He should have known Dean would go exploring if he left him alone for two minutes without any answers. Still, he didn't want to give anything away that might screw up the timeline. It would be his luck to accidentally change something and find himself in a future that was even worse than the hell he was currently living in. 

When his silence continued past the limits of Dean's patience, Dean made a frustrated noise. "Come on, man. I know last night wasn't the time, but you've got to tell me what the hell is going on. You were wasted and doing spells powerful enough to pull me through freaking time. Talk to me."

Sam sighed and relented, if only slightly. He poured himself a cup of coffee and said, "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't do the spell drunk. Got wasted after it didn't work."

There was a pregnant pause, then Dean said softly, "What was it supposed to do, Sam?"

Sam's heart broke all over again, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and grip the counter to ground himself. "It was supposed to find you. Just not you from 10 years ago."

The silence in the room was oppressive, and Sam waited for Dean to ask the obvious question. When he didn't, Sam steeled himself and turned around to face his brother. Dean was staring into his coffee mug, unreadable expression on his face.

Sam stumbled over his thoughts, wanting to fix this, to make it better somehow. He'd just ripped his brother out of time and then told him that he wasn't supposed to be here. No way that hadn't hurt. "I—Dean, I'm glad you're here. It's good to see you again. It's just—"

"I'm not him," Dean said quietly, firmly. He didn't sound upset, exactly, but Sam had been around Dean long enough to hear the layers of emotion hiding in his brother's voice. "Why did he leave?" Sam shook his head in denial, but Dean continued, "I found the note."

Sam blanched. "Honestly? I don't know." He gripped his mug and moved to sit across from Dean. "I don't know why he left. Or why he just left that shitty note." He paused. "Sorry," he said, as an afterthought.

 Dean watched Sam bend over the books, trying to figure out a reversal spell that would send Dean back to his own time. They hadn't really talked at all, and Dean didn't know what to make of it. Sam refused to talk about the bloodstains on the comforter, and he seemed to be telling the truth when he said he didn't know why his Dean had walked. That said, Sam was definitely hiding something. He may not know the exact reason, but he knew a lot more than he was letting on. Unfortunately, the guy was dead set on "preserving the timeline" and nothing Dean had said over breakfast seemed able to dissuade him. 

He tried to distract himself from checking out Sam by instead checking out the library. It was tough, though. Sam had filled out over the years and barely resembled the scrawny kid he'd driven to the bus station on his way to Palo Alto and a normal life. Dean clenched his jaw and turned back to the bookshelf in front of him. He recognized a few titles from Bobby's library, but most of the books he'd never heard of. There was no organization that he could make sense of, but that was probably because half the books were in languages he couldn't read. Sam probably could. He'd always had a better head for language than Dean, and with a decade to practice and pick up new ones, Dean would have been surprised if there were any books here Sam couldn't translate. 

Peeking behind him, he studied Sam's broad shoulders. They were gorgeous, even if they were tense. Sam had obviously kept himself in shape over the years, and Dean wondered if getting wasted like last night was the norm now or not. Their dad had started going soft in the middle when his drinking kicked up after Sam had left, and it didn't look like that was happening to Sam's waist. But if it was new... It didn't matter because Sam didn't want his help. It had hurt when he'd realized that this morning, that Sam wanted the brother who had abandoned him. 

It just didn't make sense. Sam hadn't hinted at anything, really. Just that the blood on the bed had been Dean's, not Sam's. Still a hunt gone wrong then, but Dean couldn't fathom what had possessed him to leave. Dean had been hurt before, plenty of times. He'd even been hurt because Sam or their dad made a mistake. But that's all they were, mistakes. He'd never held a grudge so hard that he'd walk on his family like this. It all spoke to something far more broken than he wanted to think about, because how could things have gone this wrong between him and Sam? Even in his own time, he would do anything to stay near Sam if his brother would let him. 

Sam was muttering to himself and mixing ingredients. Looked like he'd found the spell he needed then. 

Dean moved over to the table. He didn't do chick flick moments, but he couldn't just leave without saying something to comfort Sam. He cleared his throat, already feeling awkward. "Look, Sam. I—" He sighed, frustrated. "I don't know what the hell would make me walk out on you like that, but I can tell you this: I have always been proud of you. No matter what. Ok? I, uh, don't know that I'd ever have the nerve to tell you that if I wasn't currently Marty McFly." He hoped Sam understood. He knew he was never going to tell that to his little brother when they joined up. Too many emotions too close to the surface, still too fresh for both of them. But this Sam, well. He had distance from college, and it seemed like in the end he'd chosen Dean anyway. It made it easier, somehow.

Sam's eyes were wide, his expression something Dean wasn't sure how to interpret. Sad? Shocked? Relieved? Some bizarre combination of all that and more. Yeah. Clearly their family was still great at communication.

"Dean—" Sam stopped, obviously biting back whatever he'd been about to say. After a moment he started again. "Stanford was never about leaving you."

He pasted on a cocky grin, suddenly desperate to not show Sam how much his leaving still hurt, even two years later. Even if he had already known that it wasn't about him, that it had been about Sam needing to assert his independence from Dad and just the way those two personalities conflicted. Sam always needed an explanation for things; it was part of what had always made him great at research. Dad expected his sons to follow his lead, and Dean could admit that he provided explanations far less often than he maybe should. The difference had always been that Dean trusted their dad completely, and Sam didn't.

 Sam had no idea how to explain to his brother how devastating it was to hear that parody of his Dean's dying words, spoken just a few weeks ago. It—He couldn't. Not without risking everything. For a moment he thought about it. Telling this Dean everything. There was no way his life could get worse than this miserable existence he was currently living, after all. But no, there was too much at stake. He might not end up in a worse version of his existence, but the world might. Lucifer, at least, was safely locked away, and Abaddon was dead. They had done that. No matter what he wanted personally, he had to keep the bigger picture in mind. Besides, his Dean had left him a note. While he couldn't fathom an explanation for that, he wasn't going to rest until he had one, until he found Dean.

He swallowed and clenched his jaw to keep himself from spilling everything. The only thing he trusted himself to give Dean in answer was a short nod, and he knew it wasn't enough. But it was all he had, so Dean would just have to deal with it. They could talk it out in a decade.

Turning back to the spell, he continued mixing components, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember if he'd added the yarrow root yet or not. He surveyed the contents of the bowl. He... had. That powder looked like the yarrow. Moving on, he continued adding ingredients and chanting under his breath. He didn't look at Dean, didn't want to watch him disappear back to his own time, even though he knew it had to happen. With a flourish, he threw in the final herb and watched the surprisingly small puff of smoke rise and dissipate into nothing. It was done.

From behind him, he heard Dean ask, "Was that it? Because I'm still here, dude."

Sam's eyes flew open as he spun to see Dean still standing there, arms crossed and looking deeply unimpressed. "What? How—?" He turned back to his spell book and ingredients. The damn yarrow. Of course. Only.... No, he looked at the bottle, and it looked like he had definitely added it. Sam rummaged through the ingredients for a few more minutes, eyes darting between ingredients, bowl, and spell, until Dean put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Sam, stop."

Sam stilled, about ready to throw something in frustration. No wonder he hadn't been able to find his Dean. He apparently couldn't do any magic right these days.

Dean spoke gently. "Look, you're tired, and you're obviously stressed out. Bobby always told us that magic is best done with a clear head, right? If I had to guess, that's about the worst description for you right now. Take a day. Let me help if I can. And then we'll figure out a way to get me home together." He paused, giving Sam a chance to answer that he didn't take. Dean sighed. "I'm sorry it didn't work."

Sam hung his head and leaned heavily on the table. "I'm sorry I keep letting you down."

He could almost feel Dean working to unpack that, trying to figure out what Sam was referring to. There was a long pause, and Sam wondered what Dean was thinking, if he was going to push Sam to talk again. After Jess's death, Dean had been a strange combination of pushy and hands off with Sam, trying to give him space until Sam pushed himself or Dean too far and Dean felt the need to prod answers out of him. It hadn't been overly effective then, and Sam didn't think it would work on him now. 

Dean let his hand drop, though, without a word. Sam fought the urge to watch his brother leave the library, instead forcing his gaze to remain on the table in front of him.

 Dean avoided Sam for the rest of the day. He prowled through the entirety of the bunker, exploring every nook and cranny he could find now that he wasn't drunk and exhausted, looking for any further clues as to his counterpart's whereabouts. He found the shooting range, the garage full of old cars (notably missing the Impala), the infirmary, and the archives. There was also the herb garden outside that looked like it had been recently plundered for Sam's spells. But mostly there were just seemingly endless dorm rooms, identical to the one he had slept in last night. One other looked and smelled like it had been used in the recent past, but it was just as plain and boring as the rest. No one had stayed there long enough to move in. Dean longed to see Sam's room, but there was a decent enough chance of finding Sam there that he didn't try. 

Eventually, though, he found himself back in present Dean's room. It felt like home, even though he hadn't yet laid hands on most of the personal items in here. It still felt right, like it was tailor made to make him feel comfortable. He supposed it had been. 

A simple survey wasn't going to cut it this time, though. He needed answers, and Sam was too reluctant to give them up. Looking around the room for the best place to start, he decided to be methodical. Each desk drawer was opened and rifled through, carefully catalogued and replaced before he moved on to the next one. There wasn't much. By the time he was done, he'd been most impressed by just how many shirts he'd managed to accrue now that he didn't have to cram them all in a duffel bag. But he also noted just how many things had been left behind. It hadn't caught his attention yesterday, but those pictures, at the very least, should be gone. This wasn't the room of someone who had decided they'd had enough and moved on. This Dean had left in a hurry. He wasn't sure what it meant, yet.

Further investigation yielded a lot of nothing. It looked more like future Dean had vanished than packed a bag, and Dean was struggling to come up with an explanation. Turning back to the bed, he did another survey. The whole thing was slightly rumpled, like someone had been laying on it. Ok. The blood was everywhere, but maybe more concentrated at the head of the bed. So, wounds, probably in the chest area. Dangerous, if they were deep enough, but there wasn't enough blood here to kill a man. He lay down, hoping by some miracle that looking at the room from his counterpart's perspective shortly before he'd left would provide some insight he'd been missing up to now. 

The mattress molded itself to his body, easily the most comfortable thing he'd laid on in his entire life. For a moment he lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what would make him leave a sweet place like this behind. Rolling over, he buried his head in the comfortable pillow, feeling exhaustion and the lingering effects of his hangover pulling him toward sleep, despite the weirdness of the situation. He breathed in deep and promptly gagged, rolling away from the pillow and coughing to clear the putrid smell. "Holy shit. What the hell is that?" he wondered to himself. Another, much more cautious, sniff revealed a lingering rotten egg smell. That was... weird. Everything here was weird. This, at least, was a weird thing he could take to Sam and demand an explanation for.

It took a while, but he eventually found Sam in the library on his third try. Wherever Sam had been before that was someplace Dean hadn't found yet. Maybe this place had magic changing rooms like Hogwarts. 

Sam looked even worse than he had at breakfast. His hair was lank and greasy, and the bags under his eyes were darkening into bruises. Dean watched him quietly for a few minutes, keeping himself out of sight. He wasn't spying per se, just....observing. Who knows what secrets this Sam might reveal when he thought he was alone? In this case, just another indication that Winchesters were prone to alcoholism. After Sam poured out his third shot in ten minutes, Dean decided he needed to intervene before his brother wouldn't be able to answer any questions, at least not intelligibly. 

"Day drinking? Seriously? I thought you didn't want to be like Dad," Dean said, putting on his most affronted face and voice. 

Sam just lolled his head towards Dean, mind clearly already slowing down. Damn it. Sam must have had a few before Dean found him.

He sighed in frustration. "Fine. Look, just tell me why your Dean's bed smells like something died there, and I'll leave you to your liver poisoning, all right?"

A pained look crossed Sam's face, so grief-stricken that Dean almost told him to forget it. But then Sam said, "Because you died."

He continued babbling, but Dean wasn't listening anymore. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears as he tried to process that, and in the meantime the rest of the world took on a surreal quality. In a decade, he would be dead. He always expected to die young, he did, just. Hearing it felt different somehow. Seeing his little brother like this was different. After Sam had left for Stanford and made it clear he didn't want or need his family to contact him Dean had made assumptions. Like how he would probably die in his twenties because he didn't have backup, or how Sam may never even know he was dead. Confronted with a grieving Sam who had been living with Dean for years was something unexpected and much more painful. The thought of Sam not knowing or caring had hurt, of course, but it was a different animal to see him grieving. He couldn't help but put himself in Sam's position. How well would he be handling it if Sam were dead?

Then he came back to the note. Sammy, let me go. He frowned, putting pieces together and not liking the picture that was emerging. Future Dean hadn't packed or taken anything, left those pictures behind too, and those had to be some of his most prized possessions. Left a note. And... had died. Shit.

"Sam? Did—" He swallowed, trying to figure out how to ask if he'd killed himself and if so, why.

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, clearly not following Dean's train of thought. 

He gave up. He couldn't ask. More than anything, he didn't want to know, but besides that he didn't want to make Sam relive it if he had committed suicide. He didn't want to watch Sam reliving it. And it didn't actually explain the smell. The Winchesters were familiar with death and the smells that went with it, and sulfur wasn't one of them. Another horrible thought crossed his mind, and he stumbled away from Sam. 

"Dean?" Sam asked, instinctively reaching to stop Dean's retreat. 

"How long were we on the road together?" His voice was shaky, praying that it wasn't true. The only things he could think of that involved sulfur in their lives were demons, and he'd heard plenty about what happened after you made a deal with one. 

Sam hesitated, reticent as ever to divulge information about his past if it wasn't something Dean had experienced yet, but whatever expression Dean was wearing must have convinced him. Or maybe he just didn't care as much because of the alcohol, who knew. "Nine years. I started hunting again in 2005."

Dean racked his brain. That wasn't long enough, he thought. He certainly didn't have Sam's talents for encyclopedic knowledge, but he was no slouch when it came to knowledge about the supernatural. Everything Bobby or Pastor Jim or Caleb or their dad had said about the monsters out there was stored somewhere in his brain, and he was pretty sure he remembered something about ten years in connection with demons. Maybe he was wrong, though, because if he had died, and his pillow smelled like sulfur, there weren't a lot of other explanations.

"Dean, talk to me. What's going on?"

He couldn't chicken out of this question. "Did I make a demon deal to get you on the road with me?" His words came out in a rush, leaving him breathless and edging ever nearer to panic. No way would he do that. Right? He had accepted that Sam had left them. Had left him. 

Sam looked shocked into silence, his mouth working to form an answer. When nothing appeared to be forthcoming, he resorted to slamming the shot of whiskey he'd poured before Dean interrupted him and pouring himself another. When he finally found his voice, it was rough and broken. "Why do you think you made a deal?"

Dean winced at how Sam refused to meet his eyes. He may not know this Sam as well as his own, but he knew how to read body language. Sam's Dean had obviously done some stupid shit in the past. "The pillow smells like sulfur. I know they're pretty far out of our league, but that means demons, right?"

Sam barked a laugh that was in no way funny. Dean swallowed hard, just a little afraid of the person his brother had turned into. Sam eventually knocked back a swallow of his whiskey and said, "Yeah, it does. The pillow smelled?"

Dean nodded and watched as Sam stalked to his brother's room. 

 Sulfur. But Crowley had no-showed that night, hadn't he? Sam had waited and waited in the dungeon, until finally he accepted that the demon wasn't coming and returned to his brother. Only Dean was long gone, leaving only that note behind. But if Sam had summoned Crowley to the bunker and he'd been in Dean's room... why would Dean's pillow smell? He flung open the door to Dean's room and grabbed the pillow, breathing deep. Gagging, he threw the pillow back on the bed. Definitely sulfur. It didn't make sense, but it was a lead that he didn't have before. 

Sam's phone rang, the shrill noise piercing the silent room. Sam flinched at the sudden noise, but he pulled out his phone to glance at the caller ID. Cas. He sighed and dismissed the call. It was the third or fourth call he'd ditched from the angel today, and he knew he couldn't avoid his friend forever. He just wasn't ready to hear the "I told you so" that was inevitably coming his way. Besides, Cas couldn't help. Or if he could then he shouldn't. Sam wasn't sure exactly how stolen grace worked, but he'd seen how weak Cas was these days. He'd even caught the angel sleeping a few times, to his dismay. If Cas offered to fix Sam's mistake by sending Dean back to the past where he belonged, then Sam would have to stop him. Dean needed to go back, of course, but not at the expense of the last of Cas's strength. Besides, Dean wasn't supposed to know about angels for a few more years. If he met Cas, who knows what would get screwed up. Later. He'd call Cas later and fill him in, tell him to make himself scarce until he heard from Sam. 

Sam turned back to the bed. Reverently, he touched the comforter, the last place he'd seen his brother's body. He had to check. Drawing close, he sniffed. Yes, buried under the metallic tang of blood and the gun oil smell Sam always associated with Dean there was sulfur. He closed his eyes. That was probably a really bad sign.

For the next few minutes, Sam sniffed everything in the room, finding more sulfur on the chair beside the bed but nowhere else. Crowley must have been in here. Sam could practically see him in his mind's eye, sitting in the chair beside Dean's dead body. The options for why Dean's body had disappeared and left behind the smell of sulfur on the sheets were disappointingly limited. Ok, there was one that Sam knew of, and even thinking about some demon riding Dean's dead body around the world being Crowley's lackey made his blood boil.

He sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration. Before he could fix that he needed to deal with his mistake and get this other version of Dean out of here. 

"What did you find?" Dean's voice behind him startled Sam badly, and he spun, eyes wide in panic. 

After a moment during which he tried to bury his reaction as far down as he could, he said, "Not much. Just confirmed what you said." 

"Sam, what the hell did I do?" 

Sam didn't turn and look at Dean, couldn't stand to. This Dean sounded so young. Like it was barely conceivable that he would make a deal to keep his brother close, and he looked devastated at the thought that he'd done just that. Sam wanted to comfort him, but he couldn't find the words. Because Dean did do those things, had made deals like that. Just not the one he was currently accusing himself of making. "You didn't make a deal to get me out of school." That, at least, was a true statement, and it made Sam breathe a little easier. If he had made that deal, then he wouldn't have had anything left to bargain with when Sam died in Cold Oak. Now he just needed to figure out how to break the rest of it to him. Or not. This was still a terrible idea. 

Dean made a noise of frustration, slamming his fist into the wall and making Sam flinch hard. "Damn it, Sam, I know I did something. And don't give me that crap about not changing the timeline, because seriously? You want to preserve this? You're miserable and drunk, and I'm dead. Who knows where Dad even is since you won't talk about him. What exactly are you trying to protect here?"

Sam closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. Dean didn't know. He couldn't know. But... he needed to know. Sam was always being told how strong he was, but he knew the truth. He was a weak man who would do anything for the brother he loved more than anything else in the world. "There's always a chance it turns out worse. You understand that, right? If I tell you anything, there's a chance that it all goes to hell faster and worse than it did anyway."

"I don't care. I can't help you if you keep me in the dark like this." He sounded determined, confident. Sam knew it was mostly bravado, but it confirmed his own resolve to throw caution to the wind.

"We should get comfortable then. This is a long story."

 Dean was numb, trying to process everything Sam had told him. They had saved the world—that, he finally understood, was the outcome Sam was most concerned about preserving. But the cost had been... He scrubbed a hand down his face. They'd lost so many people. There were holes in the story, of course, and Dean didn't want to ask, didn't want to know for sure, but he was pretty sure their dad was long dead. Sam had stopped talking about him early on. It was good to know they'd killed the thing that destroyed their family, at least. That was something. And they'd met their mom. Because apparently time travel was a thing they did now. Dean was not thrilled to hear that they'd already tried to change the past without success, but maybe this time it would work? Maybe not. Sam had made it sound like there had been a lot of manipulation going on behind the scenes by both Heaven and Hell, and Dean had trouble believing Heaven actually existed. According to Sam it was a pretty shitty place, though. Which was another thing. Sam hadn't said it explicitly, but Dean could read between the lines well enough. At some point Sam had died too. 

That was the worst part. 

He couldn't imagine it. Sam had implied that deals had been made, people brought back to life, and he knew. If his little brother had died, then he would absolutely make that deal. Leaving Sam dead, living without him, was not an option. It was different with him at school. Dean might be lonely, but he could see Sam on campus whenever he was in California. Had, more than once. It hurt, but not like this. Which was ridiculous, because Sam was sitting across from him, perfectly healthy.

Sam was also patiently waiting for a response beyond deafening silence and complete shock. 

Dean tried to pull himself together. "Remind me again why you didn't want to mess up the timeline?"

Sam chuckled darkly. "We're alive. Or, we were. And we saved the world against all odds. That's worth something."

"Yeah. But." Dean closed his eyes again, let himself really feel the grief over losing his brother that he knew Sam had to be feeling right now too. "What happened before I got here? Where am I? You said I died, but you were doing a summoning spell. Where did you think you were summoning me from?"

Sam looked away, chagrined. "I don't know. I was desperate. Considering the sulfur you found, I think a demon took you." Or your body. Sam didn't have to say it for Dean to hear the unspoken caveat.

He nodded. "One more question, then I swear I'm done asking. You never mentioned—" He trailed off, unsure how to ask. "After your—After you left Stanford. Was there anyone—?" He needed to know, though he wasn't sure why. It was hardly important in the grand scheme. Still, the two of them had been together, living and hunting and sharing space, for almost a decade. And Dean hadn't met anyone else yet in this place. It gave him hope that he wasn't sure he deserved to have. 

Before Sam could answer, the door at the top of the stairs crashed open and a man in a beige trench coat shouted, "Sam?"

Sam startled badly at the sound of the door opening, but he didn’t look surprised when he heard the voice. Interesting. 

Dean followed Sam out of the library reluctantly, keeping his distance.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said. 

Dean appraised the new guy. He looked disheveled, tired. Almost as worn out as Sam. His dark hair was a mess, and even from a distance Dean could see the worry on his face dissipate when he spotted Sam. Even more interesting. He didn't think the tax accountant look would be his brother's type, but maybe it was one-sided. The way the guy looked at Sam definitely spoke of something more than simple friendship, anyway.

"You weren't answering your phone." The guy, Cas, sounded out of breath, and his concern was palpable. "I thought—" 

Sam seemed to understand, though Dean didn't. "It's ok. I'm sorry I didn't answer. I've just been busy." He gestured slightly behind him, presumably to indicate Dean's presence. Which meant, what? That Sam hadn't wanted to tell this guy he'd done a spell and dragged his brother ten years into the future? Yeah, ok, that was probably fair. Dean wouldn't have wanted to advertise that either. 

Dean watched as Cas's eyes tracked behind Sam, searching, and when they finally landed on Dean, the difference was startling. Cas's face was slack, totally shocked. "Dean? How? Where—?" He approached a few steps and stopped short, looking sharply at Sam. "What did you do?"

Dean didn't appreciate this guy taking that tone with his brother and stepped forward, starting to say, "Hey—" when Sam cut him off.

"It's fine, Dean. He's right. You don't belong here, and we all know it." He sighed. "I did that spell. The one you said wouldn't work."

Cas searched Sam's face a moment, then turned to get a closer look at Dean. Dean bristled, uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny. He wasn't sure what the guy was looking for, but he eventually turned back to Sam with a disappointed sigh. "Sam."

Dean watched his brother crumple at that, and it hurt. Sam managed to recompose himself quickly though, something Dean had seen him do too many times in the last 24 hours. He had never wanted his little brother to turn into this hard man who could break with a single word and rebuild himself in moments, burying whatever pain he was experiencing so deep it was like it was never there. Sam was supposed to be loud and angry about hunting and, more than anything else, happy. "I had to do something. We were out of leads."

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. This is just—I can't send him back."

Sam nodded, as if he'd been expecting this. "Cas, even if you could, I wouldn't let you. We'll figure something out. Obviously, he can't stay, but we'll find something else. I was never going to let you do that to yourself."

Smiling with weary fondness, Cas replied, "I appreciate your concern, Sam, but I'm fine, I promise."

It was such a Winchester line that Dean had to wonder how long this guy had been part of their lives. 

Sam ignored it, however, and just continued talking. "I think we have something, though." He glanced backwards at Dean, then back to Cas. "Demons. In Dean's room. I assume the night he disappeared."

"Crowley?"

Sam shrugged. "I assume so. I think—" He turned back to Dean, obviously hesitant about saying the next part in his presence. "I think he had someone possess Dean."

Dean started, surprised. That...would explain the smell on the pillow. It was a horrifying thought though, his body running around with a demon in it. "How do we find them?" he asked, surprising even himself when he spoke.

Sam and Cas both turned to look at him. 

"What? I may not know who this Crowley is, but I know I don't want some demon running around in my body. So how do we find them? Demons aren't that common, so it shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Sam and Cas shared a look, then Sam said, "Yeah. You remember how I told you some of what happened to us? I... may have left a few things out." He gulped. "There are a lot of demons out and about these days. They're pretty much the only thing we hunt anymore."

Cas rolled his eyes. "You told him? How much?"

That raised Sam's hackles. "Does it matter? We've never successfully changed history before, why should I expect that we'll start now? And if we did, would that be such a bad thing? Dean is dead, Cas. And I want my brother back. If telling this Dean a little bit of what happens gets me a living, breathing brother, then I'll take it and screw the consequences."

Cas balked. "Sam, you can't mean that. What about Lu-" 

"I beat him before, and I'll beat him again if I have to." Sam's eyes glittered with defiance, and Dean grinned, glad to see that some of Sam's spirit was still in there somewhere.

 The three of them sat around the table in the kitchen, and Dean couldn't stop glancing from Sam to Castiel and back. "He's an angel? You're shitting me, right? Angels don't exist."

Sam laughed at Castiel's scowl. "Yeah, that's pretty much what you said the first time you met him. Hate to break it to you, but they do. So do a lot of other things."

"Unicorns?"

Sam shrugged. "Not as far as we know, but it wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've encountered."

"Do I want to know what tops that list?" 

Sam thought about it for a second. There were a lot of good possibilities, from the Leviathans to actual dragons. But there was one that still made him chuckle when he thought about it. "Fairies. Masquerading as aliens."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"You zapped Tinkerbell in a microwave, dude." 

"You're lying."

"I'm really not. The point is, angels barely even register on the weird scale these days." Sam sat back, relaxing at the normal banter with his brother. He'd missed this. The warm grin Dean sent his way didn’t hurt either.

Grumbling with annoyance, Cas spoke up. "What do we plan to do about Crowley?"

Sam considered their options. There weren't many. "I could summon him again, but that didn't work the first ten times. No reason to assume it'll work now. We might be able to find a locator spell?"

Castiel shook his head. "If there was a useful one, wouldn't we have used it already? You've been through every book in this place twice, at least." 

Dean was unusually quiet as he nursed his third beer. Sam smirked a little at that. He hadn't expected to introduce Dean to his favorite beer. He hadn't realized Dean had only started drinking it sometime after their Dad died. Finally, he spoke. "So we look again. If summoning isn't going to work, then we have to find him some other way. I'm sure the two of you will figure it out."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What, trying to duck out of research? Seriously? When I got back on the road with you, you had a hell of a chip on your shoulder about being able to do research too."

Dean shrugged, grinning. "What can I say? I was probably just trying to make you feel useful, Sammy."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The nicknames fell easily from their mouths, and Sam didn't bother hiding his grin. God, things hadn't felt like this with Dean in too long. 

"Come on. Fresh eyes might find something I missed. You and Cas are on library duty, and I'll see if I can find signs of demonic activity that might be Crowley."

 Dean tossed another book in a foreign language onto Castiel's pile. "Remind me to call Sam a nerd later. I bet he can read all of these."

The angel didn't even look up, just kept reading the book he was going through, something in ancient Aramaic. "Sam is a remarkable linguist these days, but I am unsure how much is due to his status as a 'nerd'."

Feigning nonchalance, Dean said, "Then what is it due to?"

This time, Cas did look up, his gaze sharp. "Most likely his proficiency with so many languages despite very little time in which to study them is due to his high levels of exposure to archangels and their grace. His fluency in Enochian certainly is. Then again, I am aware that Sam's sleeping habits leave much to be desired. Perhaps he is, as you say, a 'nerd'."

Dean tried to parse Cas's words into something that made sense, because he was pretty sure there was an important revelation in there somewhere. The problem was that the angel was even more cryptic than Sam. Where Sam had simply refused to answer, Castiel answered as though Dean hadn't jumped forward a decade in time. Every damn sentence was full of information that Dean was missing the background for, and it was getting annoying. The angel, of course, seemed to be infinitely amused by it. Deciding to put a pin in it until later—maybe he could ask Sam about the time he spent around archangels or why he didn't sleep enough—Dean flipped open another book. This one was in English, at least, and he settled in to read.

Four hours later, he was ready to throw all the books across the room. Cas was right, there was nothing here. Then again, Sam had been the one to pull these books for them, and as they'd previously established, Sam hadn't been able to find an answer. Dean stood and stretched, then went to find Sam. Holed up by himself in his room, of course. "Hey."

Sam jumped at Dean's voice, and Dean hated it. He wondered if his 2014 counterpart knew how jumpy Sam was, or if Sam did a better job of hiding it when he expected Dean to be around. "Hey, Dean. You guys find anything?"

"Not yet." Dean leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, is there a card catalog or something? I didn't see one in the library, but I figured a giant nerd like you would have some sort of filing system."

Sam looked surprised, but only for a moment. Probably remembering that Dean didn't know everything Sam expected him to. "Yeah. It's just— Let me show you. This place is kind of a maze sometimes."

"What, like Hogwarts?"

Sam shot him a disbelieving look, then said, "Less 'the staircases move' and more 'there might be a minotaur I haven't discovered yet.'"

"Got it. You know, I did find my way around ok earlier. It didn't seem that bad to me."

Sam chuckled despite himself. "Most of the main floor is fine. The basement is where things get tricky."

"Wait, this place has a basement?" Just knowing there was an entire floor to the building that Dean hadn't even found yet set his mind running down a dozen different tangents, at least half of them involving doing inappropriate things to his not so little brother. Maybe there was a sex dungeon hiding somewhere. No. No, he reminded himself. There was no way he and Sam were like that. Sam would have said something by now, right? 

 Dean read the spell three times before he showed it to Cas and made him read it. "I'm not crazy, right? That'll track a demon, any demon, so long as we know their real name?"

Cas nodded, slowly, rereading the spell. "Yes. This will work. Go get Sam."

Sam wasn't in his room, which immediately set Dean's big brother radar into overdrive. Doing a quick lap of the upstairs rooms didn't yield an overgrown little brother, so Dean ventured into the basement. Maybe Sam was looking something up in the card catalog. Or maybe he was bored and thought trying to find a minotaur in his basement would make a good distraction. "Sam?" he called, trying to remember the order of turns Sam had taken last time.

There was no answer, but that didn't mean much. He'd seen himself how big this place was. Luckily, Dean was good with directions and found the card catalog and library overflow pretty easily. Unluckily, Sam was nowhere to be seen. "Damn it, Sammy. Where the hell are you?"

He could search the rest of the basement, but something told him that would be a waste of time. Trying to think like Sam was harder when his information was a decade out of date, but it shouldn't be this difficult. Then it hit him. There was one room upstairs that Dean had skipped over entirely, assuming Sam wouldn't have bothered to go in there. Of course he was wrong. 

Dean's—other Dean's—door was closed, but he knew Sam was in there. It sucked. He couldn't exactly tell his brother not to grieve for him, but at the same time, Dean was here and alive right now. Steeling himself, Dean opened the door.

Sam was curled up on the bed, face buried in the sheets. 

"Found something. Cas thinks it'll work." Dean's voice was rough. No way was he calling Sam on the fact that his shoulders were shaking with sobs as he lay there, even if he kind of wanted to. Without even waiting for acknowledgement, Dean retreated to the library.

Sam joined them a few minutes later. He looked even worse than when Dean had found him last night, but he brightened as soon as he read through the spell. Cas had already started to gather the spell components, and in a matter of minutes they had a location.

Dean drove. Sam protested, but he was in no condition to drive. At the very least, this was a way Dean could help. Sure enough, less than an hour into the trip Sam was fast asleep in the passenger seat. He stayed that way until they arrived at a motel in Beulah, North Dakota. Crowley was in town somewhere, hopefully staying put, but Dean figured they could use a base of operations while they looked. According to Sam, while there were signs that a demon was in the area, nothing suspicious had been reported, which meant Crowley was keeping quiet. You know, for a demon. 

Sam blinked awake when the car turned off, and Dean tossed him a room key. "You still look like hammered crap, but at least you got some sleep."

"Thanks." The sarcasm in Sam's voice rivaled his teenage self, and it made Dean grin. 

"Come on. I figure you can get set up doing your geek thing looking for this Crowley dude, and I'll go grab us some dinner. Saw a roadhouse on the way in that looked good."

Sam didn't disagree, so Dean chalked it up as a win. Maybe his brother had just needed to be on the road again to start taking care of himself again.

 The roadhouse was exactly Dean's kind of place. It was full of people and the smell of beer and fried food, and it even had a karaoke stage. Maybe once they were done with Crowley, he'd be able to drag Sam out for a beer or two. Probably not, but Dean could hope. He'd pay good money to see his brother doing karaoke. Speaking of, Dean leaned against the bar to watch the atrocious singing while he waited for his to-go order. What he saw made his insides freeze.

Up on stage was him. 2014 Dean. Or the demon riding him, anyway. Fuck. He considered calling Sam, but quickly tossed that idea away. Sam was too broken up, never mind sleep deprived and probably malnourished. Then again, Dean didn't exactly have a lot of experience dealing with demons. The song ended, and Dean made his decision. The demon had apparently decided that he was going to perform all evening and stayed on stage as the next song started. Perfect. It gave Dean time to grab some gear from the trunk.

Ten minutes later, the demon was booed off the stage and started to make his way outside, following some girl that had caught Dean's eye too. That was when Dean made his move. Ducking out the door first, he waited until the demon exited the building before dragging him around the corner and out of sight of prying eyes. Shoving the guy away from him, he pulled out his dad's journal and flipped it open to the exorcism he'd bookmarked.

"Exorcizamus te—"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the demon said, glaring at him. 

Dean paused, then against his better judgment asked, "Why the hell not?"

The demon grinned and leaned in to say, "Because I'm not just some random demon, Deano." Then, without any warning he drew his fist back and threw a punch hard enough to make Dean see stars.

Dean rolled across the ground from the force of the punch and scrambled back to his feet, knowing he had made a mistake. He was way out of his league, and he found himself wishing Sam was here to bail his ass out. Rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand, he said, "Sure you are. Just a black-eyed bitch borrowing a body that doesn't belong to you. Time to vacate the premises."

The demon just laughed at his bravado. "See, that is where you're wrong. I'm not borrowing anything. This body is mine, and I don't mean that in a 'finders keepers' way. Welcome to your future, Dean. I'm you."

That stopped Dean in his tracks. "What?"

The pause gave the demon a chance to launch another attack, and Dean was too stunned to properly defend himself. The next minute or so was a blur until he found himself in a chokehold while his phone rang. Sam. No one else in this decade had his number. 

Effortlessly keeping Dean pinned, the demon reached into Dean's pocket, pulled out his phone and answered it. "Thought I told you to let me go."

Dean heard Sam say something, but the response was muffled. 

"Sorry, I'm a little tied up right now. Or is it he? Time travel makes pronouns so difficult, don't you think?" Another pause where Sam shouted something at the demon, and the demon rolled his eyes. "Oh, Sammy, what did you think was going to happen? Did you seriously think the Mark was going to let me die?"

Despite the spots that were starting to dance in Dean's vision, hearing this thing call his brother Sammy made something snap inside him. With an unexpected strength, he broke the demon's grip and slammed his fist into his older self's face. Whipping out the runed cuffs he'd grabbed from the trunk, he slapped them on the demon's wrists and said, "You don't get to call him that."

The shock on the demon's face was almost comical, and Dean reveled in his win for just a moment before picking up the phone from where it had fallen. "Hey, Sammy. I got him. We'll be back in ten."

 Back at the bunker, Dean and Sam walked into the library, and Sam poured them each a drink. 

Dean sipped his and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you have a freaking dungeon, man."

Sam chuckled. 

"Seriously, though. What're you going to do with him?" Asking for information about his own future was probably asking for more trouble, but he had to know. 

Sam waved him off. "Don't worry. We, uh, we figured out how to 'cure' demons a while ago. You'll be ok."

"Right." Dean took another, bigger sip. "Dude, your lives are weird."

This time Sam gave him a heartfelt laugh. "Seriously, though, thank you. I couldn't have done this without you."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Yes, you could."

Sam smirked. "Yeah, well, I don't want to."

Feeling like he was missing an inside joke, Dean changed the subject. "So, we got your Dean back. What are we going to do about me?"

Dropping his gaze, Sam said, "I actually have an idea about that. There's a blood spell that our grandfather used to time travel to us last year that should work."

"Seriously? Did you just forget about that?"

"No, not really. But I was trying to preserve the timeline, remember? The way this spell works, blood calls to blood, and the person using it walks through a door next to a blood relative."

Immediately catching his brother's train of thought, Dean said, "Yeah, I doubt Dad would take that very well."

"And you didn't pay me a visit in 2004 that I'm aware of, so—"

"What changed?"

Sam shrugged, then he shot Dean a look that was unreadable. "You."

Wondering again if things were that different in 2014 than his own time, Dean said, "Me, huh?"

Sam smiled shyly, then said, "I just need to figure out how to direct the spell so you don't end up at the wrong end of Dad's gun."

"You're sending me to you?" Dean wasn't sure if he should hope or not, but he couldn't help the lightness in his chest at Sam's fond look.

"Yeah, I am." Sam shrugged again, but Dean could hear the unspoken statement that the future might already be screwed over because of everything Dean had learned. What was one more change?

Finding the answer Sam needed on how to direct the spell wasn't hard, and an hour later they were standing in front of a door painted in Sam's blood while Dean chanted. The sigil glowed, and Dean fell silent.

"I guess this is goodbye, huh?" Dean said, not looking at Sam. He wanted to know, wanted to ask, but his older self was down in the basement, and that guy was going to have to deal with the consequences of any revelations Dean made right now.

"Hey," Sam said, placing a gentle hand on Dean's cheek and turning his face until they were looking at each other. Then he leaned in, kissing Dean hard and dirty. For one shocked moment Dean froze before his brain and body got with the program and kissed back. Too soon, Sam pulled back, leaving them both breathless. Smirking, Sam said, "Go get him, tiger."

Dean grinned and opened the door.

He walked into a bedroom he didn't recognize but which didn't scream "Sam" to him. There was a floral comforter on the queen bed and sheer blinds on the windows. The sunlight streaming through the window combined with the yellow paint to bathe the room in a soft summer glow. It was too clean and small for a motel, but too impersonal to belong to someone. And, contrary to what Sam had told him about how the spell worked, Dean was alone. It gave Dean an opportunity to keep things the way Sam remembered them, if he wanted to, but the memory of Sam's lips on his still burned into his skin, and he knew he wasn't leaving here without seeing his little brother. 

There was a choked noise from the hallway, and there was Sam, damp from a shower and looking almost exactly as Dean expected, just a little leaner, a little more mature. A far cry from the broken—but healing—man he'd just left behind. "Dean? What the hell are you doing in my closet?"

Dean laughed and said, "Dude, you will not believe the week I just had." Then he strode over to his little brother and kissed him like his future depended on it.

[ardentprose]

Trials of Hope

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: mention of suicidal thoughts. depictions of depression and panic attacks.

Summary: Progress always comes with setbacks. Among all the good days, one unfortunate night appears in which every coping mechanism fails and you are forced to reach out for help. To be reminded that you are not alone.

Song: Sea by BTS (fanmade lyric video (not mine))

My fingers slide over the phone screen. My thumb trembles as I open the messaging app. In the top three conversations lies his name. Funnily enough, I haven’t texted that much to warrant such a high spot. However, the fact I’m even tapping on his name and staring at the keyboard is its own explanation. 

Hoseok is just short of a friend. But in this moment, he’s all I have. 

Hey, are you up?

After several rewrites I send the text. A shuddering sigh exhales past sore lips, bitten beyond relief and trapped between my teeth even now as I dread the response. Regret floods my chest as soon as the check mark appears. He’s up. Now what do I say?

Hey! I’m up lol. What’s up?

Before I can comprehend it, I’m backpedaling down the cliff from my insistent thoughts and sending a harmless text. 

I’m bored lol. What are you doing? 

This doesn’t concern him. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t be asking him for help when I barely know him. Thoughts such as these overtake my mind, confirming my regret for even contacting him.

I set the phone down on the table and gaze around the unlit space. Only the city lights of night time Seoul flash across the carpet, casting my lonely figure and the living room in a melancholy blue. Under the same blue lights, my roommate Eliza and I lay across one another on the couch, talking about whatever comes to our minds. The muted atmosphere only adds to the domesticity. But now that she’s away, and I’m alone, they’ve become a reminder that each light has a life connected to it. And each one will go to bed with someone they care about close by. 

I tuck my feet beneath me and sink lower into the couch. Closing my eyes doesn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from targeting my psyche. 

You’re such a fool. An idiot for thinking you were strong enough. You’ll never escape this. You’ll always be this way. There will never be an end-

I dive for the vibrating phone on the table and answer it without blinking. 

“Hello?” A harsh sting covers my lip at how raspy my voice sounds. Hopefully, he’ll credit it to the phone signal.

“Hey,” Hoseok’s voice is piqued with interest. “If you’re so bored, why aren’t you asleep?” 

The playful question only presses guilt further in my chest. I pull the phone away to clear my throat and test out the tonality of a voice that’s been crying for the past three hours.

I force a chuckle to cover how miserable I really am. “How about you? What are you doing up so late?”

Hoseok hums and I can see his smile and twinkling eyes clear as day. “I’m working on a new song.” 

“Oh? Really? What’s it about?” Thankful to have a less threatening topic to focus on, I press him for questions in an almost desperate manner. 

He tsks in response. “That’s top secret. You’ll have to wait until it’s released.” 

The deflation in my chest hurts to a point I was not expecting. My smile falters again into trembling lips and I have to pull the phone away once again to look up at the ceiling and blink away hot tears. 

I suppose I just needed something else to take my attention for awhile, but the entire universe seems to be telling me no. 

“Important business, huh?” I retort after collecting myself again. 

A second goes by before a sharp peal of laughter erupts on the receiver. “Yeah! Yes, that’s exactly what it is. Important business. Top secret.”

I smile and yet tears scald my cheeks until they fall from my chin. Pretending to hold a playful conversation with him, as if mere seconds ago the thought of ending myself wasn’t exploding in my head, is too surreal. My throat constricts past the point of speaking and I lower the phone, tapping the speaker before I set it on the table. 

I grab the nearest couch pillow and bury my face into it. With a death like grip, I squeeze the comforting material to me, hoping to suppress the despair coating me in waves.

The silence no doubt passes as a comfortable one in his mind, as he searches for something to say. 

“How is Eliza doing?” He asks.

“She’s...um…” I swallow down another cry and try to gather the latest news she told me. 

“She’s having lots of fun. Yesterday she went to this sushi bar she really wanted to try out.” I say, clinging to the pillow for dear life. There was no way I was going to ruin her day by telling her years of repressed memories came flooding back. Besides, she would worry and take the next flight home.

Hoseok offers an affirmative noise. Some shuffling of papers can be heard and then what I guess is the squeak of his studio chair as he leans back in it. 

“How are you doing?” 

The words cut through the air snatching my breath. I stare at the lit phone screen as my grip becomes tighter. The rope of desperation curls impossibly tight in my stomach. I part my lips, knowing I have to answer in a reasonable amount of time but my mind can’t fathom a believable response short  of “I feel like I might do something I’ll regret.” 

The silence grows too long and Hoseok’s voice repeats the question, now in a softer, confused tone. “Y/N? Are you still there? Are you okay?” 

The question breaks me and I collapse into my hands, tears unabashedly soaking my fingers. Slippery palms fall past my lips and fail to disguise the sob that breaks through in a fractured word. 

“No-

I don’t know if he can hear me, but there’s no way I’ll be able to collect myself again. Should I just hang up and text him? Create some excuse as to why the call was cut short? 

My hands tremble against my face. I press them against my cheeks, feeling how hot my skin is. Sitting up, the clenching of my stomach becomes suffocating. A strangled breath hitches in my chest as everything goes cold. 

Oh no. Shit. Fuck no.

The signs of a panic attack are bypassed completely. Normally, I would have time to talk myself down before it happens. Due to the past few hours, my body has had enough of being repressed. 

“Hos...Hoseok?” I gasp through a temporary burst of oxygen. 

“Yes? Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you crying?” His voice has flown from lax and playful to frightened urgency.

Guilt crushes my response. Instead, I focus on exhaling away the black spots that bloom over my eyes. 

“Sorry...I just...I don’t want to-” 

“Are you home? Do you want me to come over? I’ll be right there. Don’t move, baby, I’m coming. Don’t move. Just...stay there okay?” 

Hoseok ends the call before I can even process his words. Before it dawns on me that he just called me ‘baby’. If I wasn’t fighting to stay conscious, I might be having a completely different breakdown on that alone. 

I shakily stand to my feet, trying to find something to focus on other than the panic numbing me to the core. This wasn’t how I wanted the night to go. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to call Hoseok. I shouldn’t have ever texted him because now-

Now he’ll see me as I really am. 

I stumble to the wall and flick on the lights. I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, taking deep breaths. Cries faithfully escape my mouth, but I no longer have the strength to mute how pitiful I sound. I gaze around the stark contrast of the room under fluorescents.

I should at least look presentable. I should straighten up. I should wash my face. I could make tea. 

I need to calm down. I need to calm down. I need to calm down. 

All these suggestions make their claim as I sink to the floor and curl in on myself. I focus on breathing deeply, starting over every time a cry cuts short my oxygen. 

Before I’ve gone through the exercise three times, there’s a rapid knocking on the door. 

“Y/N!” Under different circumstances, Hoseok would sound furious rather than panicked. I lift my head, willing myself to at least stop crying long enough to open the door and save some face. 

As soon as I remove the top lock, the door swings open and reveals a distraught Hoseok. Normally put together down to the shoelaces he wears, the disheveled man stands before me anything but. Puffy wide eyes flit all over my face beneath hair sticking up in all directions, some strands falling between his alerted gaze.

He grabs my shoulders, bomber jacket crinkling with the quick motion. 

“What’s happening? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone get hurt? Can I come in?” A volley of questions and his hands push me backwards into the apartment. He slams the door shut with his heel. 

I part my lips but tears only fall in response to all the questions. A horrid choke emits from my throat and Hoseok sighs, nodding his head. 

“I’m here now.” He takes a moment to calm himself down, replacing his worries with his palms sliding down over my shoulders in reassuring squeezes until he grabs my hand in his. 

It’s as if I’ve become paraplegic, subject to only Hoseok’s calm but firm grip situating my body next to his on the couch. He turns on a lamp fully exposing my swollen and distraught eyes. I know how awful I look because I see his eyes widen imperceptibly and his shoulders jerk with an internal gasp. But his mask is more solid than mine and not a word is said about my despairing look. 

He ducks his head so I meet his eyes and when my chin ducks he catches it, ignoring every rule of public decency to raise it in his fingertips and whisper. 

“Look at me. Just breathe with me.” 

I try to inhale but a new wave rises. I grit my teeth. From my shoulders to my stomach, spasms of desperation wrack my body. Hoseok removes his fingertips from my chin and grabs my wrists, yanking on them with gentle urgency brings my palms over his rib cage.

“Y/N. You need to breathe. Feel my chest. Inhale and exhale. Good. Just like that, baby. You can do it.” He repeats his encouragements until with a final shudder I close my eyes and feel the fatigue hit.

“C’mere.” He mutters, collecting me into his chest and resting his chin on top of mine. I inhale his sweet scent, so relaxing and one that embodies the safety of Hoseok to the point I nearly cry again in relief. 

Numbly, I raise my hand to his elbow, gripping the crinkling jacket he still has yet to take off. I turn my forehead to press between his collarbones and sniffle. My nose is disgustingly blocked but he pushes me further against him, as if knowing I was about to draw away. 

“M’sorry.” I whisper into his damp shirt. 

“Don’t apologize.” The words are said with finality and his hand which up until now had been running up and down my back momentarily pauses and presses into my body. 

“Even still,” I raise my head and lean back as far as I can with his arm tucked around my waist. Hoseok gazes down his nose at me, nothing but empathy in his drawn gaze. 

“You shouldn’t have had to see me like this. I shouldn’t have called-”

“I’m glad you called.” He interrupts. “And why shouldn’t you call me? Aren’t we friends? Isn’t that what I’m here for?” His outburst catches me off guard. Had I offended him?

“But-But Hoseok I’m too mu-”

“You’re not nearly enough for me.” Hoseok releases me as if I had burned him. I blink at him several times. The after effects of the panic attack pounds against my skull. I couldn’t decipher the reason his sudden outburst through the oncoming migraine. 

So I say nothing and simply stare. Waiting for him to explain himself.

Hoseok, eyebrows furrowed, eyes wide, and mouth agape, looks at me with the most betrayed expression I have ever seen. 

“Rely on me. I want you to rely on me, Y/N. If I have ever made you feel anything other than safe than tell me, please.” 

“You haven’t. I trust you, Hoseok.” I whisper from a throat raw with abuse.

He runs his hand over his hair and shakes his head. Clearing his throat he looks at me again with a smile and even in the dim lighting of the lamp, I see his blush. 

“I don’t know what’s hurting you and I don’t expect you to tell me. But I do want to know. I want to know you’ll tell someone if you’re not okay. Because I’ve noticed - and not in a creepy way but because I just - uh…” 

For the first time tonight, I smile. Hoseok drops eye contact with me, rubbing the back of his neck as he starts at his mismatched shoes.

“I uh...I care about you and you need to hear that from me. Right? Yes, I care about you more than I have for someone before and- and I think you are one of the strongest people I have ever met. You’re really fucking inspiring even if it feels like you’re just here. B-because I-I can’t even be honest about my true feelings like you can. But every time I hear your story I feel like I can share mine. So don’t stop talking about it. Bu-But you don’t have to tell me...if you don’t want to.” 

He mumbles and smiles and laughs awkwardly but eventually he ends his rambling with a quick glance to my face. 

I meet his nervous expression with one of disbelief. “Me? Strong? Hoseok you don’t even know what I’ve done. I was literally thinking-” 

I cut myself off but Hoseok grabs my hands anyways, gripping them so tightly I resist the urge to wince. His eyes bore into mine and I feel as though he can read my mind, as though he knows exactly what I was going to admit. 

“Y/N.” His voice is shaking. I can’t look at him. 

“Y/N.” Hoarse and pleading. My heart wrenches and before I stop myself I’m meeting Hoseok’s red eyes, wet cheeks and trembling chin. 

“I love you so much. Fuck, I love you. You’re not alone. I’m right here for you.” He swears. The conviction in his voice was more than enough to draw tears to my sore eyes. 

“I-I hate this. I hate this feeling and my thoughts and everything in my life.” The truth comes tumbling out and there’s no stopping it. Somehow, fresh tears stain Hoseok's shirt as I collapse into his awaiting arms. 

“I’ll listen. I’ll listen to all of it. Just tell me everything.” He says in the sweetest, calmest voice I’ve heard him use. 

Stroking my hair, clutching me to his chest close enough to feel his heartbeat against my cheek, I confess my worries, my doubts, my darkness into Hoseok’s chest. I hold onto him for dear life as I whisper all the bad things into the night. And Hoseok, calm as ever, continues to smooth my hair, squeeze my waist, kiss my head and say, 

“It’s alright, love. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

[dabistits]

Himiko & emotional intelligence

This is an aspect of Himiko that I deeply appreciate and want to talk about here, especially since I haven’t seen a comprehensive post about this character trait. I think this is especially important given her desire to Kill and Replace, but it also contradicts portrayals of Himiko that construe her as not particularly smart or strategic. Emotional intelligence is actually a huge asset of hers, in many terms, including as a weapon. She exhibits a profound and seemingly intuitive understanding of other people’s emotions and can modify her own behavior accordingly for her own ends. Below is a listed breakdown with specific examples, in no particular order of importance:

1. Intuitive understanding of unspoken feelings

This is probably the most prominent example, and which we see time and again. Himiko repeatedly makes assertions based off tangential information, which she surmises into an accurate reading of other people’s character. Ochako and Izuku are basically complete strangers to her, but with minimal interaction, Himiko’s able to deduce important relationships to both of them. In the latter examples, while Izuku and Jin have alluded to their feelings to or around her, Himiko cuts right to the heart of the issue: not only does Izuku hold Ochako’s abilities in a conflict situation in high regard, he trusts her; not only does Jin feel guilty for Magne’s death, he feels the most guilt, and cooperating with the yakuza hurts him because of his guilt.

She confidently makes a statement about three different characters, and she’s shown to be correct in how she interprets their feelings. Her intuitive deduction often acts as a narrative device to show authorial intent (that Ochako does have a crush, that Izuku does trust her, Jin does feel guilt), so it’s important that her statements are accurate. As a result, she happens to become one of the most emotionally perceptive characters in the series, almost to an unnerving degree, able to correctly make snap judgments about people’s feelings and relationships. But how else do you use a quirk like Transform, right?

2. Blending into her role

We’ve so far seen Himiko in four different transformations (Rock Lock isn’t on here because I got lazy lol). Quite obviously, she’s not perfect—Kemi’s classmates at Shiketsu notes that she’s been acting weird, and Izuku quickly figures out that the Ochako he rescued during the Hero License Exam was an imposter. That said, Himiko does several things very well that shows it’s not carelessness on her part, so much as reasonable limitations given how much she knows about each of these people.

Starting from the obvious: her mannerisms. Himiko adjusts her mannerisms according to whomever she’s imitating, including expressions, body language, and (I’m assuming, w/o the requisite Japanese knowledge to go on) speech. Her personas are distinctive in each instance, and tailored to suit the situation they’re in, from Ochako’s sheepish look to Izuku’s direct, urgent communication. Himiko assumes a, at the very least, passable imitation of people she’s, again, barely met, adopting salient behavioral traits so she doesn’t easily get found out. Even when Izuku calls her out, he points out technical flaws in her imitation of Ochako (that she didn’t float, the lack of planning when coming to save him) rather than obvious tells from personality.

That said, where and when Himiko uses her Transform ability is also strategic in nature. For sustained periods of transformation, she selected a target who she could imitate more easily, whose strangeness would be more likely to get overlooked. Shishikura Seiji says this about Kemi:

Himiko’s target and surroundings are carefully chosen to minimize chances of discovery, all strategic considerations that rely on an ability to read the atmosphere and people’s dispositions. She makes use of moments of confusion and plays off of people’s (but especially heroes’) need to react and help, betting on them to act before asking too many questions. This also raises an interesting question for me: in the hero license exam as Ochako, did she fall deliberately, counting on Izuku to catch her? Canon doesn’t make it particularly clear either way, but to speculate about it is fun in its own way.

3. Curiosity towards others

This trait ties in obviously to Himiko’s fixation on Kill and Replace, but it also serves to expand her understanding of other people. By asking these questions in her drive to satisfy her curiosity, Himiko must also necessarily take in and process the information she receives in response, so she necessarily acquires an (emotional) understanding towards others. While this line is directed to Izuku, her interrogation of him broadens her perspective about not only Izuku himself, but those who are like him—in this case, heroes. Both Himiko and Tomura (in the mall scene) seek out Izuku to elucidate certain ways of thinking that are foreign to them, and seem to come away from the interaction with some knowledge gained about the enemy. While Tomura is the one who clearly grew during his encounter, in beginning to use his acquired philosophy to gain legitimacy, it would be inaccurate to say Himiko gained nothing from hers, even if it was marginal enough not to be addressed in the canon narrative yet. She’ll obviously have more interaction with Izuku in the future though, so there should be plenty of opportunity to show how this encounter affected her too.

4. Using emotional information for her own ends

All of her skills amount to this—a brilliant play in the Hideout Invasion Arc that is vastly under-appreciated. Let’s set the scene: she and Twice have been drafted into the yakuza, whom neither of them much like, and now they’re embroiled in the yakuza’s affairs which involves a confrontation with heroes. They’re disadvantaged in terms of sheer physical power, they’re trapped in the battlezone with a significant risk of getting arrested, and their true target (Overhaul) is quickly making his escape while Mimic slows everyone down. Mimic is someone with whom she’d had a brief but antagonistic interaction that we know of, maybe more went on off-screen. Regardless, she understands enough about this person to figure out where he’s hiding (which stupefied the heroes), and exactly what to do to make him reveal himself against all his best interests. How she goes about this sets the course for the rest of the chapter.

With the right combination of words, she coaxes Mimic into self-sabotaging by revealing his location, and the heroes react exactly as she wanted them to. They prioritize subduing Mimic; once Izuku catches on to where he’s hiding, he takes him out, and it occupies all of the heroes for just long enough for her and Twice to make their escape. Himiko talks the situation into her favor, and ends up with one of the most troublesome yakuza members out of the way, and the road cleared for Twice and herself to execute their own plan to sabotage Overhaul.

I don’t think I need to go on about how amazing it is to manipulate a chain of events like that. Suffice to say that achieving such a result required a remarkable understanding of Mimic’s character and tics. She knew what to say that would dig the most at his insecurities, what would piss him off the most, and how the heroes would react. Basically, she played them, pretty much effortlessly and with very little time to think everything through. As stated in point 1, her ability to grasp a situation and all personalities involved seems pretty much intuitive, allowing her take advantage of what is going on around her. This is one of those scenes when the cunning of a character truly shines through, and it happens by allowing Himiko to take control of the situation just by reading someone’s personality and emotions. 

5. Emotional intelligence=empathy?

One would think that this all amounts to an extremely sympathetic reading of her, and Himiko does tend to get very sympathetic reactions out of fans. After all, she’s redeemable by her age, she’s fun, and she has extremely endearing interactions with Twice. People particularly like to cite the scene above as evidence that she’s empathetic, and therefore not just a surface-level sadistic serial killer. I somewhat agree on these points, but although I’ve just spent a lot of words detailing indications of her emotional intelligence, I hesitate to assert that it necessarily makes her more predictable in terms of her loyalties or willingness to self-sacrifice.

So as to not get too deeply into what other people think or don’t think, I’ll just present my own argument here. While Himiko does show herself to be perceptive towards other people’s feelings, upset at the team’s loss of Magne, and reassuring when Twice is distressed, it may not come from a totally selfless, empathetic place. This is something of an extrapolation from her behavior in other instances, like the serial killing lmfao, but also this bit towards Tomura:

When faced with the possibility of doing something she doesn’t like, her reaction drastically differs from Twice. Twice is hurt by Tomura asking them to join the yakuza, but Himiko doesn’t seem to feel hurt; rather than echo Twice’s plea for consideration, her reaction is a logical, problem-solving attempt to remove the element that is making her do that which she dislikes. Her gesture towards Tomura is antagonistic. Her expression is placid, she even calls Tomura by his first name, but her action is a threat, making it clear she will hurt someone to get her way.

What I read from this interaction is that, to Himiko, people are disposable if they become ‘unpleasant.’ It’s the people on her good side who warrant her reassurance, but given that it’s Tomura she threatens here, that can change at the drop of a pin. This is why I hesitate to point to her emotional intelligence as something that indicates unconditional loyalty or compassion; there is very clearly a self-centered and opportunistic streak in the way Himiko evaluates people around her and her relationships to them, and that’s a trait that’s often overlooked. People are welcome to interpret her however they want, but I think her willingness to rebel against and threaten the people she deems friends is something that bears acknowledging.

6. Bonus: she still cares to remark on what Tomura thinks though

IT’S CUTE, that’s all.

Emotional intelligence doesn't always point to good deeds and intentions, and I think this aspect of it is ignored when it comes to Himiko. Focus on her character tends towards the moments when she's being compassionate (and I get that because it's really cute) but I feel like it undersells how manipulative she can be. She regularly uses her people skills to infiltrate, confuse, and sabotage, which is also very a interesting and fun part of her character. She can be strategic! She can be cunning! It's just a different type of intelligence that most of our main characters exhibit, especially in terms of how she uses it, but that's also part of what makes her a great villain.

[halfgclden]

something to take the edge off

date: Sunday, May 10th, 2020

characters: Chase and Cyrus

summary: cyrus went ghost, chase felt sad, the bros get together and talk about the most dramatic part of fight night and what caused it

Cyrus knew that he had been out of line and, with his messy emotions, he'd lashed out at fight night. He even felt bad for ghosting his best friend the day afterward. He was very aware of how much time had passed though, and was itching to get this apology out of the way. During the moments that were in between then and now he'd felt pretty much like a raw nerve. He still felt a little out of it but only because he'd been sober for way too long. He hadn't messaged Chase but, by now, Crooke had the other's schedule pretty much down. He thought about knocking but, instead, figured to play it like he would on a usual day. He entered the Morpheus townhouse slowly and cleared his throat as he glanced around. "...Aye, yo, Chase?" Cyrus called out.

During fight night, Chase had been worried about the savagery, but was somehow more surprised about the way that his friend had lashed out at him. After thinking about the circumstances more, he moved between being upset and then understanding that what he'd said was less than a comfort to his friend, especially with the way that he'd put it. After, he'd left Cyrus a few messages, one about swimming for his brother despite the fact that he didn't win, one about his cats, a few about smoking up his closet, and yet no reply came. Chase was starting to get somewhat worried, unsure if it was his best friend being upset with the world or specifically him. He was in his room, lying on his floor and staring at the ceiling when he heard someone enter, and heard a familiar voice call out. He rolled over and pushed himself up, then bounded down the stairs. "Hey, Crooke," he said, trying not to seem out of breath. "Hey," he repeated. "What's up?"

Cyrus heard footsteps before he saw Chase quickly emerge from down the stairs. He moved the rest of the way so they stood nearby one another. He shot Chase a narrow-eyed look but it lasted only a moment because he shifted in his stance. "Shit, so, I was thinkin'..." He said, rubbing his hands together. "I kinda flipped on ya' a few days ago, huh?" He raised his brows and then sighed, shoulders dropping. "Uh, can we smoke first, man?"

Chase chewed on his thumb nail and nodded at Cyrus, not really sure what to say about the first two statements. "Sure, yeah, no problem. Y'wanna go sit in the closet, or just my room? The roof?" he offered, already starting back up the stairs.

"Uhh, closet's fine with me," Cyrus said after thinking for a second and dropped his eyes to the floor as he followed Chase up the stairs. Being antsy, he wanted to do something with his hands so he rubbed the back of his own neck. "I haven't smoked, like, all fuckin' day, man." He commented from behind.

Chase nodded and opened the door to his room, making sure there were no cats around while he was smoking up his room. He pulled his grinder from his drawer and his bong from his desk, then tilted his head at Cyrus. “Dude, are you good? Cause you seem really... Not, man. Like, off.”

Cyrus sighed. "I wanna be better," He simply answered Chase's question as he moved to enter the closet. He let himself take a spot against the wall. "I'm shook, to use my brother's words," He claimed with a frown, continuing to speak so Chase could hear even as he was still gathering things. "I got bad shit on my mind, man, and I owe you an apology."

Chase chewed his lip and stopped for a moment so that he could look at Cyrus fully. He frowned, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "I was thinking about the other day, and honestly, I can see why you kinda flipped. I gave you a shit answer."

"Nah, man. You were fine, really," Cyrus responded. "I don't know why I expected you to be perfect. That's so fuckin' unfair to you. Especially when I'm far from it..." He'd realized how much he'd come to rely on Chase even before entering the townhouse for this visit. "I mean, I hadn't even told you anything. At all, about what I've been dealing with, so I'm sorry for spazzin' out," He apologized with a sober mind after swallowing his pride. "Whether you wanna say it was warranted or not, I shouldn't talk to someone I think of as a best friend like that," He sighed and let his eyes settle on Chase again. "I want to explain some things to you though... If you're in a headspace to hear about some life-changing bullshit?" He questioned.

Chase frowned as he watched his friend, letting his eyes scan over him, take in his expression and the way he carried himself along with his words. “Nah, man, you’re fine.” He could admit that there was a bit of a sting that came with the realization that most of his close friends felt uncomfortable sharing anything too deep with him, but he decided not to take it personally, and to accept the information when it was presented to him. “I’m... nah, yeah, I’m totally down for some life-changing bullshit. Y’sure y’wanna be high for this? We can just chill. Unless y’want something to take the edge off.”

Cyrus felt a tiniest bit at ease. Maybe it was due to how the other spoke their words, or just the calming atmosphere of the Morpheus townhouse settling in once again. "Yeah, I wanna chill, but get high as hell too," He assured Chase but his tone still wasn't as mirthful as he usually came across. The metaphorical grip that Crooke held onto his secrets with started to lessen even more-so. "With whatever you got too," He then promptly added without much of a blink. He had ripped right into this same confessional with the previous people he'd told about his curses lately, but he figured this time would be different. "But, uh, aye," Cyrus shifted in his seat. "So I guess I can start with the easy stuff first? Um... I did something reckless and impulsive, like, five or six years ago and my past is still haunting me." He expressed with a frown.

Chase's lips twitched upwards in a semblance of a smile at Cyrus's words, and he began to pack up a bowl so that he and Crooke would be able to smoke their worries away. He wasn't sure what else he had, but he made a mental note to check his drawers once he didn't have to be so focused on his friend. He pressed his lips together into a line and nodded, fully feeling as though he understood Crooke's situation. His decision to leave camp was one that was not fully thought through, and the thought of it still put knots in his stomach. "Ah, yeah, um, I get it." He crossed the room to take a seat next to Cyrus. "What happened?"

“It was right before the war got really bad," Cyrus spoke again once Chase had sat down. "I was upset? I thought I was doin' things for the right reasons, but I honestly don't know what I was thinkin'... But, I fuckin’ graffiti’d the shit outta one of Hecate's temples," He finally admitted. "Call it retaliation, or retribution, or whatever. Graves was with me too," He sighed. "But I was the one who also broke an artifact that was on display. It actually ended up being irreplaceable to her,” Cyrus explained only to fall quiet again. He sighed and ran his hand down his face. "She showed up that night, and was so damn pissed. Absolutely livid," He described. "And... Well, she cursed me. Twice." Crooke confessed.

Chase let Cyrus tell his story in its entirety before responding, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say even when he heard everything. It was like each layer of the story only made it more complicated, and the fact that his best friend was living with this for so long without ever mentioning it to him made his heart heavy. "Fuck..." Some part of him was relieved that the night didn't result in the kidnapping of Cyrus, as had happened to others who challenged her. "So once for the graffiti and then for breaking the shit? What are the curses?"

"Yeah," Cyrus spoke softly. Talking about this topic had oddly become familiar to him within the past days. "They're basically personalized, fuckin' just for me to be the most miserable," He continued on, swallowing hard one last time before further addressing the situation. "The first one, makes it so that I have to tell a handful of complete truths. Which wouldn't be that bad, but I've been spilling my truths every day since I was fuckin', like, still a punk-ass kid. I hate it, sometimes I don't want to tell the truth," Cyrus finally added in confession and frowned. "I'm sorry, dude, for not telling you earlier too..." He faltered, but pushed through anyway and continued. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you, I just hoped it'd go away," He shook his head. "But they never did... The other is a curse of obsession, by the way." He then attempted to gloss over the nastier of the curses.

Chase frowned and rubbed at his collarbone. The idea of Cyrus having to do something that he didn't want to for so long felt... wrong, but the fact that he was trying to ignore it until it went away seemed quite in character for his best friend. "Yeah, nah man, it's like, you can do whatever you want, but as soon as you have to do it, maybe you don't want to anymore, and that should be up to you." He shook his head. "Fuck, man, nah. Don't apologize for not telling me. Like, I'm just glad I know now, I guess. Or... It's the type of thing that's weird to bring up, but I'm just glad that, I dunno, you feel like you can tell me." He frowned playing with a piece of his hair. "Obsession with...?" he trailed off, hoping that Cyrus would fill in the blank.

"I feel like there's not much I wouldn't tell you at this point. I tell you a lot," Cyrus shrugged. "I mean, I've used you for the truths quite often. It's just a sore fuckin' subject," He admitted. "But, hell yeah," Crooke agreed with his best friend's sentiments about free-will, but his tone lacked his usual enthusiasm. "It's my prerogative if I wanna change my damn mind," He added to his agreement and sighed out of frustration. He closed his eyes, head hanging back for a moment. "I get obsessed with anything I start to really care about. It just spirals. Uh, fight night, dealin' drugs," Cyrus chuckled, very bitter, and opened his eyes again. "—Or Malia. Those are the latest, if you wanted examples." He commented and yet was conscious of how all of this sounded.

Chase felt his lips twitch upward, not quite a smile. He would be happy to hear that one of his friends trusted him with anything, if not the fact that this something was particularly terrible. One of his favourite things about Cyrus was how blunt he was, and he didn’t like that (or anything) being impacted by some god’s will. “Ah.” He twisted a piece of hair with his fingers. Malia was a... rather sore subject, since two of his closest friends were quite infatuated with her, and the one that wasn’t Cyrus was his brother. He’d suggested that they all could date, but apparently that didn’t fly, and so he tried to avoid the subject all together. “So that’s why you went so wild on Lulu?”

Maybe there were multiple reasons why all three wouldn't work if they dated, but mainly Cyrus's opinion of Jesse, and vice versa, was nothing less than disdain. He nodded as if that explained everything, especially regarding any past actions he might've taken. "Yeah, sorta like an outta body experience too. I was conscious of everything my body did, aware of the thoughts I wouldn't normally have thought and, yet..." Crooke huffed and then gestured to the weed that Chase figured he'd forgot he was preparing. "You almost ready there, bud?" 

Chase tugged at his hair when Cyrus explained himself, his gaze growing far away as he thought about his own experience in that department. “I, uh, kinda get what you mean. The out of body thing.” He licked his lips, then blinked quickly as Cyrus addressed his again, just about snapping himself out of his momentary daze. He nodded and packed the bowl up like he planned to, then held the bong and a lighter out to Cyrus. “Y’wanna start?”

Even if nothing had changed regarding his curses, Cyrus did feel relief that he'd gotten his best friend on the same page as him. He nodded sullenly as he took the bong from Chase. He faltered before actually taking his hit. Eventually doing so, he exhaled the smoke and gave the bong back to the other. "Thanks, man," Cyrus sighed, leaned his head back again and closed his eyes to usher in the high until it was his turn again. "I feel a bit better already."

Chase watched Cyrus as he took the hit, and as he took the bong from his friend, he reached out to give his knee a small squeeze. “‘Course, man. Whatever you need.” He lit up and took a long hit, blowing the smoke over at Cyrus as he exhaled. “Y’wanna do something? Or just chill? We can fuck around.” He leaned back on his elbows. “But I’m also good to get stoned out of my head and leave my body— in a good way.”

Cyrus gave the other a genuine smile upon feeling Chase's hand on his knee. He happily accepted being blasted with the smoke from his friend's hit. "We can fuck around," He accepted the offer. "But, let's just chill like this for a bit longer..."