#heroes of tomorrow fic

[viasdreams]

via's dreams𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

masterlist by group‧₊˚ ⋅

nct dream₊˚ nct 127₊˚ wayv₊˚ nct wish₊˚ stray kids₊˚ tomorrow x together₊˚ xdinary heroes₊˚

[decarbry]

From the Kurogiri’s meditating post- nice to see him and Yabureme getting along better!

[jazzrazzberry]

Just the entirety of the All Our Yesterdays series

[reddamselette]

Leo didn’t know how much longer he could take it. The constant excuses made and lies told from Jason to cling onto him for warmth or the lingering touches that left little waves of electricity mingle with his veins and surging through to his heart. Leo was only so strong enough to handle the soft, lazy smile Jason reserved for him.

How long would Jason continue deluding himself into believing they were just friends?

After suffering through so much heartache from someone he wasn’t even dating, Leo dragged Jason into the empty cabin of Zeus and slammed the door shut.

“Don’t— Don’t look at me like that, Jason Grace. I’ve had it with you and you’re driving me insane!” Leo narrowed his eyes into a glare towards the son of Zeus who stared back with unassuming sky blue irises. He’s so pretty but he doesn’t deserve special treatment right now.

Jason held up his hands in surrender, a soft furrow to his beautiful brows with a frown curling the corner of his lips. “What’s wrong?”

Leo huffed, shaking his head before rubbing his face with his hands. Frustration pulled and clawed at him and when he spoke, it was wrecked and cracked within every word. “For gods’ sake, Jason. How long— I mean how much longer are we planning to have this go on before you can admit that we aren’t just friends?”

Jason startled visibly as the realization dawned on him suddenly but slowly like the tip of a tornado touching the ground to destroy everything in the surrounding area. He swallowed as he dropped his hands to his sides and he felt regret rise in his heart.

Leo knew because Jason was always expressive with his eyes and he knew because he spent so much time being lost within pools of blue.

“Aren’t we?” Jason asked quietly, his voice just above a whisper like he was afraid to make things worse, to spark an ever growing wildfire.

“Don’t give me that. You can’t— Stop running away from me, why do you keep running away from me? This hurts me too! You not admitting what this is is hurting both of us!”

Their ears rang in sync as Leo’s words were drowned in the silence enveloping the cabin like a protective dome.

Leo heaved a heavy sigh, the telltale stinging pain of tears welling in his eyes told him he wouldn’t be able to keep himself composed the longer he stood in front of Jason. He wanted to reach out and kiss him but slap and punch him all at the same time. But until Jason faced what he created, Leo couldn’t continue torturing himself for the sake of figuring it out.

Because in truth—and he wasn’t sure when everything shifted—it was never casual.

[mediumgayitalian]

previous chapter

———

The sunlight disorients him.

Usually, he wakes to a blaring alarm. If he has no alarm set, nothing planned for the day, he wakes when he cannot physically stand the taste of his own breath anymore, stumbling out of bed and ambling like a zombie for the nearest toothbrush. (On rare, rare occasions, he wakes to humming – low, drawling, lilting, floating around his darkened room, brightening it. He dreams about those mornings.)

He cannot remember the last time he woke to gentle sun.

Stretching, he takes a minute to catalogue the space as he wakes up, noticing the light curtains over wide windows, small TV tucked in between two double beds, and a desk, larger than he would have expected, taking up the far right corner.

Will is nowhere to be found.

“Jogging, mebbe,” Nico mumbles to himself; tiny, forgotten accent slipping out before he can stop it. Gingerly, he peels off the blankets and pads to the bathroom. Will’s blue-capped toothbrush sits next to the sink, quelling Nico’s ridiculous anxiety that Will, actually, has never been here at all, and Nico dreamed this whole thing up. He smiles slightly at the dorky stickers plastered all over the handle, colour mostly worn away, and the watch forgotten next to the soap dispenser. 

He hears a heavy door open and shut, pausing to make out quiet footsteps over the running water. Quickly rinsing the suds off his face, he towels off and steps back out into the hotel room, watching his friend.

Will has his back turned, hunched over the desk. He wears a hoodie, blue with big white clouds all over it – his favourite – and, of course, horrible cargo shorts. Nico counts seven pockets, and that’s just what he can see from the back. There is a book shoved in two of them, keys hanging out of a third, and an apple bulging from the pocket near his hip.

“Morning.”

Will jumps, whirling around. 

“You scared the shit outta me!”

“Sorry,” Nico says, not sorry. He’s grinning. “Were you out for a run?”

“I was out for a run hours ago, yes. It’s, like, ten-thirty, dude. You’ve been sleeping for eight hundred years.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They’ve had this argument more times than he can physically count, he refuses to have it again when he doesn’t have the upper hand. He’ll bring it up again when Will’s sleepy again at nine o’clock. “Where were you?”

Will steps to the side, revealing three separate heaping plates of food on the desk, piled high with eggs, toast, a muffin, bacon, and, of course, an entire plate devoted to fruit. Nico descends upon it like a swarm of seagulls upon a terrorized child’s ice cream cone – with fury, insatiable hunger, and endless hubris. He makes sure to ignore the fruit.

Five minutes later, he’s satiated enough to turn a percentage of his attention away from the food. He spins the desk chair halfway to face Will, instead, curled up on the bed with one knee pulled to his chest, watching him fondly.

“How many times did you almost drop this on the way up?” he asks around a mouthful of bacon.

Will’s smile drops, eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

“Four floors, and there’s a good chance you took the stairs to keep the elevators for ‘someone who needs them more’, so –”

“I hate you.”

“– I’m guessing one time per flight of stairs? Oh, wait, there are three plates, definitely more –”

“I’m never doing anything nice for you ever again.”

“– and you have a new band-aid on your knee, so you definitely tripped and dropped it at least once.” He pops the last of the bacon in his mouth, smiling wickedly. “Twice? Three times? If you don’t tell me I’m going to assume six and move on.”

Will’s glare intensifies. He mumbles something.

“Hm?”

He mumbles again. Nico doesn’t even pretend not to be delighted. He knows the smile on his face is wide enough to make him look deranged, he simply doesn’t care. Opportunities to press Will’s buttons this beautiful do not show up every day. He must treasure them.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“Hadtogoback.”

“Gonna have to speak up, bud.”

“I had to go back!” Will explodes, hands thrown in the air. “I fuckin’ – I dropped the stupid plates, the first time, so I had to fuckin’ – clean it up and – two stupid trips, you jerk, you better appreciate this –”

Nico almost bites through his lip. “You dropped it?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Will says defensively. “I was concentrating really hard but –”

Nico loses it.

“– my shoe got caught on the last step and I didn’t have any hands to catch myself.” He scowls. “Three people saw.”

He can’t breathe. There are genuine, actual tears streaming down his face, burn in his eyes almost as bad as the burn in his lungs, the ache in his belly. He wraps his shaking arms around himself in an attempt to hold himself together, laughing so hard he feels like his muscles might actually rip themselves off his bones. Every time he tries to calm down, he pictures Will, in his dorky flip-flops, egg in his hair, half a muffin crushed on his cheek, bright red, sprawled on the ground, food everywhere. If he could think of literally anything else, he’d be worried about his heart straight-up failing. 

“I hate you. Actually.”

“I’m – oh my God,” he wheezes. He manages, finally, to get an actual breath in, desperately trying to think of literally anything else to calm down. Fucking – bumper to bumper traffic. Bedbugs. His father’s frowning face. That always works. “Holy shit, Will.”

“I should’ve just woken your ungrateful ass up.”

“Probably.” He flicks a grape at him, smiling. Will catches it in his mouth, rolling his eyes but smiling back. “Glad you didn’t.”

“Whatever.”

Nico finishes the rest of his breakfast in relative peace, managing to turn away if his mouth threatens to betray the tentative truce they’ve negotiated. He even eats one entire peach when Will starts pelting him with tiny hotel soap bottles and listing side effects of cholesterol-induced heart disease.

The second he finishes the last bite, Will orders him to clear off the desk. Nico mutters about bossiness and how Will is most definitely not in charge of him, doing as he asks. When he comes back – took him a hot second to shove the paper plates into a small enough ball to fit in the garbage can – Will has dragged the desk over to the bed, sitting criss-cross next to it, examining one of the many papers he has covering it.

“So,” he says, gesturing next to him. Nico dutifully sits, peering at the various maps and markings. “We gotta plan part two.”

“Didn’t we already do this?” Nico asks. “Back at Dunkin’s?”

“Not this far. I wanted to Preserve the Spontaneous Road Trip Spirit.” Nico can hear the capitalization.

“So, planning, then.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Nico smiles. “Brief me, captain.”

Will jumps right in, pointing and gesturing and every once and a while catching Nico’s eye to ask, right? Sound good?

Nico just watches him. 

The midday sun shines directly in his face, catching and reflecting on his pale eyelashes, making his eyes go squinty. His excitement is obvious, in his chattering, his waving hands, his bouncing curls; every part of him moving. Even his stupid cargo shorts look endearing, every other pocket bulging, filled absentmindedly with slips of paper or pens or bandaids or granola bars. Nico watches him and feels he might burst.

“You’re not listening,” Will accuses.

Nico jumps back into focus. “Yes I am.”

“What’d I just say?”

“‘You’re not listening’.”

WIll cracks a smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Run over that again,” Nico answers, and grins devilishly when Will does. Not funny his ass.

He listens, though, through Will’s second explanation. It’s not too hard – Will’s always been organised. The wide penciled circle around their location in Atlanta, outlining the area they can drive before their next fuel stop, is pretty wide. But the options are limited, in Nico’s opinion – while he’s sure there is indeed something to do in South Carolina, there’s nothing to do for him, specifically. He’s cool with skipping it.

“There is one place we can go,” Will says. His voice has gone oddly quiet, and after at minute he glances over at Nico, like he’s waiting for his permission.

“Your road trip, dude,” he murmurs, nudging their shoulders together. “I’ll even go to South Carolina if you want to, but no promises that I won’t complain about it.”

That, thankfully, draws a huff out of him, some of the tenseness fading from his frame. 

“South Carolina is beautiful, you know.”

“Says the boy who is currently visiting his third state ever.”

“...Touché.” He taps his pencil on the map, pink eraser thunking somewhere in the Bermuda triangle. “I was thinking – we could try Nashville? Music Row, or Broadway?”

Nico groans. “Oh, of course you wanna go hang out with all the goddamn hillbillies, you fuckin’ country boy –”

“It’s good music!”

Nico groans louder. Secretly, though, he watches his friend out of the corner of his eye, watches as his shoulders slump, relieved, and he knows he’ll spend as long as he needs in lasso-slingin’ Tennessee, following Will in and out of – barns and ranches and cowboy boot shops, probably. Are saloons still a thing?

He has a feeling that there is more to Will’s hesitance than a fear about being judged for his Marty Robbins obsession. If Tennessee is where he’s gonna get answers – well. He’ll brave the goddamn sea of cowboy hats.

A knock at the door startles them both. A voice calls hesitantly through the door: “Mr. di Angelo?”

“Wrong door, probably,” Will whispers after a moment. He looks to Nico. “Right?”

There’s another knock. “Mr. di Angelo?” 

“Yeah.” Nico rolls of the bed, landing on the floor with a grunt. “Another room with a Mr. di Angelo.”

He creeps towards the door, keeping low as if whoever’s outside can see him. After a moment, the bed creaks, and Will’s quiet footsteps pad behind him. 

“You think it’s room service?” Will whispers, plastered to the opposite side of the door. Even ducking, his hair brushes the edge of the peephole. 

Nico shoves his head down, pinching him when he squawks. “Be quiet, tall person, I need to see.”

“Get a stepstool then, jerk! Stop using my neck as a lever!”

“What part of be quiet are you missing! God!”

“Mr. di Angelo, please open the door.”

The voice on the other side of the door sounds amused. Face flaming, Nico shoves Will somewhere behind him, still bitching, and swings open the door. 

“Good afternoon,” says the man in the hallway. He’s dressed very smartly in a tailored black suit, nametag reading Eric. “Are you Mr. di Angelo?”

Nico clears his throat, trying to stand taller. “That’s me.”

“Good. I’m with Hotel Administration. We received a fax for you this morning?” He hands Nico a manilla folder. “First page says confidential, so we put it in the envelope. We tried to call this morning but didn’t get any response.”

Vaguely, Nico remembers a ringing phone. He also remembers yanking the plug out of the wall in sleep-deprived rage.

Oops.

Ignoring Will’s snickering, Nico thanks the man, closing the door and sitting on the nearest bed. Will scooches over to make room for him, tossing and catching a pillow. Nico leans back against the headboard, crossing his leg over Will’s.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“Checking now.”

The envelope is the cheap kind you get in a box of fifty; speckled brown, thin, machine-cut. It’s not sealed and so Nico flips it open easily, sliding out a small stack of papers. The first is a huge CONFIDENTIAL, printed diagonally across otherwise blank paper. The second is a bank statement. 

Nico shoots upright.

“What? Nico, what’s –”

“Mr. di Angelo, we regret to lose your business,’” Nico recites in a shaking voice, “‘but appreciate your time with us and wish you all the best with your future banking.’”

Frantically, he scans the document again. Successful cancellation. Expedited closure date. Transferred affairs to –

– parent account. 

“–co? Nico? Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

The air pushes out of Nico’s lungs like a crushed balloon. “Fuck.”

“Nico.” Warm hands press on his bloodless cheeks, fingers sliding in his hair. “Nico, look at me.”

He gasps. Will squeezes gently, eyes dark and stern and kind, thumbs callus-rough and dragging across his cheekbones.

“Good. Again. There you go, you got it.” 

Nico grabs his wrists when he tries to pull away. Will takes the hint, sliding his hands under Nico’s free one and knocking their shoulders together.

“What’s wrong, Nico?” 

Instead of answering, Nico sets the papers on the bed between them. Will squints, and for a second Nico prays that he’s wrong, that he’s mixed up the words. That it doesn’t say what it knows it does.

Then Will inhales, quick and sharp, and the hope is dashed.

“Your card…”

“Next page,” Nico says softly.

Niccolò,

The papers rustle as Will flips them, and this one he takes much longer to read. 

Vorrei sapere che ho fermato un caso di frode alla radice.

After a minute, he holds it out, shaking his head.

Un criminale ha rubato la tua carta di credito, e l’ha usata per comprare una stanza d’albergo in Georgia. Qualche spacciatore, non ci sono dubbi.

“It’s a little formal, I can’t –”

Ho disattivato la carta, naturalmente. Ti darò quella nuova appena ti vedrò.

Nico takes the scanned letter. Vaguely, he registers Will’s hands brushing up his arms as they move two wrap around his face again, this time forcing his jaw to unclench.

“Power play,” Nico snarls. His clenched fingers wrinkle the pulpy paper.  “He knows exactly where I am. If he wanted to drag me home, he could drag me by the fucking –”

“But instead he’s forcing you to call him,” Will says softly. “Oh, Nico, I’m so sorry.”

The hands drop from his face again. It knocks the cloudiness right out of Nico’s head, and he snaps up, frowning at Will’s crooking fingers, the bitten lips. He won’t meet Nico’s eyes.

“Why are you sorry my father’s being a haughty jackass who suddenly cares what I do with my time?”

“And his money.” Will picks up the bank statement, reading over it again, and again, like it might change. Like Nico’s credit card will magically become un-cancelled, like they will suddenly become un-stranded. “This whole stupid thing is my fault. I never should have dragged you into it, Neeks, I’m so –”

“If you apologise again I’m going to push you off the bed.”

“– sorry.” 

“Will.” Nico snatches back the statement, shaking his head. He waits until blue eyes meet his then smiles, as reassuringly as he can with such a pit in his stomach. “My father is –” He sighs. “It’s not about the money. You know he doesn’t care about the money.”

Will shrugs. It’s true – Nico has made dumber purchases. When he was twelve, he bought a trampoline, just to see if his father would say anything. Fifteen, marble statue. Sixteen, a car.

Then he stopped trying.

“How far can we go, on the gas we have? How many miles?”

Will shrugs. “Three and a half hours? Four, if we push it?”

“And on a full tank of gas?”

“Almost six.”

“And then we’re stuck.”

“And then we’re stuck, yeah. Unless you got Greyhound money hidden somewhere.”

Nico sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what he wants, Will. He doesn’t care about the – about the stupid money. He wants me. He wants me to ask, rather, to pick up a phone and beg him to come get us ‘cause we have no other options. He wants me to admit I need his help.”

The first time he ran away, he’d had to avoid every cop car. He knew he was being looked for, he saw his own face plastered on news screens. It had only been a matter of time. The second attempt was – easier. Much easier. He’d hardly even had to hide his face. By the third time, he’d waited a week, waited almost a month, before he was cold and hungry and walked to the nearest social services building himself. The car ride home, the humiliation so potent he could taste the bitterness of it, had made the cold, rainy nights with nothing but the same ratty hoodie he’d worn when he left worth it. He swore he’d never subject himself to that again. 

And yet here he is. 

Out of options. 

“You know what? No.” In a swift, unstoppable movement, Will snatches the stack of papers, ripping them into four pieces faster than Nico can reach an arm out to stop him. “We’re not doing this.”

“Will – what –”

He throws himself off the bed, stomping over to his backpack. A folded pair of socks goes flying over his shoulder, a book hits the ground with a heavy thunk. His muttering grows louder, cursing interspersed between every word.

“What are you –”

“We are not dealing with this right now.” With a frustrated finally, Will yanks a bag of something out of his backpack, stomping back towards the bed. He throws a Ziploc bag onto the duvet, and it bounces once, twice, three times before splitting open and spilling quarters everywhere.

“What the hell is –”

“You already payed for the room, right?”

Nico snaps his jaw shut. “Yes.”

“And it’s Saturday.”

“I – it is, yeah.”

“Not a business day.”

“No.”

“Well.” Will nods. “Bank’s closed. Hotel can’t process anything, and they have no reason to suspect your card, which worked just fine last night, is gonna bounce. We’ve got a day of breathing room, at least, and I don’t want to think about it.”

He holds up a hand when Nico starts to argue, grim set to his mouth giving way to something a little sharper, a little more dangerous. 

“We might not be old enough to gamble, but when you’re in Atlanta, you do as the Atlantians do.” He meets Nico’s eye, grinning. “You still any good Street Fighters?”

———

next chapter

[foxett]

Swingset finished designs (these apply from chapter 14 onward)

[queenjunothegreat]

Guys, I am SO sorry, but I think Heroes of Juno might be updating late. :/ I just CANNOT make my brain edit and I haven't been able to all week :/ I'll see if I can make it work tomorrow, but I cannot make any promises 😔

[inferno-silentdragon]

Comic for the OMORI fic: Swim Against the Tide

Heyo hi-o everyone, just a quick bit of warnings for this cause it’s not my usual bit of fanart. First off, major spoilers for OMORI and this is a pretty far off scene in @tsukithewolf​‘s fanfic so be sure to read that. Along with that, since it’s a nightmare, there’s blood, gore, and other unsettling things in this comic so view at your own discretion. With that said, please enjoy! 

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Shigaraki nods, leaning on his cane as his head tilts to the side again. “Now, you’re either here on orders to be a double agent and the commission foolishly thinks a non-consensual bitching instills enough loyalty that you won’t betray them, or you’ve come here on your own seeking a way out. I don’t care which it is. The fact remains that I will not allow a bitched Alpha, no matter what their original dynamic was, into our ranks.” Before he can even try to control it, not that it would do much good, distress leaks out through his scent, sharp and acrid and Hawks slaps a hand up over his exposed scent gland as if it would stop it. “Please, there has to be-“ Hawks starts. “There is but not one I anticipate you’re comfortable with,” Shigaraki says. “Let me bitch you instead.”

Author: DakiWaaban

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

I finally caught up to Epic and the mental cinematics I'm making for Siren!MC and Get in the Water

[atinyruki]

I will happily take any fic recs you may have. I’m willing to try reading anything at least once.

Same goes for groups or particular songs!

I’m a Multi-Stan

Ateez

Stray Kids

Seventeen

TXT

NCT

Enhypen

Riize

And MANY more.

I mostly Stan boy groups but I do listen to some gg.

I do not hate on groups here. I don’t support fan wars. And I definitely do NOT support bullying of Idols. They are human too.

[mysoncookie]

hii!! im xu, any pronouns is fine with me

I made this account to share and recommend fanfics mostly from ao3 and wattpad

i would say im in alot of fandoms so just ask me anything rlly

o before i forget english isn't my first language so pls cut me some slack skskks

[seawardboundsammy]

butch julia and femme sidestep.........

[donkeys-waffles]

Snippet for Chapter 4 part 1 of Before Snow Falls.

“Izuku?” The boy’s breathing was erratic, throat growing tighter by the second as his gaze darted around. A broad striped chest was all he could see.  

“Izuku! Are you alright?” The voice asked again, clearer this time, and the boy shot his gaze upwards towards the person’s face. Red eyes gazed down at him, crinkled around the edges in worry and Izuku’s heart slowed slightly at the familiar face.  

“Oh Izuku, did you have a nightmare?” The voice cooed gently, a large hand curling a piece of green hair behind Izuku’s ear.  

Izuku’s breaths settled slightly, subconsciously leaning into the warm palm, he pressed a hand to his stomach, practicing his deep breaths. He nodded numbly, closing his eyes, and Hisashi tutted.  

“Do you want to talk to me about it?” he asked gently and Izuku almost relented, biting his tongue and opening his eyes.  

“I’m alright,” He gave Hisashi the best convincing smile he could, backing away from him. ‘R-really, I’m feeling a lot better now.” Izuku added at the concerned look in his father's gaze. Izuku waved his hands in what he hoped were placating gestures.  

Hisashi rubbed a hand across his eyes, yawning. “Are you sure? I can always make you some tea?” He offered and Izuku shook his head insistently, “T-there's no need, I’ll be fine. I’m a-actually gonna head back to bed now so you're fine.” He assured, walking backwards in the direction of his bedroom door. And Hisashi nodded with a sleepy smile. “If you’re sure.”  

Izuku nodded again, hand grasping the doorknob and pulling the door open.  

“Izuku…” Hisashi’s voice stopped him, one foot in his room while the other still planted in the hallway. The boy turned, staring at his father’s back as he poured water into the kettle.  

“I love you…” Hisashi added, head slightly tilted towards Izuku’s direction. The boy blanched for a moment, a sudden surge of emotion crashing into his chest. All night he felt like a full cup, teetering on an unstable table, tipping on the edge of spilling over. His bottom lip wobbled slightly, as he nodded vigorously. Clearing his throat, he let out a choked out “You too,” before slamming his bedroom door. 

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Enemy of my Enemy

for Angstpril, Day 25: Nothing Lasts Forever

cw: adult language, death mention

prev ///// masterlist ///// next

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The moment his cybernetics were reattached, Cinder was on his feet, and it took a lot of effort for Sarah to hold her tongue and not tell him to get back in bed and sleep. He was clearly exhausted. She wouldn't be surprised if the most rest he'd gotten in the last few weeks was the handful of hours he'd spent unconscious, and that hardly counted.

But instead of insisting he stay and heal, or at least have something to eat for fuck's sake, she forced out a casual, "Headed out?" as Cinder brushed past her on the stairs, hardly sparing a glance up. 

The man grunted, not turning around. "You gonna stop me?"

"No."

"Good." He carried on down the hallway, one hand on the wall for support. It was almost painful to watch, even more so to not comment on.

It's his choice, she reminded herself. It needs to be his choice, or you're no better than Uriah.

"Where will you go?" she asked.

"You don't need to know," he said, not slowing.

Sarah huffed. "You're right. I don't. But we did just save your life, and it'd do my fragile heart some good to know you're not about to undo all our hard work." She leaned on the wall, pulling at the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "At least… just tell me you have somewhere to go, alright? Somewhere safe?"

"Why do you care?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I just say—"

He glanced back, looking mildly annoyed. "Okay, why did you bother to save me then?"

"Told you that too. Real heroes save everyone." She sighed, reaching up to adjust her glasses, if only to have something to do with her hands. "Look. You didn't deserve whatever happened to you in that prison, and you don't deserve to be lorded over by Uriah Fox." She shrugged. "If nothing else, getting you out of his clutches is just another way to be a pain in Titanium's ass."

That much seemed to get through to him, at least a little. He gave a short nod. "Enemy of my enemy, huh?"

"Something like that," she replied. "I want to be clear, I meant it when I said 'no conditions'. What I'm about to offer is just that; an offer."

His expression didn't change whatsoever, but he wasn't retreating further down the hall, so that was a start.

Did she really want to do this? Whether he hated Fox or not, the guy was still a trained killer.

But then again, weren't they all, in a way? A Hero team could do just as much harm as an assassin, if not more. At the end of the day, the only difference was the side of the law they were on. 

Heroes didn't get to choose their missions. Maybe Cinder had never had a choice either.

Sarah took a breath. "You don't have to go out and face the world alone," she said. "I mean, you definitely can, and I'm sure you're good at it, but that's not your only option. If you want to stay here with us, you can. Obviously, you'll be able to come and go as you please. You can even just use this as a place to crash every now and then."

"And what do you want?" Suspicion was back in his voice.

"All I ask is that you're a good house guest and don't bring down hellfire on our happy home," Sarah replied. "'Course we'd appreciate some help with Uriah too, but I'm sure you've seen enough of that man for one lifetime."

There was a long pause before Cinder answered; what felt like a full minute of him staring her down, as if trying to read her mind.

"I'll think about it."

Better than nothing. He turned away, but stopped just short of the door.

"Do you actually think you stand a chance against him? Against Titanium?"

It almost sounded like a challenge, but his tone was too drained to give it any bite.

"Guess we'll find out," Sarah said.

"Hope that's not what you're basing your lives on. Guesswork."

"I'm working on a plan." And had been for months now, but being constantly on edge due to the neverending potential for an attack wasn't exactly great for plotting to overthrow a company. "We'll find a weakness," she said.

"For Uriah?"

"For the Corps."

"The Corps?" He half turned back. "They're an empire. You want to take all of them on with just a handful of people?"

"Empires fall," Sarah replied. "Just gotta find the right spot to start pushing."

Cinder looked like he wanted to say more, but he only shook his head, reaching for the door.

"I'll see you around, Spyglass," he murmured as he stepped over the threshold and into the fading daylight. 

It might've just been in her head, and she hadn't sharpened her hearing enough to be certain, but as the door closed Sarah could've sworn she heard a soft,

"Thank you."

וווווווווווווווווווווו×

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[cashmire-writes]

Update

No chapter of Red and Blue are Hero Colors today. Sorry. Internship and school stuff are keeping me busy. And the Joker is, surprise surprise, being hella uncooperative. Trying to pin him down is honestly giving me a lot of trouble.

Between Enemies and Friends will still be going up as usual on Friday. And there is going to be a surprise of a WIP I've been working on (and sort of teasing) for a while that I will be posting the first chapter of tomorrow on Leap Day. Because why not.

That one will not have regular updates but will give me something I can post as I get stuff done and posting it will make me feel a little less when I'm working on it instead of other things.

And any of my Occultural Differences readers, I haven't forgotten about you. The chapter is still a work in progress. Dean's just being a bitch and life isn't helping.