#less than two chapters after he let himself get the shit beaten out of him so she would feel sorry for him?

[hawnks]

I'm swooning (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

[disappearinginq]

Fic association: Wrong Side of Heaven

Ah, Wrong Side, my beloved...

Deleted scene:

I wrote and rewrote Chapter 9 like 13 times. Possibly more. I kept trying to include every aspect of their captivity, and I wanted - so badly- to have the scene where Thomas 1) sees the bad guy and 2) realizes that Hannah sold them out. But I could not fucking write it to save my life and it irks me to this day

So, have the part I kept:

Thomas had plenty of time to think. In the dark of the Pit, where time ceased and all he had were his own thoughts and he needed something to distract him from the worry about his friends, the ache that settled deep in his bones and made it impossible to sleep, he wondered why.

Why were they here?

Not in the cosmic sense, but…why them? Why here? Why like this?

If they were so concerned about Robin, then why keep them here, alive? The longer they were prisoners, the less any intel they had would be useful. Information they demanded was out of date, utterly useless in a matter of days, if not hours. Weeks? Months? It was pointless. Unless it was just an excuse to torture him, but…why bother with a reason, other than because they could?

Jesus, it could be years before they were released. Only one POW was ever successfully recovered between WWII and now, and she was rescued after only nine days, and it was only because she was taken to a hospital and someone reported her to the Americans.

So why were they kept alive? They weren’t being bargained for. In all the times they’d beaten the hell out him - pulled nails, snapped fingers, punched and kicked and hit until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move - they’d never demanded he renounce the United States. They never asked after anything except Masters. Even now, months later.

What the fuck did you get us into, Rob?

Thomas’s best guess was Robin caught their traitor on camera, with undeniable proof of their existence. But if they were concerned about their identity being revealed, why not kill them? Before it could be rationalized that they wanted information, but now…now that made no sense at all. What information could they possibly think Thomas had that would be of any value? If Robin was dead, any information he had died with him. If he was alive, he would’ve given up the evidence by now, and Thomas and the guys would be dead, and the Taliban wouldn’t give two shits one way or another where Robin was.

Thomas let his head drop back against the wall of the Pit, wincing as he found another bruise. God, his MRI was going to look like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Okay, he thought to himself. If Robin doesn’t matter, why do they keep asking?

Why would he keep asking a question he already knew the answer to?

To keep them from knowing what he was really after.

He felt a surge of something disturbingly close to hope stir in his chest.

Something that started with Robin, or they would’ve never asked about him in the first place. Maybe something they thought Robin shared with him? If that was the case, it was again back to but why wouldn’t they just kill us and be done with it?

Back to the drawing board.

Information he shared with Robin.

Did they think he’d passed information along to Robin? No - had to be something a little more than just sharing with him, because again, they were more of a hassle to keep alive if they thought he was the one with the damning information.

---

“Oh. Oh…” Jahingir leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curling up into a genuinely amused half smile. “You haven’t put it together, have you? Given the stories I’ve heard about you, Lieutenant, and, honestly, considering the colossal pain in the ass you’ve been to my operations, you must not have all the pieces.”

Thomas blinked, struggling to make sense of what the man was spouting off about now. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jahingir laughed outright. “You still don’t know why you’re here. Why it’s you, and nobody else.”

Thomas shook his head, not so much in denial, but because he had no idea what the guy was on. “Because we were with Masters.”

“Close,” the man said, clicking his tongue. “Very close. But not quite. You see…Masters is my primary target, that’s true. But only because he’s not here with you, and I don’t have any proof he’s dead elsewhere. No, Lieutenant, you’re here, with your friends, because you were poking about where you didn’t belong. Scratching at doors that didn’t need to be opened. You probably don’t even know how close you were to proving my existence. Well…” he shrugged, then amended. “Maybe you knew how close you were to me. You seem the type to have a sense about those things. But did you perhaps wonder…just for a moment…that I couldn’t have this empire of mine if I was alone? Who must have helped me, you think?”

Magnum didn’t dignify him with an answer. He’d suspected it many times. Too many pieces were just that – pieces. Loosely connected and hardly relevant. It was the argument he’d gone round and round with Greene about – having enough proof to justify a manhunt to rival that of the one for Bin Laden. The man seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice – he would let him talk. Let him implicate Academi and Wert and his guns-for-hire private paramilitary group.

Jahingir’s grin broadened. “You think you know, but you don’t. Because if you truly understood how you came to be here…I doubt you would take it so gracefully.”

Thomas frowned. “Just spit it out. I’m working on my third concussion, so all trains of thought are currently being derailed, and I think I might pass out before you get to the point.”

Jahingir suddenly leaned forward, out of his seat until he was almost nose to nose with Magnum, hands slamming down on his forearms and gripping with bruising strength. “You did, Lieutenant. All of my greatest successes, I owe to you. In another time and place, you would be an honored guest at my table for all that you have done for me. This empire of mine would not be possible without you and your friends. It shames me that I must treat you so now, but I have struggled too hard and too long to let Masters and his fatal curiosity to risk it now, and you refuse to give me the information I need. This could be over, Lieutenant, as soon as you tell me where I will find that fduli journalist.”

Magnum knew he misheard. Maybe Nuzo was right about the brain damage. He struggled to form a coherent thought, a rationalization of what the man in front of him just told him.

He was too sincere to be lying.

But he had to be.

“What?”

“You have cleared my path of any obstacles, my friend. My enemies struck down by you and your team. I control everything now. All thanks to you and –”

“Hannah…” he breathed.

Jahingir smiled. “Yes. Hannah. Your lovely fiancé, if I heard correctly? Congratulations on this happy news. She’s made me promise to keep you alive, but as she hasn’t lived up to her end of the bargain, I see no reason why I should. So let me make this abundantly clear, in as few words as possible - tell me where Robin Masters is, and what he knows, and I will let you live. I might even be persuaded to let you go. Now, I’m not about to drive you up to the base gates, but I’ll give you a sporting chance - a half hour head start. I’ll even tell you which direction to head in. And if the locals don’t shoot you, or the dogs don’t tear you and your friends apart, and the vipers don’t bite you…you’ll have a fighting chance of making it home. You are a SEAL. I’ve seen what men like you can do.”

Thomas stared at him. He didn’t hear a single word the man said. The world faded around the edges, tunneling his vision until all he could see was Jahingir. The confident smirk on his face. The pristine white of his perahan tunban, the fine embroidery of his coat along the chest. Everything about him was perfect. Pristine.

And in that moment, Thomas wanted him to be as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside.

He was still tied to the chair, but only at his hands, which was stupid on their part, but good for him. Jahingir’s face was still only inches from his, and Thomas lunged forwards and savagely bit down on the cartilage and bone of the bridge of his cheek. His teeth sunk down through skin and muscle, the taste of blood filling his mouth but he refused to let go. Hands pushed and pulled against him, yanking at his hair forcefully enough he thought for sure it would give way and tear his scalp from his skull, but he didn’t let up. He sank his teeth down further, scraping bone, until suddenly the skin between his teeth gave way.

There is the possibility that this will still be included in a flashback, but this is the inciting incident as to how he wants up with the wound of unknown origin from the pilot, and why he stops talking around this time in the fic.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Completely 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), attempted violence, mutual irritation.

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: I did not plan to get the first part done so soon. I will probably be setting time aside as I write this to also work on some original stuff. When it comes to that, I’d love if y’all might let me know what you think would be a better medium to release it? Kindle, Patreon, etc. I’m really not sure but if it was Patreon it would like be two series running at once with a chapter of each a month + Q&A and maybe some bonus materials? I am a noob at this shit and it wouldn’t be for a while yet.

Anyways, I’m rambling...

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: She simply slammed the door

💀💀💀

The garage smelled like oil and snow. The cold air seeped under the closed metal door as you sat on the low stool and affixed the new headlight to the propped up Harley. It was only the start of an impractical rebuild; your brother wanted everything metal replaced with chrome. You thought it was obnoxious but the parts were paid for and you could never complain for money.

You were funded exclusively by the town’s club, your garage not far from The Asp where the members hung out and revved the engines you found yourself looking at more often than you liked. You were good at what you did though and privileged for it. You had the protection of the club without having to devote yourself truly to its bounds.

You checked the wiring and rolled away from the bike to change the station as the radio crackled. The snow kept setting the speaker to static and the noise was driving you mad. You flipped the switch to play the cassette stuck in the drawer, the old stereo beaten up and filthy. Springsteen’s gristled tones filled the shop and you wheeled back to your brother’s ride.

With the storm would no doubt come more work. Your fingerless gloves itched more than they kept you warm. Your fingertips were numb as you touched the frigid metal and the sweat of your palms made the fabric uncomfortable. You were used to it, rather tolerant as your task kept you distracted.

You were interrupted as you bent to look under the tank and get a good look at the exhaust and the rest of the beast’s entrails. You had the new pieces still wrapped and didn’t intend to do it all at once. Jerome could wait for his tacky redesign.

A loud banging came at the metal door and you glanced over in irritation. Anyone in Birch knew to come in the painted door to the left and not hit the large one. You huffed and stood with a groan, your hips sore from the low stool. 

You fixed the front of your fleece-lined denim jacket and pulled the tail of your plaid shirt from inside your jean pocket. You’d been hunched over so long you were all wrinkled. You went past the large door and into the small entryway off the left of the garage and opened it with a tinkle of the rusty old bell above.

You stuck your head out into the gales as the snow continued to fall and squinted at the man in his thin jacket. He stood beside the long luxury car as another man with wild orange hair remained in the driver’s seat and blew into his hands. They were out of place in the small town and you could tell by the way the man scowled at the door that he knew it.

“Hey,” you called to them, “there’s a place down the street. I don’t do walk-ins.”

“Oh, hello, Miss…” he let his voice trail off as he neared and you stared at him rather than provide your name. His accent, his attire, the curl of his lip, it was clear what he thought of you and the bodunk town, “actually I was referred by an acquaintance. One, James Barnes.”

“Bucky?” you furrowed your brow.

“Mm, yes, that one,” he said, “my car will need detailing. We had some difficulties on the motorway.”

“Right,” you tried not to scowl, “well, if he sent you, I guess I can help.”

You left him and the door clattered behind you. He followed a few steps after as you went to the switch and pushed it to raise the wide door of the garage. You waved in the driver of the car and he carefully pulled in beside your brother’s bike. 

He got out and you were surprised by his size, he was taller even then his companion and wider; neither could be described as short. You lowered the door as the thinner man walked along the shelves and the long table along the other side of the garage. The bigger man stood by the car and tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Not much better in here than out there,” the dark-haired man turned back to you, “you have heat in here?”

“You need a better coat,” you said as you rounded the back of the car, “and some boots.”

You glanced pointedly at his leather shoes and bent to reach under the table. You pulled out the space heater and plugged it in as you set on the wood. You cranked it up and smiled at him tritely.

“So, what’s the damage?” you asked as you looked to the other man.

“Headlight, maybe,” he said in a peculiar accent, “some scratches. We had a bit off a run-in.”

You neared and bent to examine the front of the car. You sighed as you tilted your head and clicked your tongue. It was easy enough to beat out the dents and buff out the scratches with a quick refinish. The headlight would need to be replaced and you knew they didn’t carry anything for that model in town. No one there was pretentious enough to drive it.

“If you want the headlight done before you leave town, it’ll take some time to get the replacement,” you warned.

“Oh, and how do you know I’m leaving?” he taunted coyly.

“Well, I know you’re definitely not sticking around,” you scoffed.

“Why wouldn’t I? A quaint place like this, I’m sure there is so much to explore,” he said dryly.

You had no delusions of what Birch was but it wasn’t the part of outsiders to deride the dead end. You stood straight and put your hands on your hips.

“You can go back to your castle, my lord, but you will have to wait out the storm,” you sneered. “Two days for the scratches. If you want to take it back after that and wait for the headlight to arrive, that’s fine with me.”

“Two days for the scratches? Surely you could do it before the morning,” the black-haired man insisted.

“I could but I have other work to do,” you replied, “so you can be patient and take your turn in line after all the hicks who live here.”

You went back to the table and grabbed your phone from where you tossed it earlier. You unlocked it and searched the model of his car and scrolled through the parts list. 

“You’re Bucky’s guest so I’ll send the bill to him?” you asked, “though you do look to be able to afford it yourself.”

“You can invoice him directly,” he assured, “so you’re one of them?”

“One of them?” you repeated as you focused on checking out. The damn internet kept cutting in and out.

“My brother, those men in this town, I never knew a woman--”

“I’m not a biker. My brother is in the club,” you assured him, “so that big blond dope, he’s your brother?”

“Regrettably, yes,” he slithered, “Loki Odinson,” he introduced himself as he rubbed together his hands, the leather gloves doing little to protect his fingers, “my driver is Korg, and you’ve yet to tell me with whom I am trusting my property.”

“Again, there is a shop down the street. Prices aren’t bad,” you finished up your purchase and tucked your phone in your jacket pocket.

He met your eyes as you turned to him and he looked down his nose. You kept on and brushed past him as you went back around the car and sat by your brother’s bike.

“Sorry about the boss,” the other man, Korg, intoned, “he can be a bit--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” Loki snipped, “I needn’t atone to her.”

You rolled your eyes and wheeled around the side of the bike, “if that’s everything, you two can head back out. I’ll let you know when the car’s ready.”

“We might wait for the snow to calm,” Loki suggested.

“I close in an hour, you’re not staying here all night,” you sniffed.

“Trust me, I have no special desire to spend more time with you than necessary,” he retorted, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so volatile as you, dear, and I’ve only just met you. I never expected you people to have very many manners but perhaps what I did presume was too much.”

You bared your teeth but kept at your work. You would worry about kicking him out when you finished the wiring.

“To be fair, had you not spoken first, I might’ve assumed you were a man,” he added.

You paused and glanced down at the open tool box. You weren’t unused to the comments, you weren’t girly in any way but it wasn’t like you were trying to be a man. You wore what was comfortable and in your work, practicality prevailed over aesthetic. Yet, your years of ridicule as a kid made you less tolerant of the comments and those had stopped long ago because you made sure they did.

“Oh, darling, have I upset you?”

“Don’t call me that,” you said as you reached into the toolbox.

“Well, you’ve not given your name and I’d hate call you what I truly think of you--”

The wrench flew from your hand as you stood and spun to him. It barely missed his head and bounced off the wall and plunked onto the table beside the heater. His eyes rounded and the other man looked at him. There was a thick silence as you glared at him.

“If you weren’t a friend of Bucky’s, I wouldn’t’ve missed,” you hissed, “now I will kindly, before I reach for a bigger wrench, ask you to leave.”

He pushed his shoulders back and tilted his head as his lips thinned dangerously. He swallowed and beckoned the other man with two fingers. His cheek twitched as if he would grin and he nodded subtly.

“Well, darling, how amusing you are. These brutes must adore you,” he snarled, “the exterior does indeed say it all.”

You bent and reached for another tool blindly. He blinked and quickly dodged as you flung the next wrench and he followed his henchman to the entryway. Your temper was a match for many men. It kept you safe.

“Barnes did not say his mechanic was a madwoman,” Loki called back as the bell rang.

“What, are you going to tattle on me?” You stormed towards the doorway, “you precious little princess?”

“Princess?” he met you in the doorway as Korg behind him held the door open and the snow blustered in, “I know Barnes will do me no other favours, but do you think he’ll do you any?”

“Get out,” you spat and shoved him, “I don’t need men to take care of me and I have no problem in proving that.”

He bit the inside of his lip in a crooked smirk and winked before he turned away and strutted out into the snow, shielding his face from the wild winds. Korg trailed behind him and the door sprang back into the frame. You crossed your arms and glared at the peeling paint. 

You were tempted to tow his car out and let it weather the storm but you were smarter than that. If he was doing business with Bucky, you would be a fool to get in the way of it. 

💀

The snow dwindled to a lazy dusting, the ground thick and treacherous. That day, you started early and around noon, you headed across the street to the diner for your usual lunch of a club sandwich and black coffee. You didn’t have to order as all the waitresses knew what to expect. You weren’t unfriendly but your association made many standoffish.

You tapped on the lip of your mug with your thumb, fingers hooked through the handle. The sleepy town felt dead in the winter. You were used to the dullness of Birch but tolerance was hardly happiness. It was home, where you’d grown up and you had no certain desire to get out, but you wouldn’t mind a little more than what was expected.

You yawned and gulped down the last of your coffee. It was bitter and left a few grounds on your tongue. You leaned back and grabbed the monthly newsletter from between the salt and pepper shakers. You read through the fun facts which weren’t very fun or even new. They were copy and pasted out Guinness and Reader’s Digest.

You looked up as you sensed someone approach your table but it wasn’t the waitress. The man from the day before slid coolly onto the seat across from you at the booth and smirked over the table. You raised the newsletter again and folded it backwards to read about the weekly knitting circle down at the rec center that was also the library.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Loki said, “it must be fortune I ran into you, I was hoping to inquire after my car--”

“I told you, two days,” you said tersely as you continued onto your horoscope …‘a new force will bring change’... You hated this tripe. You swore, every month they just switched the blurbs under each sign and hit print.

“So be it,” he cleared his throat and you lowered the paper as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“What are you doing? I eat my lunch alone,” you said.

“Well, to be frank, I was pointed here on the promise of some famous cabbage soup,” he explained as he folded his jacket over the seat next to him, “you looked like you needed company.”

“I don’t,” you assured him.

Kimmie came over and set down your sandwich. She greeted Loki and you saw the way she eyed his tailored suit. He stuck out in the town of flannels and denim.

“Hello, sir, can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“Tea, English breakfast,” he ordered smoothly.

“Oh, sorry, we only have um, um, sorry, peppermint, earl grey, ginger lemon, and green,” she listed off as she tried to remember them all.

“Earl grey,” he sighed, “and a menu.”

“No, no menu,” you insisted, “and you can take his tea to another table.”

“And when we’re through, I’ll take the cheque,” he ignored you and snickered under his breath.

“Kimmie, can I get a to go box?” you asked as you shimmied off the seat and snatched up your coat, “I have to get back to work.” You took out your wallet and counted out the usual amount plus a tip, “thanks.”

“Of course,” she smiled awkwardly and glanced between you and Loki.

She scooped your sandwich back up and scurried away with it. You felt him watching you as you walked away and went to stand by the till as you watched Nora flit into the kitchen. She packed up your food and returned with the box. You took it and headed for the door, ignoring the arrogant out-of-towner on your way.

“Wait,” Kimmie called out your name and you turned back as she held up your keys, “you dropped these.”

You met her halfway and took them from her with a mutter. Again, he was watching you… or still watching you. She spun and promised she’d have his tea shortly.

“Hmm,” he hummed and you head to the door again, “interesting, I never would have put the name to the face.”

You pushed out into the snow and gritted your teeth. You thought of getting the work on his car out of the way quickly so he would leave you alone but your spite made you want to put it off entirely. Whatever. He’d be gone soon enough.

[phantaloon-books]

I was rereading the iconic reunion at baltimore and this came to me and I can't not write it (even though I have a half finished chapter waiting to be written for a fic for a whole different fandom but who cares right)

in which neil regrets realizes that the feds were on to something when they talked about witness protection program. brace yourselves, it's angst time bby. please bear with me, I don't write stuff like this, content and format wise.

so everyone knows what goes down in baltimore. everyone knows that famous college exy striker for the foxes neil josten has been the son of the butcher of baltimore all along, and that smth happened after he was kidnapped and tortured that resulted in the butcher and some associates to be killed. everyone knows that neil walked out alive, injured but alive. so when a few weeks, months later, associates of the butcher start getting raided and taken in custody, everyone knows exactly who opened his little mouth and revealed everything he knows (bc there's literally no one else who could know this stuff and would be willing to share with the fucking feds, no one has a death wish)

It's a slow process. It starts with the feeling of not being safe, which is ridiculous, because he hasn't been quite as safe as he is right now, with the foxes, his family, and most importantly with Andrew. They're on summer break, technically speaking, even if they're at campus for practice because they gotta train the new foxes. They're barely doing anything than hanging out together and training, but still Neil can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, that someone is watching him, but he doesn't say anything, because it doesn't make sense, he's just being paranoid, there's no need to panic.

Neil can swear he's being watched. He feels the dread whenever he's out of the dorm, when he's out running, when they go out to eat something, when they go to the mall, on their way to practice, at Eden's. But when he looks around there's no one looking, it's been weeks and nothing has happened, he hasn't seen anyone.

Neil can tell Andrew is growing suspicious of the way he checks out a place, the way his eyes trace every corner, every exit, because he's starting to fall back in old habits, and he knows Andrew hates it. But Andrew doesn't ask, he knows that Neil will speak when he feels ready, so he lets it go, even if he can't quite let got of the worry clawing at his heart.

But everything keeps going normally, things are fine, everything is fine fine fine. Neil doesn't talk about it, but it's fine really. Until it's not fine at all, but it's also too late to talk now because his head is fuzzy and throbbing, and he feels like he might throw up and he feels pain even if he's not sure where the pain is coming from. But he can't do anything now, he can't tell Andrew how he's been feeling dread for weeks, because a man whose name he doesn't even know but whose face is awfully familiar is standing right in front of him where he lies on the floor, and the situation is also awfully familiar.

Stop being a martyr. Oh Andrew would kill him. If Neil gets out of this alive, Andrew will kill him, because he left again. He didn't want to, he really didn't. He was out on a run while Andrew was in therapy with Bee and Aaron, a couple miles away from fox tower, when a car pulled up right in front of him, two men wearing hoods and sunglasses stepping out and standing in front of him. He came to a halt, trying his best to keep calm because who the hell were these men and what did they want and for fucks sake can this just stop? It would have been smart to turn around and try to get back to the tower but he can't ever keep his mouth shut can he?

"Look I don't know who you are, I don't care what you want, but you're in my way, so move away if you know what's best." He intended to go for more sarcastic, but he was doing his best not to panic, so that had to do.

"You're coming with us, get in the car, or we'll do this the hard way." Their voices said they wouldn't hesitate, but Neil laughed anyway, that smile he knew was the Butcher's resting on his lips. Anything to make the men leave. He opened his mouth and then- "The Minyard twins are at Dr. Dobson's office. Reynolds, Walker, and Wilds are at the mall. Hemmick, Boyd and Day are in the dorms. The newbies are at the dorms as well. Come with us the easy way and we'll let them walk out of their respective places alive, Nathaniel."

And he was fucked. Of course he hadn't been safe, he would never be safe. In fact no one he cared about would ever be safe. He should have known better. But he wasn't going to let the foxes be harmed.

"How do I know you won't kill them anyway?" The snark was gone, the smile vanished. His face was blank and dangerous, because he'd done this before. "I don't even know who you are, you're obviously not the big guys, and I don't remember seeing your faces."

"We don't want to attract unnecessary attention. All we care about is you. If you come, you spare us all the trouble. As for who we are, let's just say someone is pissed at the piece of shit that ruined everything."

"The Butcher's friends then. I can't argue with that, it's a habit of mine to fuck up. Ichirou won't be too happy if something happened." He played his strongest card but fuck it. The Moriyamas owed him protection, Ichirou himself had made a deal with him.

"The moment they turned their backs to the Wesninski and made a deal with Hatford, those Japanese shits mean nothing to us." These were desperate men apparently. If the Moriyamas were nothing, the FBI was even less. "Time is running Nathaniel, decide. You or them?"

Andrew would kill him, but they'd talked about it before. Neil had told Andrew. If it means losing you, then no. He would not put himself first. Hell, he'd told the others before, the Foxes were all he had, he wasn't going to risk them for himself, not for anything. He needed to keep them safe.

So now he's lying on the cold wooden floor of some house or shed or whatever, drowsy from whatever they drugged him with once he got in the car, and in pain after being beaten for the last hour or so. He didn't bother asking the man (who is obviously in charge and sent the two men) for a name, and honestly he still doesn't plan to. What was the point of that anyway? He just looks up at the cold brown eyes of the man standing over him, Neil's face as neutral as he could keep it despite the fear of not making it out alive threatening to pull him under. The man just stares at him, calculative eyes and cruel smile, and Neil can't take it.

"What, so you're just gonna stand there? I have better shit to do." He hears the slur in his voice, wonders if it's just the drugs or something else. A concussion is likely. He's met with silence, so he closes his eyes and lays his head down. Fuck he's tired of these situations. He truly will never be safe, no one will-

"You know, I was expecting so much more from you Nathaniel," the man says with a laugh, "I was told that you'd put up a fight, I thought this would be fun. They said you'd beg for your precious life, but you haven't even made an effort."

Whoever his source was, they definitely do not know Neil, or Nathaniel for that matter. Not only is he not going to risk the men hurting the others, but he isn't going to fight, not against so many of them, not when running would be more likely to get him out alive. He isn't going to let them know that. "First go fuck yourself, and second, this isn't remotely close to entertaining to what I've been through, maybe if it was more interesting."

What does Andrew say? Regret is worthless? It seems right, because he can't find regret in what he said, even if his face is a bloody mess (what's new?) and his body shakes with shivers, after his head is held underwater so many times. No, he doesn't regret it. Instead he finds himself laughing a hollow thing.

"Y'know at least others have had a point, this time it's just for the fun of it, and it's not being much fun." His voice cracks a couple times, hoarse from coughing up water.

"You're right though, it is for fun. You cost me absolutely everything Nathaniel. Did you know the feds and the Moriyamas have been after us for months? Hunting us like we're rabbits, all because you decided to be a dipshit and open your mouth. You should be dead. You should have died ten years ago, back in March, anytime. All your existence caused us is trouble. And ratting us to the feds wasn't enough was it? No you told Ichirou all of the Butcher's men were loose ends, too." The man took a deep breath, composing himself. "So yes Nathaniel, this is for fun. This is payback, you've cost many lives, this is retribution for speaking, and I'm gonna enjoy seeing you have fun for as long as I can."

At some point, after hours, he's left alone in the dark, in the cold. He knows he’s in pain. He’s pretty sure his arm is broken, and so are several ribs. He knows he should be in a lot of pain, but he's just numb. Regret is worthless. Because even if he feels even worse than how he felt last winter at Evermore, he doesn’t regret it. He can’t be sure the guy’s men were truly going to kill the Foxes, but he doesn’t regret coming here to make sure the others don’t suffer more than they already have because of him. He wonders if Andrew will forgive him. He didn’t leave proof that he didn’t want to leave this time. Would Andrew think he left them - him? God, he hopes not. Would Andrew look for Neil or leave it thinking that Neil wanted to leave?

It doesn’t really matter, though. Neil is so tired. This time isn’t like when he was on the run or when he went to Evermore or when Lola took him. While with the Ravens, Kevin knew he was there at least, if anything were to happen, a person would know where to look somehow. At Baltimore, several people knew the most likely place to find him; Uncle Stewart, the Hatfords, Kevin again. He has no idea of where he is, or who took him, and no one knows he’s been taken in the first place. No one will ever find him.

Maybe it’s better that way, he thinks. No one will have to deal with the burden of him or his disappearance or his death, because no one will know. The simple thing would be to assume he ran. He hopes they assume he ran. Maybe they’ll be hurt, but haven’t they been expecting him to run? They won’t make it to championships without him considering Jack is an awful striker, but Kevin will manage. Andrew - Andrew is the one who expects him to run the most, maybe he’ll take it nicely. Neil hopes he takes it nicely. Guilt blossoms among the nothingness in his chest, but he can’t take it back, and he doesn’t want to. It’s better this way. No one will find him, but that’s fine. He wonders what the Moriyamas will do. He doesn’t want to think about that. He thinks of Andrew, the kisses, the care, the love, the nights spent together. Thank you, you were amazing. He wishes he could tell him how much he cares one last time. He feels something wet slip down his face. He can’t tell if it’s water, blood or tears. He sighs. He thinks of Andrew, and his eyes slip close.

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter 6

Winds Change

Read on Ao3

-

Five days.

They had five days left together.

Billy tried not to think about it, but it was kinda hard to ignore.

Stalls were already being taken down, fair games being packed up into large shipping trucks to take across the country.

One of Max’s beloved funnel cake stalls had already met the way of the shipping container. She was pissed.

And yet, Billy and Steve did their best to pretend like the rodeo wasn’t coming down around them.

A perfect symbolism for their fling, or whatever, crashing down everywhere they look.

Billy spent days in Steve’s sweaty little airstream, brushing his fingers over that muscular body, calling him a hick and a horse girl and every other fake insult he could think of.

And Steve spent all that time lacing his fingers with Billy’s, winking at him from his place on top of one of his three gorgeous mares as he did victory lap after victory lap, roping calves in under ten seconds, slamming Billy against the walls of the airstream, adrenaline from the stunt still pumping through him.

The field saw them exercising Steve’s horses, taking a ratty blanket out there in the middle of the night to watch the stars.

And it was stupid, Billy pretending that this was more than just. A convenience.

Steve was on his knees, and Billy threaded his hands into that thick hair, tugging it this way and that, the way he’s learned Steve likes after some weeks of mewling whines.

Billy was backed up against the gate of the makeshift paddock, shielded by the prying eyes of the other rodeo workers by the long-set sun and the sounds of the day’s crowds filtering out of the grounds.

Steve pushed down, taking Billy’s cock all the way in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose, the nose currently pressed flat against Billy’s pelvis.

Steve was a champion at a few things: calf roping, horse riding, and dick sucking.

He pulled off Billy’s dick with a slurp, rolling his tongue along the head, humming slightly as he did. His eyes were dark, staring up at Billy, something like a smirk sparking in them as Billy fell apart.

He took a breath, ready to move back in and finish Billy off when there were footsteps.

“Steve! I gotta check Loretta’s hock.”

They both froze, Steve’s eyes going wide with shock, his lips still stretched around the cock in his mouth.

Billy had yet to meet Jim Hopper, the horse specialist that watched out for Steve’s three mares.

He guesses he was about to meet the man right about now.

Steve yanked his face off Billy’s cock with an unmistakable slurping sound that made Billy’s face go bright fuckin’ red. Billy fumbled with the fly on his shorts, and Steve took charge, roughly pulling the button closed and the zip up. It was a miracle he didn’t catch any skin with the quick action.

Steve was on his feet as Jim rounded the edge of the fencing, eyeing the two of them standing far too close, Billy’s face red and full of guilt. Jim raised a hand, his eyes closing as he breathed heavily out his nose.

“I don’t wanna know. Just let me take a look at your girl.”

Steve shrugged, acting like this whole ordeal was just another day at the rodeo.

Maybe it is, Billy’s brain supplied.

They were so fucking. Obvious. Billy could just drop dead right there on the grass.

Jim was a big dude. Beefy and broad, his face was clearly weather-beaten. Well, what of his face wasn’t covered with a graying beard and mustache. His left cheek pudged out slightly with what Billy realized was chewing tobacco when he spit casually at his feet.

“This is Billy. I told you about him,” Steve said with a smirk.

And Billy just about had a heart attack when Steve made a big show of wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, smirkin’ like the devil.

“Yeah, kid, I’m just here for Letty.”

The horses had been allocated to the horsebox for the night, as it was much warmer in there for them. Not that it was cold in San Diego at night, but still. Steve worried. Billy thought it was cute.

Steve led Jim off towards the box, clapping him once on the shoulder as he passed, making Jim groan and spit a dollop of yellow-brown saliva after Steve.

Billy felt like he was about to turn into some thick hot liquid shame when Jim gave him a bit of a once-over, raising one thick eyebrow at him. Jim’s mustache twitched, and he spit to the side before turning on his heel, following Steve to the horses.

Billy has never been more mortified in his life.

Steve’s mentioned Jim a lot. He always calls him Hop. Said Steve himself gave him that nickname. Billy has kinda sussed out that Jim is something like a pseudo-dad to Steve. The one to teach him how to really care for the horses. The one to teach him to properly tie a calf.

All the shit that Steve was made of, Jim taught him.

Billy had put together that Jim’s daughter was the one Max was scampering about the grounds with. Steve said he had adopted Elle when she was about seven.

His face gave something away when he said that. Making a look that said there was a story there, but Billy didn’t wanna ask.

It’s not his story to know.

Billy followed after them, keeping a wide enough berth from the pair that it was weird. He knew it was weird. But it was either this type of weird, or the weird of inserting himself into their conversation when Jim obviously knew what they had been doing seconds before he found them. Steve was about as subtle as a gun with those grass stains on his knees, wiping at his face like he needed to prove a point.

Billy lingered outside the horsebox.

Loretta had been lagging lately, and she startled whenever Steve laid a hand on her left leg.

Steve had just about sobbed when he told Billy he thinks she’s hurt herself.

Billy wished he had a cigarette right about now.

“Yeah, I think the poor girl’s just havin’ some inflammation. Probably tweaked her leg just right on the arena dirt.”

“Is she gonna be okay? What does she need?” Steve sounded more serious than Billy’s ever heard him. There was a weight to his voice that only reared up when Steve mentioned his father, a slight quiver in his words that made his anxiety palpable.

“She’s a tough one, Letty. Let her rest for about two weeks, only mild walking, and some ice at the end of the day wouldn’t hurt, either. We’ll talk after that and see if she needs anything more.”

There was something of a pause in the horsebox, and Billy held his breath, ignoring the fact that he was clearly eavesdropping now.

“You being careful with that boy?”

“‘Course I am.”

“Because I meant what I said last time. I’m not posing as your dad to get you an appointment at the clinic again-”

“ Jesus, Hop. I thought we agreed never to talk about that again, huh? And besides, I’m grown. I can make appointments for my own STD tests now. Plus, it was all fine.”

Billy nearly choked.

It’s not that he’s never had a scare before, and he and Steve were safe, but still.

“Good to hear, then. But you being careful ?” There was another silence from the box. One of the horses whinnied.

When Jim continued, it was with a much softer voice than before.

“I ain’t never seen you so attached before.”

The horse whinnied again, and Billy pictured Steve wrapping his arms around June’s neck and hugging her close.

“He’s under my skin now.” A scuff that sounded like Steve’s boot brushing against the hay-covered floor of the box. “First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.”

Those words crashed into Billy’s gut, knocking all the wind out of him.

He suffocated on them, drowned in Steve’s melancholy voice as he said them.

First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.

It stung at the same time it made Billy’s heart soar.

It hurt and it healed and it made Billy wanna throw up and lock Steve in his basement so he could never leave him.

Or maybe something less totally wacked-out and creepy.

“You know I love you like my own, but you gotta manage yourself. I ain’t judgin’, I just don’t wanna see you all hurt again.”

“Jeez, that was some real sappy shit there.” The mood shifted with Steve’s deflection, and Billy could hear footsteps leaving the horsebox.

He scrambled over to Steve’s little airstream, pretending he hadn’t been listening and freaking out over what he was hearing.

There was just. There was a whole lot to take in there.

Jim said he didn’t want to see Steve all hurt again, but also said he’s never seen Steve so attached before.

When had he been all hurt before if this was, in Steve’s words, the first time he wasn’t ready for a fling to be over?

And Billy didn’t want to hurt Steve, but it kinda, in a real shitty way, made him feel a little bit better that he wasn’t the only one ignoring the oncoming end out of sadness and a need to prolong whatever they had left.

That, and the added little bonus that Jim had once pretended to be Steve’s father to get him an STD test from a clinic.

Billy feels like he’s been punched in the face over and over again by that short conversation he heard. And he would know. He’s been decked in the kisser too many times to think about.

He leaned against the cold metal wall of the airstream as Steve came into view, Jim heading in the opposite direction towards the fairgrounds and the rodeo being shut down for the night.

Steve smiled at Billy, this soft, calm little thing that made the warm summer air even sweeter in Billy’s lungs and the words keep ringing through his head.

First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.

He could see something in Steve, now that he knew what to look for.

How carefree and easy he seemed anytime he was around Billy, but those devastating moments when he seemed to bite his tongue against saying something more meaningful, or shied away from a briefly intimate touch.

Billy could finally see his own anxiety in Steve at their dwindling time together, and it broke his fucking heart.

Robin had warned Billy not to get attached. She told him Steve slept around and played the field and left before anyone could get in too deep.

But he wonders if Robin had warned Steve against the same thing. If she had told him that Billy was going to fuck and run. That leaving someone behind can sometimes hurt just as much as being left behind.

He hopes that if she hasn’t, she’ll be there for Steve. That she’ll pick him up and won’t let him break his own precious heart anymore.

“So, how’s Loretta?”

“She’ll be okay. Poor lady just needs some rest and some ice, and she’ll be feeling her best in a few weeks.”

Steve matched Billy’s stance, leaning against the trailer and tilting his face to the starry sky.

It was quiet out in the sea of trailers. Now that the spectators had all gone home for the night, the cheering crowds and amplified commentators weren’t reverberating through the open grass.

Instead, they could hear the rodeo animals that had been put in their nighttime areas. The many whineys and brays from different horses spread through the place.

The rodeo seemed so fucking magic to Billy.

Something like Heaven.

“I’m going soon.”

Billy doesn’t know why Steve said it.

They both knew that fact.

He thought they were both aggressively ignoring that fact.

“Yeah. You are.”

Billy didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever.

Because talking about it makes it real.

And God fucking forbid Steve breaks it off now and not in the allotted five days they still have to laugh and fuck and be free .

He pulled out his slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighting one deftly.

Steve didn’t smoke. Said his grandpa died really horribly of lung cancer.

Billy knew this was going to be a serious talk when Steve didn’t make one of his usual snide remarks about Billy smoking.

“I just wanted. To be sure,” Steve trailed off, still looking at the spangled night sky. “We need to be on the same page.”

That we’re probably, most definitely, in love with one another but too stupid and too poorly timed and too tragic to say anything about it.

“I think we are.”

“Okay. Okay. Good. Because, I mean, I really don’t want to hurt you, and, like, our arrangement’s been the same since the beginning.”

Arrangement.

That word.

Arrangement.

It was a fucking ugly word for whatever beautiful thing they had between them.

Arrangement.

It made Billy feel cheap, and used, and so fucking stupid.

And feeling like that only meant one thing for Billy.

He got fucking mad.

“So, that’s it then. You’re done with me. Onto the next poor sucker in the next shitty town that’ll fuck you through the mattress and hold your hand until you decide you’re sick of ‘em. Great. It was so nice being your fucking whore. Thanks for the. Opportunity.”

He wished he chewed tobacco like Jim. He would spit a glob at Steve’s foot. Probably make it land right on those stupid fucking red cowboy boots.

Steve finally looked at Billy, his face scrunched up and those beautiful eyes of his looking somewhere between lost and hurt and angry and confused.

“Billy, that’s not what I-”

“No. No, Harrington, I fucking get it. You go town to town, and feed these fuckers a sob story about how hard it is for you to connect with people, and that you’re lonely and your dad sucks, and all this other bullshit. When really, you’re just an insecure asshole with intimacy problems who’s too fucking stupid to get a fucking GED.”

Fuck.

The second the words were out of his mouth, Billy knew he had gone way too fucking far.

Steve’s eyes flashed, and his face seemed to morph right in front of Billy’s eyes. He was closing himself off right where they stood. Getting ready to chuck Billy away and never see him again.

And Billy fucking deserved it.

“You’re calling me an insecure asshole with intimacy problems? The only friends you’ve got are coworkers that only pity you because they can see how fucking pathetic you are. You beg for scraps like a fucking dog and the second things get tough you ignore it, or get angry at it, like a stupid goddamn child . You think you’re so tough. That you’re the only one with problems . You’ve got your head so far up your own ass that you don’t realize that shit sucks all over, and that everyone is just as miserable as you are, we’re just able to fucking make something out of ourselves instead of wallowing in self-pity.”

Steve’s little speech left Billy feeling dumbfounded.

He was seething with a rage he had never felt in his life before. Anger at himself, and anger at Steve for being so fucking right. For letting all of Billy’s flaws and insecurities tumble out of his mouth like they were nothing.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, leaning forward to put it out against the door of the airstream, leaving a tiny circular ash print on the painted cow. It looked like a bullet wound on the poor thing.

It’s how Billy felt.

“I hope your horse fucking dies.”

It was childish.

It was so dumb, and childish, and Billy really doesn’t hope any horse anywhere dies, especially Steve’s three wonderful mares, but he’s feeling something he thinks he could call jilted, and he’s hurt and upset and genuinely at a loss.

He didn’t let Steve get another word in. Just turned on his heel, and left the little cowboy behind.

[fightabear]

so some time ago, someone asked me to do meta about a scene in Injustice and i wanted to revisit that scene with the scene from Year Zero in mind. and then i ended up getting deeply into injustice damian, his relationship with his two awful dads, and it’s kind of a mini character essay?

so! here’s a warning for: tyrannical totalitariam regimes, child abuse, abusive fathers, emotional manipulation, evil superman, character death & also random he-man. please note that this is entirely about injustice and its characters, which are not a reflection on their mainstream counterparts.

there’s tension between damian and bruce from the get-go in injustice, and we’re never really told why. if we take cues from the game (though that entire scene doesn’t make sense) then it’s because bruce didn’t save jason, which fits in with my reordered robin theory in which tim and jason were switched, and jason has only recently died.

now, we don’t know whether jason is running around as red hood right now or not. but i’m inclined to say he isn’t, as his injustice 2 ending makes a big deal of him becoming red hood. and damian is close with jason in injustice 2, close enough that jason listens when damian tells him that he’s a lot more than bruce thinks he is and drops the shitty batman costume. close enough that during the (extremely weird, extremely out of alignment with the comic) scene in injustice 2 where damian betrays bruce for clark, jason is the name damian throws at him with the most vehemence. regardless of the robin ordeer, bruce’s failure to save jason is seems to be an incredibly sore point between them.

so it’s interesting that bruce is already counting damian out before injustice even starts. he’s comparing damian to jason - someone who he apparently no longer considers part of his legacy. 

the kicker is: damian in injustice is actually probably the most morally centered version of himself. he shows open compassion and care for other people more often than he does in most of the mainstream runs. damian’s sense of right and wrong is solid, but what he wants is to break the cycle that gotham is trapped in. which from his perspective, is something bruce doesn’t seem to want to do.

injustice’s version of bruce is someone who truly believes that the ends justify the means - which means he’s apt to do some heinous things to people until they see his side of things. he seems to view people questioning as an act of betrayal, so instead of ever explaining himself he resorts to things like installing viruses in cyborg, kidnapping hawkgirl and replacing her, beating allies within an inch of their life - all of it is fine to him so long as they’re not dead. 

but it’s not fine to damian.  damian is constantly horrified at the lengths bruce will go to.

damian is afraid of his father. 

so, this is about a specific scene.  let’s get to that scene. its just important to note the difference between them, and emphasize that he’s not going with any intent to fight. if he was going to do that, he wouldn’t be doing this:

or respond like this:

or this:

he’s there to make amends, or at least try to. he still loves his father and he wants to be forgiven, and this is something that will carry on ten years later in injustice 2. damian made the choice to oppose bruce’s controlling nature but damian didn’t choose to abandon him and the bat family permanently. that choice was made for him. damian wants to come home. 

and he’s terrified of his father. i cannot stress that enough. bruce at this point has already shown that he knows how to hurt his closest friends if they oppose him.

damian is a highly trained fighter, but he’s also a  thirteen year old boy who knows he can’t overpower a man twice his size and weight.

and bruce?

bruce’s entire argument really hinges on ‘you, my thirteen year old son, didn’t take my side in this argument’. because, i have to put this in bold, the league was not executing the criminals they were removing from arkham. they were just transferring them to a more secure facility. something which is actually sorely needed, especially given what has just happened to metropolis. arkham isn’t fit to house them. and as far as damian sees it, bruce doesn’t like it because it’s removing an element of his control.

now, bruce isn’t wrong about how things will escalate. 

but damian’s not wrong about his motivation here.  i think there’s a conversation to be had about how bruce���s methods in trying to stop the regime actually drove it to further and further extremes. bruce never tries to talk to clark - or anyone, really. he just starts playing mind games to make them do what he wants.

it harkens back to the conversation bruce and dick have in the batplane. that bruce doesn’t talk to people, he doesn’t explain himself. he’s either right or you’re wrong and he won’t explain his stance. there is never room for debate. he’ll just stop talking and leave until you agree.  there is no option where he sits and listens to an open and honest dialogue, no scenario where he entertains that he might be in the wrong or maybe things aren’t black and white.

and that’s why injustice bruce is not a good guy. 

even on prime earth, damian had to bend over backwards to prove to bruce that he wasn’t a monster. it was damian who spent months digging through the sewers for martha’s pearls. damian who had to prove he was capable of loving titus. damian who constantly had to show that he was capable of empathy and thinking of others - bruce did none of the heavy lifting in that father-son relationship, he made damian climb the entire hill and still continues to put little effort into it.

and injustice bruce is even less empathetic and expressive than prime bruce.  

which is why you get a confrontation like this:

this goes beyond dick’s accident and ties back into what clark said about bruce not tending to his son’s who are grieving because they lost friends in metropolis.  damian’s fed up with never meeting bruce’s expectations. but more than that, he’s fed up with his feelings coming second to bruce’s. 

bruce has already made a judgement on who and what damian is. damian has the potential to be dangerous and requires work to fix, and so he’s not interested in getting to know him beyond that. he tells dick that he’s “worried about  damian being seduced by darkness” but never talks to damian himself with him about it.

but clark has looked at damian and and decided that damian is good. damian has problems, clark can admit that and does, but damian is good. like bruce himself.

and ultimately why when dick dies, clark is the one that reaches out to him because he sees damian for what he is: grieving child who just made a terrible mistake. it was an accident. damian didn’t mean for this to happen. meanwhile, bruce feels as though he was proven right. damian was dangerous and now his real son is dead. bruce will later admit, once he stops trying to manipulate damian, that damian was dead to him the moment dick died.

going back to year zero for a minute, they subtly show that damian is doing his best to be like bruce. baby damian idolizes his father. so i imagine a lot of bruce’s own feelings towards damian stem from self-hatred. from bruce seeing himself in his son and not liking the reflection it forces him to confront. injustice bruce projects a great deal of his own insecurities and shortcomings onto his youngest. damian is his worst what-if.

even though damian doesn’t deal with his grief the way bruce does. there are similarities, he puts his feelings into his fists and hits. just like bruce. but unlike bruce, and most likely because of dick, he does try to communicate. come injustice 2 he even talks about his feelings.

that doesn’t justify any of the violent outbursts. and he has a lot of them. he has significant issues with controlling his anger and struggles with lashing out, verbally and physically. it both worsens and improves as he gets older.

damian knows that he’s more than his grief, his loss, his anger. he’s also compassionate and capable of incredible feats of kindness. we see that in the flashback chapter in injustice 2. people aren’t pawns for damian, they aren’t a means to assuage his own guilt and validate himself as a good person. he wants to be good for those people.

damian’s relationship with heroism isn’t built on an intrinsic need for control or power, nor is it a means of validating his self worth.

people just need him. they’re suffering.  and he wants to be there for them.

but again, we’re not there yet.

so, alfred reaches out to touch damian. damian asks him repeatedly to let go. when alfred doesn’t, damian tries throwing him off, not realizing how much strength he now possesses.

damian  has a thing about being touched when he’s wound up tightly. it almost always ends with him lashing out at someone. which, tying back into why he felt comfortable coming back here, probably goes into his expectation that he’s going to get the lights knocked out of him. because again, damian did not go to the cave to fight or hurt anyone. the pill is entirely for his own defense.

from what we know of damian’s childhood in both prime and injustice, violence is the expected retaliation for misbehavior. toeing out of line is grounds for getting the shit beaten out of you, and while things should be different here....

from how bruce reacts he’s not wrong to expect it.  note that bruce dodesn’t run to alfred to see if he’s okay, he goes after damian for hurting him. it’s damian who runs to alfred after he’s thrown bruce away from him.  

( granted, yes, he threw bruce into the penny and it almost crushes alfred )

damian apologizes and he means it.  alfred’s first question is to ask for bruce.  

“”hawkgirl”” intervenes to try to end this fight before it can escalate further.

damian deduces that this isn’t hawkgirl and blows some stuff up.  bruce calls after him probably - not to have a serious heart to heart with him about what just happened, or what happened in arkham, but to try to manipulate him into taking bruce’s side or in the very least stop his ruse from being uncovered.

this is a theme moving forward. bruce will dangle forgiveness in front of damian, but only when it benefits him and can be used to control him. eventually he’ll stop and will use the guilt he knows damian feels to wound him.

and here’s the second theme it introduces: damian is scared shitless of his father. he’s not afraid of bruce’s violence, as after this he charges straight for him time and time again, but he is utterly terrified of the lengths bruce will go to get his way.

this is also where he takes dick’s suit. i think this was his way of telling bruce that he didn’t deserve to use dick’s memory the way he uses his parent’s death - as justification for what he does.  this comes up in injustice 2 later down the road, damian will bring up that bruce uses his pain to justify how he brutalizes the people around him. damian does the same thing -- but we also see damian grappling with his conscience about it. he wants to be better. he doesn’t want to be all his violence and loss.

back to the topic at hand, damian doesn’t do anything with dick’s suit. unlike bruce, damian doesn’t wear his grief and guilt in plain sight. he puts it in a box and doesn’t look at it, he covers the wounds with anger and as he gets older, develops a death wish and basically begins seeking a noble death in order to make up for what he’s done. it isn’t until dick passes the mantle to him in an attempt to steer him back on the right path that he even looks at it again.

damian isn’t the one that ended his relationship with bruce. bruce did. damian is very willing to reconcile if bruce genuinely wants it, but bruce doesn’t bother with damian outside of combat or when he needs something. damian actually keeps up visits with alfred, he gets him birthday presents, they meet up often and despite their opposing viewpoints, they get along just fine. damian even listens to what alfred says. he still loves his family.

damian himself is a mess. this line resonates because damian, too, is afraid. afraid of bruce, afraid of being what bruce thinks he is. there’s only so far he can bury it under the anger.

by the next issue of year one, after the confrontation at the manor, damian’s discarded any notion that bruce is a good person or justified in anything he does. everything he says on this page is true.

he’s not wrong. he’s more than bruce has even given him credit for being. injustice bruce sorts people into boxes impossible to climb out.  damian made his attempt at reconciliation and instead, found out that bruce has kidnapped and replaced one of his friends to spy on all the rest. in that split second when bruce came at at him, he saw the disgust and anger in his eyes. he’s seen how bruce sees him and wholeheartedly rejects it. 

he doesn’t want to be bruce. he will not be bruce.

batman was supposed to be better than the league. it was supposed to be a new way. instead he just found a new, different means to brutalize and control, and a new way someone justifies causing harm. and he doesn’t want it.

this isn’t to say that damian is a saint. he’s a very flawed, very broken person. he went from one abusive parental situation, to another, to another, and has the damage to show for it. he’s got bad habits from all of them, many of which he isn’t aware of or doesn’t think are a problem. 

but unlike his two dads, damian doesn’t close himself off to what he’s feeling completely, nor does he decide to rush towards external solutions for his pain. he’s, again, very aware that something is wrong. he doesn’t hold to his convictions the same way bruce or clark do, he questions.  he’s deeply unhappy with who he is and what he’s doing. 

but damian is seeking answers using a very limited toolset, and there’s a very limited pool of people he can ask that won’t give him a biased answer or try to manipulate him for their own means. one of the people he confides in does just that.

the other gives him the honest truth.

his relationship with selina is fraught and she’s often one of the very nastiest people towards him, but it’s because of that  he ends up opening up to her. she isn’t going to bullshit him and just say what he wants to hear.

and this is what makes damian different from them. both of them.

because he stops, because he questions, he’s still connected to reality. to his own humanity.

injustice’s bruce is a bruce that has quietly let his humanity die. he’s completely given over to the cold logic of batman and the idea that whatever he does to the people around him, no matter how morally dubious, is justified so long as it means protecting lives. he might not kill, but he really stops just short of that. he just doubles down on his beliefs and takes anyone who doesn’t agree with him as a traitor. he will go out of his way to rationalize how a largely guilty person is innocent (harleen) and how a largely innocent person is guilty (damian). and so he uses damian’s “betrayal” - ie, damian standing with clark instead of him - as justification for icing him out. that way he can ignore all the people who have reminded him time and time again that it was an accident.  

bruce also can’t stand that damian won’t do what he says. bruce will ignore damian unless it benefits him. bruce will go on to frequently weaponize how badly damian wants forgiveness against him. there are multiple instances where he says “just do as i say and i’ll forgive you, son.”

and then in the next breath, he’ll tell damian that he “can’t forgive the deaths”, all the while he has harleen as his new sidekick.   it’s fine that harleen helped with the scheme to blow up metropolis, killed jimmy olsen, and countless others. it’s not fine that damian did something he did all the time to dick - something dick himself shrugged off, because the expectation for this behavior was that dick would catch the baton - and it ended in tragedy.

because harleen listens to him and damian doesn’t. bruce cuts damian neatly out of his life and only really cares about him again when he’s a corpse.

damian, meanwhile, never stops trying to earn bruce’s forgiveness. in the canonical bad end (or well a comic offshoot of the canon ending) damian essentially dies begging bruce to forgive him, admitting that he always cared. he launches an absolutely insane rescue mission to save his father from clark’s torture and it costs him his life.

( but it’s worth mentioning - it takes damian showing bruce an image of kara for bruce to acknowledge him. )

even before this, damian was looking out for bruce in other ways. he was the reason selina got involved with the regime. because he offered her the chance to join and save bruce. damian’s anger towards bruce is less that he wants him dead, and more that bruce won’t stop unless he’s killed.

and damian is willing to kill him if bruce poses a threat to his ‘new’ family. he’s not going to watch bruce hurt the people he loves.

but his new father sucks just as much as his old one.

talia and bruce were more obviously abusive parents. they were controlling and sometimes asserted that control and obedience using physical violence and intimidation. in obvious ways you can point to and see abuse. 

damian doesn’t recognize clark is using him until he sees clark discard kara, who should be everything to clark and is someone important to damian. before that, he has inklings that they’ve gone too far, but clark has been such a paragon of good that when he tells damian not to worry about it, he doesn’t. he hides all his darkness behind that  smile and tells damian he’s good and worthy of people loving him, that they’re saving people and they won’t let another metropolis happen. clark talks to him and still (seems to) accept him even when they disagree.

damian misses clark’s equally as abusive tendencies because they hidden under the guise of a fatherly concern. 

clark is manipulating him into divulging more than he wants to. a boundary damian set is being broken without damian even realizing it.  damian’s uneasy. his body language goes from very easy and relaxed to overtly uncomfortable and almost submissive. it’s also very subtle but clark actually rises higher off the ground to intimidate and loom over him.

damian, who has only known bruce’s stormy silences in moments of disagreement, doesn’t recognize this for what it is.  clark doesn’t take the slight out on him. clark doesn’t stop talking to him because he dared to question.

instead, he loops an arm around damian and praises him, rewards him for being honest and makes it seem like this is an open dialogue and not an interrogation. which it is. i wouldn’t call it gaslighting, but i would call it lovebombing. damian doesn’t realize that there was anything off about the encounter, or if he does, he’ll tell himself he’s just being paranoid.

after all. this ended amicably, not with him standing alone wondering what he did wrong, or being thrown across the room. clark basically stops just shy of ruffling his hair and calling him sport. 

he was rewarded for honesty. and so any discomfort he felt was imagined.

 i think a thing that a lot of fans miss is that injustice’s damian is a forthright person. he doesn’t lie or deceive much, and later on it will bother him that he’s keeping secrets from kara for ‘the greater good’. he loathes that bruce does it and works hard to not fall into that trap. he wants to be honest. he’s glad when he’s rewarded for that honesty. 

because injustice’s damian doesn’t want to be batman. he wants to be superman. he wants to be good.

but injustice’s superman is not a good man. 

clark keep secrets, many terrible secrets, and often hurts people and justifies it to himself. he just hides it far better than bruce does.  clark is even more controlling and cruel, but he leans harder into his humanity and emotions to hide it. it’s easier to see bruce being cold and calculating and miss the way clark subtly uses what you want to get what he wants out of you. and you never really see it coming when he lashes out. he’ll apologize for it, of course, and if you’re not dead you’ll forgive him, because it’s clark. he didn’t mean it. right?

bruce manipulates overtly and grandly using intimidation, clark manipulates subtly using emotion. damian only recognizes one of these things when they happen.

so clark gives damian what he wants - a parent who loves him, someone he can talk to and even show a little vulnerability with - and then uses that against him. 

the worst thing -  the very worst thing - is that bruce and clark love damian. he knows this. both seem to genuinely consider him their son. and he knows this.

in injustice vs motu, bruce snaps fully into awareness just as diana snaps damian’s neck. he’s awake just in time to watch his son die.    and when clark is brought onto the scene, clark falls to his knees and mourns damian and laments his role in driving him to this.

but they weaponize this parent-child bond he wants against him and each other. frankly, neither of them were very interested in him for who he was. nor for helping him be better and master his anger. damian’s body isn’t even cold before bruce uses it against clark, failing to acknowledge his own part in damian’s all too early demise.

he’s another chess piece on their board. one clark can use to wound bruce. one bruce can use to wound clark.

the person damian is when away from both of their influence is a more complete damian. he’s the very best of both of them.

the damian here is still curt and sometimes rude, but he laughs and bonds with the people around him. he values people’s freedom and seems to strive for honesty and communication. meaning no one is in his war to reclaim the world doesn’t want to be, and he makes no move without everyone knowing.

when he recruits adam,  he tells them their story and what they’ve gone through and gives adam the choice to join them or stay in eternia.

anyway, all of this is to say that even all these years later, i continue to be so sad about injustice damian wayne. 

edit:

now, there’s actually one other thing i want to bring up because i totally forgot about it.

so. issue 8 of injustice 2.  

if we’re going with the idea of the reordered robin theory, which is what makes the most sense to me considering jason’s age and the friction between bruce and damian, this before jason dies. and if i’m wrong and the robins don’t have a different order, then this is before some enormous event that broke the slowly building trust.

there’s none of the undercurrent of hostility and distrust that shows up in year 0, which is immediately before year 1. we’re not given a timeframe for when this occurs, either, it’s just happier times.

but what’s really hard to ignore is that the dynamic between bruce and damian is completely different here. maybe tom taylor’s just settled more into writing the two of them, but i don’t think so. year zero comes after this. 

he even acknowledges damian’s anger earlier in the chapter. but it’s less of a condemnation of his character and more a concern that he might not be ready to be on his own. alfred is the one advocating for caution, asking if he’s ready, bruce is the one saying yes, he is.

it’s a complete reversal.

and his trust is rewarded with a night of damian abandoning the “”mission”” he was given (get home from the furthest point of gotham in three hours) to help everyone along the way. which was the real goal all along, it was a test to see if damian’s compassion would win out over his want to win. and it does. bruce is proud of him.

so... what happened between them? what caused that shift? 

i’m kind of worried we’re never going to know. like, i’m so glad that tom taylor is dc’s new golden boy and they’re just letting him build a million different aus. i buy every book he writes. 

but also i’m dying because IJ2 was clearly planned to go on a lot longer than it did and i have questions that i know netherrealm doesn’t care about answering.

[rowan-underthehouse]

Last Night

Chapter 3/3

Rating: Mature

See first chapter for more notes

Read it on ao3 here

Dean’s heart stops.

Ten seconds ago, he would have given just about anything for this moment. Now he’s not sure he can even turn around.

“Thought you'd wait until I was done pouring my friggin’ heart out to show up? Thanks, Cas. That’s just…that’s just great.”

It doesn’t come out as angry as Dean had hoped.

He swipes a hand over his face in a feeble attempt to mask the shake in his voice. Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze boring into his back.

“What are you doing here?”

That does it. Dean spins around, the bitter laugh in his throat winning against the tears still stinging his eyes.

“Not sure how I could make that anymore obvious, man.”

“You should be home with Lisa and Ben.”

No matter how hard Dean tries, he can’t twist Cas’ words into anger. Fear, maybe. Shame. Not for the first time he finds himself wishing angels came with a comprehensive instruction manual.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“There are things I can’t tell you Dean. Things you wouldn’t understand.”

Dean gives into the little nagging voice in the back of his mind and takes Cas’ rough hands in his own. He’s come this far, he may as well commit to the whole chick flick.

“Let me try.” His voice cracks around the vulnerability of it. “Please. You’ve never given me a chance to try.“

Cas squints at him, a sort of intensity burning in his eyes that makes Dean want to kiss him or run. He barely has time to wonder if this is about to be a summer rerun of Cas beating the shit out of him in that alley before Cas has him by the collar, backing him against the car. Cas crowds right into his personal space, and Dean swears to every god he’s ever heard the name of he’ll never complain about it again.

“You don’t want this, Dean.”

His voice is impossibly more gruff. Dean feels it pour through his entire body. His eyes flick to Cas’ lips.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

And Cas kisses him.

Cas finally fucking kisses him.

In the split second it takes Dean to get a hold on Cas’ face, desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, Cas hands are on him.

Dean has felt good. He’s felt the ghost of kisses pressed into his thighs for days after they were gone. He’s lost himself in dingy truck stop bathrooms and motels that cost less than a good meal, and apartments with comfortable couches and clean sheets. He's spent years soaking in pleasure until the pain of everything around him dulled.

None of it compares to this.

When Cas pulls away, Dean catches him by the belt loops.

“Dean…”

“I want you, alright? And everything that comes with that. Don’t make me say it again, I sound like fucking Air Supply.”

It’s Dean who leans in this time, catching Cas’ lips in a kiss so sweet he finds himself waiting for the swell of an orchestra or some The Notebook style rain.

“Things have gotten…messy,” Cas gasps between kisses. “Heaven is in chaos because of me.”

Dean tilts his chin up, looks him in the eyes. “We’ll figure it out just like we always do. Let Heaven burn for a night.”

Dean’s not entirely sure who opens the impala’s back door, but they stumble in with equal enthusiasm, a tangle of limbs and breathy laughs as they wrestle with too many layers.

Logically, Dean knew Cas’ hand would fit perfectly against the mark he left on Dean’s shoulder, but feeling it there is something else entirely. The stars visible through the back windshield are brighter. Blinding, almost. It’s overwhelming, but Dean doesn’t care. He could drown in Cas’ grace and go with a smile on his face.

After what might be an hour or a week, Dean hooks his legs around Cas, pulling back to catch his breath.

“You know what you’re doing?” It’s an honest question.

“Yes.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Dean only knows two things for certain: One, Cas definitely knows what he’s doing. Two, however he survived without hearing his name on Cas’ lips like this before, he’ll never be able to do it again.

“Dean?”

Dean opens one eye, beams up at the angel above him. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Cas smiles back, pushes a piece of hair out of his face. “I love you.”

Eventually they’ll have to talk about this. They’ll have to talk about Sam and Raphael and what this new thing between them is.

Eventually there will be a shabby little house in Northern Illinois. They’ll spend nights there when they can, and the shelves will collect dust when they can’t. There will be nights when Dean wakes up in a cold sweat and learns to curl into the body beside him until he can steady his breathing. There will be days they barely get out of bed to eat and mornings where Dean wakes up to an empty bed and a note with updates about Raphael. Some days will be spent pouring over maps and plans, and others Cas will stagger home, beaten and bloody, unable to do much more than collapse silently into Dean’s arms for comfort. But for now there’s only the impala's backseat, and they way Cas’ mouth curves into happy little smiles against Dean’s. Everything else can wait.

…

They’re in an overcrowded parking lot when Lisa asks it, people pouring out of the stadium around them. Ben and Matt laugh a few paces ahead, trying to explain to Castiel what exactly about the baseball was supposed to be exciting.

“Do you regret it? Going back to all this?” She gestures at the cut still healing on the side of Dean’s head. A souvenir from yet another hunt gone wrong.

His smile, the way he looks at his boyfriend like he hangs the stars in the sky, serves as enough of an answer.

“Do you regret telling me to go?”

“Not for a second.” She squeezes Dean’s arm through his jacket. “I’m happy for you, Dean. You did the right thing.”

And for maybe the first time in his life, Dean is sure he did.

Chapter 1 // 2 // 3

[ooc-but-stylish]

freezedive:

I think I said it in one of your other beautiful posts, but I thought I’d mention it again. All of the ridiculous cutscenes did give us a golden nugget of information on Luna that most of us who are brutally critical of her (like you and me), suspected all along: Luna openly admits to Gentiana that she doesn’t think she has anything to offer Noctis outside of being an oracle. And Gentiana makes it worse by speaking in fancy words by saying some bullshit about her being the oracle is her being human or something and that she is fulfilling her true calling and that is what Noctis needs? Idk but it reeked of emotional manipulation. 

I hold little to no regard for Ravus because there’s evidence Luna was being brutally beaten right under his own nose while he was busy being the Emperor’s lapdog thinking it could maybe give him the power to save his sister? The man should have opened his eyes and defended her against the men that kept them jailed

I happened on this reply to roxainn’s post while trying to recapitulate all my other FFXV critical posts and reblogs on the way to making new ones. 

Crawling back to find anything about this point, I find that it was posted 3 years ago. But at least I reblogged the reply to it.... and missed that it was literally @ ME. Goddamn did I slack.

But here’s my reply, 3 years late, which should elaborate on where I stand on this.

Yes, the flashback that gets triggered by a random creepy little girl in Tenebrae is about Luna and Gentiana. Somehow the little girl knew about that conversation even though she wasn’t there to witness it first-hand? Or maybe Noctis was imagining what the conversation would be like between Gentiana and Luna off of the vague suggestion from the girl, and it’s just him telling on himself that his imagination of Luna says all that? Otherwise the not-altogether-tinfoil-hat theory says it’s Gentiana in the form of a little girl, telling Noctis something that IMO should piss him off but just makes him sad and guilty because Luna loved him so much, don’t you see. She loved him so much that after wrapping her entire life around him, she’d just want to keep that going for the rest of their lives!

Gentiana opens the conversation with, “At first, the father had mourned the fate of his chosen son. Yet in Tenebrae, the two found solace. It was not the Oracle who assuaged their fears. But the girl…she holds…the true power.”

Then Luna replies, “I have little to offer a king, other than the voice afforded the Oracle. Nevertheless…” She turns to look at the wedding dress. “And—I’m afraid he might find this foolish… But…to be together with Noctis again, even if only for a short while… It…would mean the world to me. I do not seek to guide him, merely to stand beside him.”

The exchange is all types of fucky.

First off, she was twelve. What comfort could she have offered Regis and Noctis? What comfort was she capable of when Sylva was right there, an adult with experience of an Oracle and a personality thanks to a presumable full life not hampered by grooming of the gods? 

Second, every other scene of Luna as a child is of her telling Noctis his duty, and that it was her duty to see it through. Did that assuage his fears-- the fears he didn’t have at the time since he never knew the entire meaning of his fate and was being told a saccharine, embellished version of it by Luna right there? Did that comfort Regis, knowing a little girl would also die to protect his son if the gods wanted it, but that she wouldn’t have the will to avert their fates whatsoever? 

Third, even she thinks Noctis would think her desire to be with him is foolish. So... was she expecting that Noctis himself didn’t have feelings for her or want to spend time with her of his own volition for reasons outside of her job? She was looking forward to a marriage with no emotional security, where her desires are one-sided and unreciprocated, and the man she cares for think she’s worthless outside of her powers? She would’ve been willing to put herself through that, given a choice?

We know what we know and think what we think, but the fact that this was placed right in the vanilla game and no one thought that was wrong, and instead they doubled down on it in patches, is pathetic on their part.

Moreover, what does The Girl have, that was separate from The Princess and The Oracle? Every facet of her being wrapped around Noctis since age 4. She was nothing but her duty by the time Noctis met her; they had no scenes where they acted as children would. Even supplemental/promotional art for other XV media and related locales cement that. Little Luna serves Little Noctis pastries, she’s not seen eating with him. Luna teaches Noctis how to play piano, she’s not playing with him. Dawn of the Future came out with its own art, and Noctis is afforded the liberty to sit in a chair, and his son(?) sits on his lap, while Luna and her spitting image child(?) are both on their knees, looking up at the dudes. 

In most of their art together, Luna and Noctis are either not meeting each other's gazes, she's bending or kneeling to him, or he's supposed to be holding her close but he hover-hands her, or there’s that one time where they took a selfie and the picture was of their Pocket Edition versions. They’re still not looking at each other in that one. And it’s not canon.

Anyway yeah, any conversation Gentiana has with Luna about Noctis is emotional manipulation on Gentiana’s part, but the writers manage just enough to make everyone involved seem creepy and reprehensible in their own way. 

In DOTF, Luna has a death soliloquy that confirms she sunk into the water at the end of the game’s Chapter 9, but the soliloquy is about how she was prepared to die even at the age of 12, and she put on a smile and resolved to be strong for Noctis’s sake, so that he wouldn’t remember her having a look of despair. There’s a line there about how she would cry herself to sleep but Gentiana would wipe her tears. Gentiana does nothing else except allow her to cry and wipe her tears afterward, and makes no effort to save her from her fate or at least take her out of terrible situations so that she would cry fewer tears. But there is cut dialogue from the game, and used in the novel, where Gentiana revealed herself as Shiva when Luna was <16 (probably still 12 at the time), when she thought she was being held back from forming the covenants, so there’s that. And Luna still somehow ignored that this meant Shiva allowed Sylva to die, and thanked this useless goddess for her nonexistent generosity. 

For whatever reason they had to add a passage where Luna superimposes the image of an eight-year-old Noctis onto the adult version-- quote, "the image of him as a child, burned into my eyelids, overlaps with his now-grown face"-- even though Noctis has canonically sent her photos of him as a teenager (15-16, around the time he met Prompto in high school, see: Brotherhood). Granted, that's a translation from Luna's voice actress reading an excerpt as if it were first person POV. The English version says she sees the child image first, then the adult version is superimposed. Then not much after that there's a passage where Noctis smiles as his child self and it was "that smile she loved that had been in her heart all these years, giving her strength, always and forever".

So she was groomed and turned into a shell since age 4, believes she has no value outside of her job and turned her grooming on a similarly vulnerable child, and her strongest image of him, the one she fell in love with and kept in her heart, is of the helpless boy that promised her the world without knowing the cost. The smile of the carefree boy that didn't know his journey would end with his soul annihilated. It couldn’t have been that hard to have her see an image of him as the 30 year old True King of Light that he would become. At least she'd sound a little less like a weirdo who continually places herself (and is placed by the narrative) as below him, unworthy of him, etc. but also has strong feelings and memories toward a goddamn child.

Re: Ravus: you already got a reply to that, but for real? Ravus was also shafted by the plot and beaten down by terrible, amateur writing. The narrative shits on him as if it’s written by a high schooler or otherwise emotionally arrested adult trying to push a Mary Sue Protagonist. The modus operandi for those stories is that everyone who disagrees with the protagonist in any way has to suffer tremendous humiliation including but not limited to death, because the Protagonist Is Just So Good And Perfect And Always Right. 

Nothing Ravus does justifies his treatment in-game or in-fandom like he’s a one-note out-and-out villain who wanted nothing but to kill Noctis and disrespect his sister, to the point where his corpse is defiled multiple times in Chapter 13 and he’s twisted into a perversion of himself that begs to die.

Chapter 13 has Noctis land next to Ravus’s corpse and all his letters to Luna, and Noctis has piss all to say about it, either out loud or to anyone. He looks at the Sword of the Father, glances at Ravus, and without a word takes the Royal Arm and lets the Magitek arm-- still dripping, still gross-- fall onto Ravus’s body and doesn’t even move it.  

He had no way of knowing beforehand that Ignis and Gladio knew of Ravus being killed. WE didn't even know they saw security footage until Ch13V2 was added in. Noctis happening on his late fiancée's dead bro sounds, I don’t fucking know, like something you’d want to tell everyone else about later. Along with the letters he wrote evidencing that he intended to return the Sword of the Father to Noctis!

An aside: The Letters from Ravus are just weird to behold; it isn't 100% clear whether Luna ever received all of those letters. She had to have received the first one, at least. But the idea that Ardyn intercepted even one other letter so that Luna never heard from her brother between Tenebrae and Altissia is farfetched. He shouldn’t be able to intercept those messages as if they were delivered conventionally. Luna has a pair of magic space-bending Shiba Inu that send letters instantly across continents. If she’s sparing their use to send Noctis one-liners and stickers but can’t afford that for Ravus to send her discrete updates on Noctis’s status, she’s a piece of shit. 

They do meet in Tenebrae as Ravus wanted her to, and they have the conversation where he gets on her case about her “throwing [her] life away” for Noctis. So chances are higher that Ardyn only got a hold of all three letters after Luna received them and no sooner, but then he shouldn’t be tossing letters from Ravus at the dude’s body when it makes more sense for him to toss down letters to Ravus, since the writers wanted to make a point of Ardyn having a vicious streak. It makes way more sense for Ardyn to deprive Ravus of Luna’s writing, then insult him with them post-mortem, unless Ravus’s notes were really all he could acquire, meaning Luna never once wrote back to her brother. 

The Doylist explanation is that the writing team sucks and couldn't be assed to think of anything for Luna to say because they didn't think of her at all. The Watsonian explanation is that Luna’s a piece of shit and that tracks with her in Kingsglaive watching her brother burn alive in response to the Ring, but ignoring him and running to Regis’s aid instead, but then the rest of the plot presents her as morally pure through her white clothing and “unconditional, self-abnegating love” for Noctis.

Back to the topic: I don’t know, maybe I’m being old fashioned, but Noctis should’ve given more of a shit that his dropping the Magitek Arm on Ravus’s body was probably what turned him into a mutated abomination begging to die, and he thought so little of Ravus that the dude isn’t even in the glimpse of "people who helped me get this far" in the Beyond. Ravus doesn’t even get a spot to wish Noctis and Luna well on their afterlife wedding, not that it makes any sense for any of them to have words to say since Noctis is already dead, no one was there with them, and none of the bros expressed any sign that they knew that Noctis was bound to get married after his sacrifice (he sure doesn’t mention it in the final campfire scene and that’d be a better place than any). But anyway, Regis is in the Beyond at Noctis’s side even though he never told Noctis a damn thing and still never spoke to him from within the Ring, but Ravus? Nah, he’s the real asshole somehow and doesn’t deserve any recognition whatsoever.

The only other characters I know of that have a remotely similar dynamic to Noctis, Luna, and Ravus (lovers, but the girl has a straight-edge protective brother working for the bad guys) is Nero, Kyrie, and Credo (see: Devil May Cry), but as much as I think the writing in that series is hokey as fuck, at least the writer(s) for DMCs 4 and 5 had enough sense to make the love story simple and based it from a line from Amagasaki City-- “I love you, so I love the city that you love.”-- and opted against portraying Credo as an outright villain because if Nero killed him, Kyrie would resent him for it even though she knew Credo was working for the same Order that threatened her life. 

Shouldn’t Noctis care about the shit Luna cares about even if he has no personal investment in it or it’s inconvenient to him? Shouldn’t he care about Tenebrae and its prosperity? or about Ravus? Nah, it’s okay, Noctis doesn’t have to respect Luna’s love for her brother or her kingdom because for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t care for Ravus or for Tenebrae as much as she loves Noctis. Her love for Noctis and her looking forward to the wedding is what matters here.

The yaaaas queen vicious clapback from Kingsglaive!Luna about how Ravus is the Empire’s dog is especially rich coming from her when she’s fellating the gods all through the game even though Eos’s equivalent of The Holy Bible says the Hexatheon’s Revelations destroy cities and that undoubtedly means people are killed by the gods, and their summoner is complicit, because there’s no such thing as a perfect evacuation. See: "Revelations left great devastation in their wake, with entire cities being laid to ruin," noted in the Cosmogony long before the True King even exists. 

Luna herself didn’t see a problem with this and helped in the effort, with no regard to the collateral damage she would cause with the summoning: bonus points for the part where Leviathan is hostile to humanity and threatens to eat every living being if Noctis fails! She had even less regard to the damage Niflheim would cause in their attempt to kill the gods even though she was first-hand witness to them sacking Insomnia. Waking and defeating Titan deprived Lestallum of the meteor they derived power from. Waking Leviathan destroyed Altissia. Luna’s refusal to leave Insomnia when told to by Regis led to her being used as bait and taking the whole of the Kingsglaive out of Insomnia in time for their Face Heel Turn and Insomnia being destroyed. Everything else leads to the eventual World of Ruin where people also die. 

All because she killed herself prematurely from the covenants and didn’t hold back the longer nights as she promised to the public’s face and on her honor as Oracle she would do. Her dying words in Chapter 9 were her being completely satisfied with her fate because “[her] prayers were answered, [her] calling fulfilled”, even though the calling requires that she dies and she should’ve known better than anyone that her death, even if it was for Noctis’s ascension, would endanger the rest of the world for 10 years and helped the Starscourge spread. But instead of fighting for her own life to stem the plague for as long as possible, she let herself die under the belief that "Noct can handle this" to give him the chance to be the revered King of Light. She also didn’t make a single appearance on the world of the living in her spirit form during those ten years until Noctis needed help with a piddly imitation of the Magic Wall, only then does she come down in her ghost form with seemingly all of her power intact, and summons five of The Six as if Noctis can’t easily do it himself.

But Ravus is the lapdog? Luna’s the one with her “ends justify the means” behavior and what looks like general neglect for actual human beings.

Anyway, Ravus stabs Caligo in the back and kills him, and that move only makes sense in light of the idea that Caligo was manhandling Luna as seen in the Dawn trailer. Ravus was 16 when Tenebrae was overrun, and there’s no reason to believe he was magically immune to institutional abuse, so there’s a high chance that he was abused by the Empire too, held resentment of that, and waited for the time he’d be able to retaliate with no repercussions. Gentiana as a goddess is 1000000% more on the hook about letting Luna be beaten than Ravus is, since he saw his mother die in front of him while Regis ran away. Regis had the power of the Ring and could have used elemancy to put out that fire, or void magic to banish Glauca and his MT army, didn’t do that, but he totally spares enough magic during the treaty signing to toss around Thunder spells straight from his hand, cast barriers, and summon some Royal Arms straight at Iedolas, and that’s bad enough. Gentiana who’s been the Fleuret family attendant since Luna was born and also is Shiva who can freeze people with her fingertip had even less excuse to let that fire rage, to let Sylva die protecting her son, and to stand by and allow her ward(s) to get thrown around by some random Imperial soldier.

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings are as follows - mentions of alcohol, descriptions of blood, Whiskey being a bit of an ass and some brief talk of dead relatives. 

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You watched him as he settled himself back down into the couch, taking note of every breath he took while he reclined back, refusing to look you straight in the eye. That didn’t bother you too much - you were too busy studying the myriad of bruises and cuts splayed along his body, from the tears and scuffs in his denim jacket to taking note of his perfectly maintained Stetson. How on Earth that thing had managed to escape from whatever situation Jack had gotten himself into unscathed mystified you, but from what you remembered of him you knew he loved that damn hat to death. 

Neither of you had said a word to each other since he stumbled through your front door only moments before, that heightened sense of tension undoubtedly ripe in the air. You thought if you ever saw Jack Daniels face again that you’d have a couple of cutting remarks to say to him - if you ever did think about him that is, and you usually didn’t. Jack hadn’t haunted your thoughts for years now, memories of the summer you two first met and the cold dark of winter when you fell apart falling away to the sands of time. The last thing you ever expected was to have him show up on the front step of your ranch, looking like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. Gazing over him now, you felt it was somewhat your obligation to make sure he was fine: despite your less than amicable feelings towards him you weren’t about to let him die on your couch. 

“Can I get you anything?” you asked him, a hint of uncertainty to your tone. He turned his gaze towards you and shrugged slightly, looking no less unsettled than he had a moment before. “I’m fine for now. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks”. 

“You sure about that? No offense, but you kind of look like a wreck” you shot back, to which he replied with a small scoff. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart. I forgot how hospitable you were to those in your care”. 

You could feel a spark of heat rise in your cheeks at his words, and almost wanted to retort back with something equally if not more biting. That fucking bastard. Here he was, lying on your couch looking like he’d walked out of a gang fight and he had the gall to give you attitude. “Alright, ignoring your completely rude and uncalled for attitude for a moment, you still haven’t answered my question. What the fuck did you get yourself into?” you asked.

There was a momentary pause where Jack looked back up at you, an expression of remorse crossing over his face in the brief glance he shot at you. Turning his gaze back down towards the wooden coffee table before him, he shook his head and sighed. “Sorry about that, darlin’.I just...I got myself into a bit of a tight situation. Things have gotten complicated now” he explained, prompting you to raise your brow at him. 

“Yeah, I can see that. Who did this to you?”. 

“Just some other agents. It doesn’t matter” he replied curtly. 

“From where? Statesman?” you asked. After dating him for about a year, you were well aware of his position as an agent to Statesman, and you knew exactly what that job entailed. Jack had been injured before, sometimes worse than how he was now. You remembered once he came back from a mission with several different bones broken, multiple gunshot wounds and a concussion. You’d been left worried for weeks after that as he recovered, only being allowed short visits to see him due to the very nature of his job. This time was different though. You knew Jack was a survivor, but for him to show up out of the blue after several years of no contact, looking the way he did, something was horribly wrong. Studying his expression intensely, you couldn’t help but let out a low sigh in frustration. It annoyed you to some degree of how evasive his answers had been thus far. It was almost like he was ashamed to even say what had happened to him, ashamed to be even talking to you. 

“No, no, they...they weren’t. That’s not important right now though” he finally answered, running the edges of his fingers over his tattered jeans. If it were any other day you would have been more upset at his dismissal of your question but upon seeing the troubled look on his face you felt it best to let it go. An uncomfortable silence had started to hang over the room, the space between you and him feeling more and more tense as the moments ticked by. You looked down at your shoes, taking note of every scuff and streak of mud as if they were the most interesting things in the world, and giving yourself another minute of hesitation before blurting out “Why are you in Dallas?”. 

“It just so happened to be the place the cargo plane I was stowing away on landed. I wasn’t tryin’ to seek you out or anything, if you’ll believe me”. 

His explanation gave cause for you to raise a single brow at him once more, not entirely believing it to be a coincidence that he just happened to show up in Dallas after seven years of radio silence. “Really? Why come here then? Don’t you have your agent buddies to fall back on for shit like this?” you inquired, your tone coming off far more biting and bitter than you originally intended it to. You could see Jack seize up slightly at your callousness, a pained expression passing over his face that made your breath catch in your throat for a second before you darted your eyes away from him, focusing back down to your shoes and deriding yourself for even having a moment of fleeting attraction to him. All these years and those pathetic puppy dog eyes still managed to get to you. Damn him. 

“Usually, yeah. Not this time round though. I’ve…” he stopped himself, his eyes betraying the deep wounded pain woven within them, strengthening every second longer he dwelled on the memory of his former glory. “I’ve been kicked out of Statesman. Or, well, I haven’t officially been kicked but after what happened the other day I’d be a damn fool if I even tried to walk through their doors again”. 

You blinked at him in confusion, his words not fully registering with you. Statesman kicked him out? Him of all people? You briefly considered the possibility that he was simply just pulling your leg and trying to gain some sort of sympathy but upon remembering the pained expression on his face you were instantly told all you needed to know about the truth behind his words. Ok, so he’s not lying, but still...why? “I find it hard to believe that they’d just boot out their best field agent. What did you do to warrant that?”. 

You could see Jack’s mouth twitch slightly, indicating that he wasn’t entirely up for divulging such information. Running a hand through his hair, he trained his eyes to the ground and refused to look up at you as he went on to explain what exactly had gone down to lead him there. “Long story short, I had a disagreement of sorts with a couple of agents from a fellow organisation, and may have gone against Champ’s direct orders in order to hinder them. I guess you could say I went rogue” he elaborated, intentionally trying to keep some of the finer details out. You had half a mind to push for more info, though after another seconds thought you decided against that idea and instead settled for nodding at him semi-sympathetically.  “I see. So...why are you here then?”. 

He didn’t answer you right away, rather finding himself to be staring straight upwards at the wooden beams on the ceiling above. You analysed his expression, trying to find any sort of hint towards what he was thinking. Your eyes kept being drawn back to that dried gash of blood across his cheek, and you winced at the thought of him being in any sort of prolonged pain. Maybe you should have fetched some medical supplies for him after all - knowing Jack and the way he was, he always liked to downplay the dangers associated with his job. Every time he wound up in Statesman’s medical wing needing some sort of bullet taken out of him he never once admitted to ever being in pain. Getting injured was part of the job, he always said, so it wasn’t worth it to worry over him everytime he got hurt in the line of duty. He was an expert at saying he was fine when it was all too clear that everything wasn’t. 

The sound of Jack sighing heavily pulled you from your thoughts, looking up to see him with his head in his hands, practically exhibiting every clear sign of tension in the book. A small part of you wanted to feel sorry for him, for seeing him like this. “Look, I realise this may be too much to ask of you, considering our history, and part of me hates that I have to in the first place but...I have nowhere else to go. I can’t go back home to either New York or Kentucky. I’m not an agent anymore, so I can’t ask any of them for help, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure that I’ve got some sort of bounty on my head now. I’m on the lam as they call it”  he prattled. “I need a place to hide out, to lay low while I sort some shit out”.

The day had already been weird enough already, hearing him ask for your help was only just the cherry on top. Blinking slowly and with your mouth hanging open in utter disbelief, you blurted out “Let me get this straight: you need my help?”.

“Just for a little while, and I promise, sweetheart, as soon as I’m able to I’ll be outta your hair” Jack assured, turning his eyes upwards to you so that you could see his lovely brown eyes, the very same ones that you felt yourself get lost in all those long years ago. “I would never ask this of you unless I had no other choice. You and I both know that”. 

You were at a complete loss for words. Between his tone and those frustratingly sweet eyes of his, you weighed your options carefully on what you should do. Should you let him stay with you? On one hand, with what he’d done to you years ago, something that still left you hurting even now, some part of you felt hostile towards him being around again. You remembered being young and 21, giving your heart out to him and only ever receiving empty promises in the end, leaving you with the painful memory of standing crestfallen on a flight of marbled stairs, on a night that you had sworn was gonna end with a ring ending instead with a shattered heart and never-ending glasses of merlot on your lips. Eventually, you’d learnt to live with the heartache. And pretty soon, for the most part, you’d forgotten. Seeing him there, tonight, in your living room of all places, was starting to bring those feelings back. No matter how hard you tried to stifle them, ignore them and focus on the matter at hand, you still felt the bitterness creep into your tone every time you opened your mouth.

Still, even though Jack had hurt you, you couldn’t just leave him out with nothing. From what he told you, he truly had nowhere else to run. If you threw him out now, he could be dead within hours. The mere thought of that made your heart sting, and despite any bad blood between you two you weren’t heartless, so with a small sigh, you at last settled on the answer you would give to him. “Alright. I’ll let you stay. On one condition though: you gotta help out a little with some of the ranch handling stuff. Once you’re all healed up from your injuries of course” you posited. “And don’t bother trying to butter me up, I’m not enough of an idiot to fall for your charms twice. I’m doing you a favour so it would be in your best interest to avoid pissing me off. You think you can handle that?”. 

He smirked back at you, though it was void of it’s usual playfulness and felt to be more out of sadness than anything resembling his usual jackassery. “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart, but yeah, of course. I’d be more than happy to help ya out”. 

“Alright. Now…” you nodded at him before turning on your heel in the direction of the kitchen in search of some bandage and gauze for his injuries. “I am going to get you some medical supplies because even though you said you’re fine you clearly aren’t, and I’m not about to have you dropping dead in my goddamn living room. The blood would get all over the carpet and I ain’t lookin’ to pay to get it cleaned” you announced, dropping down to your knees and rifling through one of the lower kitchen cabinets for all the necessary items. 

You could hear him chuckle from the living room, imagining him to be wearing a more toned down version of that charming grin he always seemed to have on him. “Ah, you wound me, my dear girl. Where are your folks?”. 

His question made your heart seize in your chest, your hands grasped around the roll of bandage and bottle of antiseptic you’d scrounged out from the back of the cupboard. Rising to your feet, you stuttered on your words as you led yourself back into the living room with an arm full of different medical equipment. “They...they died a couple of years ago. It’s been just me for awhile” you answered back, doing your best to ignore the look of surprise that spread across Jack’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’”.

Tearing off a strip of bandage, you motioned for him to give you his arm so that you could begin tending to some of the deeper cuts on him. “It’s ok. Well, not ok, really, but what can you do?” you murmured, brushing the length of his torn denim jacket out of the way and pressing down a dash of cold antiseptic cream across one of his cuts, watching as how he winced slightly from the sting. “Life goes on. It has to, or else you get left frozen”. Shaking your head, you began to tie the strip of fabric around his forearm, eager to get off the topic of your deceased loved ones as soon as possible. “I’ll put you up in the guest room upstairs. Don’t go through any of the shit in the cupboards, ok? It’s private stuff”. 

“I would never dream of doing so, sugar”.

“Good. Lucky for you, none of these gashes seem too bad so they’ll most likely heal within a couple of days. I’ll just put a bit of adhesive over that awful one you got across your cheek and you’ll be right as rain in no time” you said, popping open the box of adhesive bandages. 

Jack smiled at you, albeit weakly as you smoothed the bandage over his cheek. “Thank you for doing this for me. I mean it. Honestly, I didn’t think you were even gonna let me stay here”. 

You shot him an odd look at that comment, leaning back down to pick up the various bits of first aid paraphernalia off the floor to deposit back onto the coffee table. “What do you take me for, Jack? I ain’t a cold hearted bitch. I hate you for what you did but I don’t want you to die or anything” you quipped, staring at him straight in the eyes as you said those words. Not allowing him a second to respond, you turned away and began to walk off towards the stairs, starting to feel the exhaustion of the day sink in once again when you placed your foot on the first rung.“You’re all good to go. I’d say go upstairs and get some rest, lord knows that’s what I’ll be doing. If you need anything give me a shout ok?”. 

He nodded back at you wordlessly, abruptly turning away afterwards the lean against the couch with his back turned to you, lost back in his own thoughts. You allowed your gaze to linger on him for a moment longer then dragged yourself up the stairs and towards your bedroom, flicking off the hallway lights as you went. In an instant after you heard the click of your bedroom door shut behind you, you allowed yourself to groan out in agony at your entire predicament. So, your ex-boyfriend is on the run and hiding out in your house. This could prove to be interesting...

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 7

Little bit of a filler, but we’ve got some fun shenanigans in store! >:)

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Chapter 7: Guys bein’ dudes indeed

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje

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Marinette was up early again. She found herself some breakfast, then went to the stables. The Order had made it back late last night, so they didn’t have time to groom the horses. She entered the first stall and started to brush the first horse. The routine motion let her mind drift, and she thought back to the events of the past few weeks.

Marinette, Kagami, and Luka embarked on their daily ritual of collecting the morning paper from town. It was the day after they’d beaten the first boss, which they had reported anonymously. Marinette and Adrien had agreed that taking the credit would only serve to draw unwanted attention towards their group, which could put them and the rest of their friends in danger.

But it apparently had another unforeseen advantage. As Marinette paid for the newspaper that highlighted their victory, she heard comments from other players around her.

“Are you serious? Some party went rogue and beat the first dungeon on their own?”

“Selfish assholes, can’t believe they got all that loot to themselves.”

“Well I think it’s good that we’re making progress!”

“Yeah, if you ignore the fact that they didn’t tell us what it was like at all, so now we haven’t got a clue how to face the next one.”

She shook her head in disbelief and glanced at her companions, who looked similarly concerned. They hadn’t even considered that the other people might not want them to take up the battle alone. Or that last comment, that they were actually hurting the other players by not giving them the chance to fight too.

The three remained quiet until they returned to Chloe’s house, or the manor, as they’d taken to calling it. By then, Adrien and Chloe were awake, and followed without question as Marinette ushered the two to join her, Kagami, and Luka out by the well.

She told them what the people in town had said, Luka and Kagami jumping in with additional comments they’d heard from passersby, and they talked it over. Maybe it was worth fighting with other groups. It would certainly beat the first boss.

They decided to try working with others for the next dungeon, but to lead the battle so that the civilians would stay as safe as possible. There were already groups in town recruiting for it and people exploring the second level, so it couldn’t be too long before they found the next fight. They’d be ready this time, they thought.

Less than two weeks passed before they were ready to take on the second dungeon. The Order had spent the whole time training and leveling up. There was hardly a moment where they weren’t fighting monsters or sparring with each other. They became almost more adept with their new weapons than they were with their ones from the real world. Those days of miraculous encounters seemed a lifetime ago.

The Order made preparations with other groups of players, determining strategy and planning to play to each others’ strengths. All the parties assembled at the dungeon and set up to fight the boss.

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. The support teams kept all the fighters’ HP high, and they had whatever cover they needed whenever they needed it. The battle was significantly shorter with around forty players there. But when the other players got hit....

Marinette could still hear the screams of the civilians as they went down. The blood oozing from their wounds was so very lifelike, and there was no cure to sew them shut. Or bring them back if they fell.

Kagami and Adrien were focused on taking what would have been killing blows if the boss had struck anyone but them. Chloe and Marinette drew fire away from the other players, and Luka used his mace and shield to defend his fellow healers. But Marinette saw the pained look on his face at being separated from the rest. She relived the moment Kagami and Adrien went down while fighting the first boss in frequent nightmares, and she knew Luka did too. The two of them had shared a few too many late-night cups of tea while avoiding sleep.

They won the battle, but there were so many wounded, so many close calls. One look at her Order and she knew they felt as lost as she did. Was it worth it? The thought seemed to echo through each of their movements as they returned to the manor.

“Marinette?” Alya’s call shook her out of her daze. She looked down at her hands and saw that she’d finished brushing the last of the horses. Putting the brush away, she returned to the main space in the downstairs of their home.

Home. She supposed that’s what it was now, but it didn’t feel like it. The design of it was very cozy, there was no doubt about that. But she saw it as little more than a place to eat and sleep. There were far more important things she could be doing, sitting down to relax was out of the question.

“There you are,” Alya grinned from the kitchen. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in days!” She carried a simple charcuterie board into the living/dining area and placed it on the table. Nino, Adrien, Lila, Alix, Nathaniel, and Luka were already sitting in the various couches and chairs gathered around it.

“We were just about to have a snack and play some cards,” Alya said over her shoulder as she used a poker to encourage a small fire in the hearth. “You should join us, girl!”

Marinette’s gut response was to refuse, and she waved her hands and made excuses but Luka and Adrien got up and marched her over to sit next to them. “C’mon Buginette, you need this,” Adrien said quietly in her ear. Luka just gave her a meaningful look.

Over-protective mother hens.

She sighed and gave in. One afternoon of cards couldn’t hurt.

Nathaniel was on her other side. While Alya dealt out the cards, Marinette asked him, “How’s the garden coming along?”

His face lit up with a quiet joy. “It’s going great! I don’t know if the weather is going to change, but the onions are taking nicely!” She listened with a small smile on her face as he went on about the different crops he was planting in the garden. He’d really stepped up to grow the bulk of their food, and seemed to genuinely enjoy spending his days taking care of the plants.

She was glad that he could still talk freely to her, even in the game. They’d always been close and it was nice to see his artistic spirit was unbothered by... everything.

Adrien nudged her to play her turn, and she did so quickly. Across from her, Alix and Nino were laughing at something Lila had said, and Alya sat up proudly with a comment that made them laugh even harder.

On Adrien’s other side, Luka had his hands of cards facedown on his lap while he strummed a lute he’d bought the other day. The pleasant melody lifted her spirits and reminded her of happier times.

This is what she was fighting for, she realized. For Nathaniel to take pride in his art, for her dear friends to laugh, and for Luka to play his music. She blinked away the tears that rose in her eyes. This is what was worth fighting for.

Even if she couldn’t bring herself to sew, to create like she used to love doing. Here she just had to be Marinette the friend or Marinette the fighter. It was almost easier, having less to manage. And yet... she couldn’t feel that same joy for herself that she found so precious to her friends. Not until they were all home again. She couldn’t let herself.

* * *

Jason trudged into the base, pack digging into his shoulder with all the loot he’d recovered. He’d spent the past few days camping and level-grinding, which was apparently the correct term for it. He couldn’t even remember what Dick had said to set him off, but he needed to be on his own for a while. The woods were surprisingly peaceful, and he found the time spent by himself in nature to be refreshing.

“Hey.” Dick sounded pissed. The hell was his problem? Jason wasn’t even back long enough to do anything. Jason turned on his heel and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Dick thrust a newspaper into his hands in response. He folded his arms, clearly expecting Jason to read it right then and there. Jason sighed loudly and slung his pack off. He turned his attention to the paper in his hand.

“Coalition of over forty players defeats second dungeon,” he read aloud. Shit.

“Just thought you should know,” Dick said in his I told you so voice. “When you went on your little adventure, you missed the next boss fight.”

Oh, now he remembered why he left! Because his “brother” is an asshole. “My little adventure was to get experience and level up,” he glared at Dick. “Which is still doing something more productive than just sitting on my fuckin’ hands.”

Dick’s nostrils flared. Good, he was itching for this conversation. “We are not doing nothing. We need more time to practice with the gameplay. Hell, Gar still tries to shift when we spar!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “We’re nowhere near ready yet, Jay.”

“You know, there’s more to this game than fuckin’ sparring.” Jason retorted.

Dicks brows shot up. “Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who so desperately wants to get back to our lives that he runs off on his own.”

“I can’t stand being cooped up in this damn house all the time! Just because we’re stuck in this game doesn’t mean we have to stop living,” Jason shook his head. “We’ve already been in here for over a month, who’s to say how much longer it’ll be? We can’t just put our fuckin’ lives on hold the whole time.”

“Training to beat the game isn’t putting our lives on hold,” Dick rolled his eyes. “This place is a death trap in case you forgot. We need to train to get our lives back.”

This idiot just didn’t get it. “Oh sure, and in the meantime we can’t have any happiness or fun. Sounds pretty miserable to me.” He picked up his pack. “You can level up without training at all hours of the fuckin’ day, no matter what a certain black-haired, blue-eyed bastard says.”

Jason stormed out the door, bumping into Garfield on his way back outside. The kid stumbled backwards before pointing finger guns at him. “Nice alliteration!”

He ignored him and kept walking down the path that led into town.

“Hey, hey wait a minute!” Seriously kid? He heard that argument with Dick but still couldn’t take the fuckin’ hint.

Garfield caught up to him and said, “You know, for someone who was supposed to have a relaxing vacation, you sure look tense.”

“Fuckin’ excuse me?” Jason growled.

“Wh-what I mean is you’re probably looking for a way to burn off some steam!”

This was getting old. “Get to the point, kid.”

“On the third level, there’s a quest we can do to make our own guild!” Garfield bounced excitedly, keeping pace next to him. Well, a quest would certainly help get this new brotherly stress out of his system. “We want you to join us, pleeeeaaaase?”

“Hold up, who the hell is us?”

Garfield grinned at him. “Oh you know, just a couple of the guys.”

They’d reached a junction in the path that led to the main road. Waiting beneath the tree beside the signpost were Roy, Jaime, and Bart. The ex-speedster waved excitedly while Roy looked about as pleased to be here as Jason did. They got along swimmingly.

“Hey dudes, everyone cool if Jason joins us?” Garfield reached out to pat his back then hesitated as he thought better of it.

Jaime shrugged while Bart gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Roy gave him a pitying look, like he’d been dragged into it too.

“Fine.” Jason muttered to no one in particular. “Are we heading out now?”

The other four got their things together. Jaime sent out party invites to everyone to better keep track of each other, which Roy and Jason reluctantly accepted. Garfield pulled up a pamphlet and started leafing through it. Jason spied the title, The Good Adventurer’s Guide to Guilds. Lovely.

“Alright,” Garfield snapped the papers shut and started walking down the path into town. “Let’s go to level three and get this bread!”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “The quest is to retrieve some bread?” He asked incredulously.

“Well, no but yes! But no. Man, we gotta teach you slang,” Bart slung an arm around Roy’s shoulders. The latter pushed him off and Jaime sped up his pace to plant himself as a buffer in between them as they walked.

Dumbasses.

The walk into town was easy, and they used the teleportation kiosk in the town square to get to the third level without a hitch.

The third level had some more interesting terrain than the plains of the first and second levels. Cliffs and quarries dotted the landscape in front of them. The main town itself was built onto a cliff, a gaping valley splayed out before them with minute details.

“Oh wow,” Garfield said. “This reminds me of that one town in France where--”

“Don’t care. Let’s move.” Roy cut him off and stalked down the winding road that would take them down into the valley. Jason smirked and followed suit.

Garfield made a face, then followed them along with the others. He pulled out his pamphlet again, then pointed them in the direction of the quest. Some quarry worker NPC wanted help collecting materials. If they got him everything on his list, he would apparently grant them the rights to start a guild? It made less and less sense as Gar read aloud from the paper.

They trekked on for a few hours, easily hacking apart the common monsters they came across. Between Jason and Roy, the others hardly had time to draw their weapons before the threats were gone.

“What’s better than this?” Garfield put an arm around Jason and Bart’s shoulders. Jaime grinned and put his arms around Bart and Roy. “Guys bein’ dudes!” He finished.

Roy, Bart, and Jason exchanged mystified glances. Roy and Jason had been out of the loop for roughly the same period of time, and Bart had told them before that not much of contemporary pop culture had survived into his future.

Guys bein’ dudes indeed.

Between the five of them, gathering the listed materials and getting them to the worker by sundown was easy. Well, it was easy for most of them.

“You look like a mess, ese!” Jaime exclaimed, seeing a very sticky and scratched-up Garfield. He groaned and replied, “Had to get tree sap. Trees fought back....”

Well, that served the little shrimp right, Jason thought to himself. He and Roy had been collecting gemstones, which could be mined out from the caves littered throughout the floor... or the infinitely more fun way of killing giant gemstone monsters. Take a wild fuckin’ guess which one they chose.

Jason was actually pretty content with the levels he’d gained from the quest. Not to mention getting his excess anger out from talking to Dick. It seemed like whenever he went to the house, there was always some type of disagreement between the two.

Damn. Maybe he should start saving for his own house.

His party currently stood in line at the guild registration office, also located on the third level. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the valley, highlighting the small clusters of houses dotting the countryside.

“Oh crap,” Garfield suddenly said. He danced nervously on his feet. “We did the whole quest, but I forgot the most important thing!”

Roy looked at him sharply. “What’s wrong?”

“We need a name for our guild!” Garfield wailed, clutching his hands to his head.

Seriously? Roy scoffed, “Why not just Justice League?”

Jaime rounded on him. “Are you nuts, ese? We can’t go around calling ourselves the Justice League. Secret identities and all that.”

Garfield paced in line, clearly thinking hard. “Hmm, justice. Juuuuustice. Just-ice. Just ice! Hey, we could do something with that!” He exclaimed.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah that’s great,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “How about On the Rocks.”

Bart put a hand on his chin, looking thoughtful. “Well, we should add a little pizzazz to it, don’t you think?”

“I’ve got it! Rocky Road!” Garfield threw his hands in the air triumphantly. God this kid was excessive.

Jaime and Bart, after the former had explained it to him, voiced their approval. Roy and Jason looked at each other and silently commiserated over their unfortunate situation.

Rocky Road it was.

* * *

“Ugh, that was way harder than it needed to be.” Alya slumped over her battle axe.

Marinette giggled and offered her friend some water. “Well, a ton of other people are starting guilds too! So I guess there are limited resources for a while.”

Nino took the water from Alya after she’d finished with it. He drained it and looked heartbroken until Adrien handed him a new bottle.

The four of them had decided to team up and do the quest to establish a guild. Not everyone in the guild needed to attend the quest to establish one. So when Alya and Nino had approached Marinette and Adrien, asking if the original friend group could be the ones to do it, they couldn’t say no.

“Well, I just wish Marinette had told us about the quest sooner. Then we could have had an easier time!” Lila simpered, sweet as ever. Oh yeah, Lila had invited herself to come along too.

“Weren’t you also a beta tester?” Adrien frowned innocently.

Lila blinked, looking startled. “Oh yes! But you know about my memory issues. I really wish I could remember all these things to help us out,” she sighed dramatically. Typical.

“So!” Marinette decided to move that conversation right along. “We need a name for our guild. Got any ideas?”

Nino rubbed his arm. “Actually dudes, I’ve been thinking of a name for a while.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it!” Adrien smiled and nudged his best friend’s arm.

“Well, I was thinking we could be called Miracle Workers,” Nino began. Marinette traded a look of alarm with Adrien. “You know, because Alya and I used to be miraculous holders? And I thought it’d be kinda nice to honor Chat Noir, Ladybug, and the other heroes. We could use some of their strength right about now.” Oh, that was actually really sweet of him. Marinette offered Adrien a soft smile.

Alya looked at him fondly. Adrien, with a slight nod of approval from Marinette, gave him a side hug and said, “I think that’s a wonderful name.”

Lila tapped her chin. “I don’t know, workers seems a little odd to me. We’re more like leaders or executives.”

“Well, I think Miracle Workers is perfect, babe.” Alya leaned in to peck Nino on the cheek. “Let’s go with that.”

First | Previous | Next

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Live Wire --The Dirt-- 16

This is part 1 of the US Festival and mostly told in Nikki’s perspective. Next part will be a direct continuation of this chapter.

Doc and Doug has brought Wren along to each meeting they attended that planned Motley Crue’s involvement with the US Festival in the winter of 1982 and the spring of 1983, and they couldn’t deny the woman had a surprising knack for entertainment management. They’d known she would be an asset to them when it came to being a voice of reason to the twenty-something-year-old band of buffoons Motley Crue tended to be, but they didn’t suspect her to be an asset on the more professional and managerial aspect of her role. After how she’d handled herself upon meeting them at the Rainbow, they shouldn’t have underestimated her, but it was the 1980s and she was a twenty-year-old girl who happened to stumble across one of the next biggest bands to hit LA. They treated her as their acquaintance’s great-niece whom they presumed was a groupie for this band, but damn did they get a wakeup call afterwards.

First of all, Nikki and Tommy refused to accept any assistance from Doc or Doug without the stipulation that they became additions to Wren and not replacements, and Mick and Vince were quick to back up their bass player and drummer. Second, it seemed that when it came to booking local gigs, Wren had always beaten the pair to the punch; in fact, a lot of the calls Doc and Doug made to venues asking to get the band booked were responded with “Yeah, Ledden called up and scheduled a couple weekend shows about two weeks ago. You guys looking to book more than that?” At first it was frustrating to be one-upped by a newbie to the scene, but then they realized that Motley Crue were the newbies to the Strip and were taking it by storm. Why would the person who they had as their initial—and for the longest time only—manager be any different than they were?

However, booking the US Festival had more to do with Doc’s history with the Scorpions than Wren’s determination. Apparently, Doc and Mikkey Dee had remained in touch after changing management, and Mikkey had shared the fact that the producers of the event were searching for another act for Heavy Metal Day. However, just because she hadn’t booked the gig before Doc or Doug didn’t mean they weren’t going to include her in the planning process. Time and time again she impressed them to the point they forgot she was hardly any older than the youngest members of the band.

Nikki bit the inside of his lip as he watched the morning sun kiss Wren’s skin from where he stood at a distance. A soft breeze dusted the earth as the band wandered the festival grounds, preparing for what would be one of their biggest breaks in the United States. He’d lingered behind and paced slowly alongside Mick as Wren and Tommy hurried ahead with Vince to explore their surroundings. Nikki had known Wren for two years now, and had seen her in a number of different lights: strong, defiant, independent, vulnerable, scared, and sorrowful, but one of his favorites was her genuine excitement towards things. Even though he stood a few feet behind her, he knew her face would be beaming under the sunglasses she’d stolen from him that morning on the way to the event. Her cheeks would be full with delight as her intoxicating smile fell over her lips. Her movements were energetic as she and Tommy noticed her the stage the band would share that day with the greats that had paved the way for them. With jubilance in her steps, Wren nearly dragged Tommy by the arm as she ran towards the stage. With a leap, Wren heaved herself up onto the stage with her best friend on her heels. Together, they stood arm in arm, and gazed out at the vast grounds before them that would soon be filled with eager fans throwing themselves around to the newest songs she and Nikki had written.

Nikki couldn’t help himself as he stared up at the woman he’d slowly begun to—no, it’s too early for that, Sixx. He knew a smile was rising to his face as he looked up at Tommy and Wren. Without a second thought, he grabbed the polaroid camera Wren had asked him to hold for her, pointed the lens at his two closest friends as Tommy put his arm around Wren’s shoulders and pointed out across the grounds. There was something about capturing them in such a pure moment in their friendship that made the smile on Nikki’s face grow only to fall. Seeing them together, forever frozen in that moment as the image began to appear on the photograph before him, Nikki couldn’t help but disdain how Tommy was blessed with the luxury of being able to act however he wants around Wren with no consequences from Doc or Doug. Nikki already wasn’t the biggest fan of having the pair of new managers, and he was convinced that if they knew he was dating Wren, they would treat her less like one of their equals and more like a groupie.

Fuck, he cursed himself as he thought back to how Wren was initially treated when the band was still in its infancy. No one took her seriously, she had to fight her way to the top of waiting lists just to talk to someone to get them booked in a shitty dive bar because they assumed she was just some groupie trying to find out where Motley Crue was playing and not their fucking manager trying to book a show. He didn’t want her to back peddle on the name she’d made for herself as Motley Crue’s manager, but having two other people assigned the same title seemed, at least to Nikki, like a slap in the face to Wren’s success over the past two years.

I’m going to be the reason she doesn’t succeed. The harrowing thought crossed Nikki’s mind without warning as he stared at the photo before him of Wren and Tommy, excitedly gaping about what was both literally and figuratively on the horizon. The single moment he’d captured in time of two friends who meant the world to one another brought up the ugly feelings of jealousy he used to harbor upon realizing he would never have as much history with Wren as Tommy, Mick, or even Vince did. Nikki tried to push those feelings down as he noticed Wren jump down from the stage, rush up to him, pull the camera from his neck and give it to Tommy.

“Let’s get a picture Nikki,” she said once she returned to his side. As he shoved the intrusive thought from his mind, it seemed to manifest in his heart. He slipped and arm around her waist, but the pair didn’t move any closer than where they currently stood, and Nikki knew that if any stranger compared the two photos, they would assume Tommy was the one dating Wren…not him.

As Tommy clicked the button and handed the camera back to Wren, the picture began to print. Before Wren could examine the photo, Nikki had snatched it from where it was printing and had begun to shake it above his head. “You’re going to ruin it,” she huffed as she lowered the camera’s lanyard around her neck and folded her arms over her chest as her eyes narrowed on her boyfriend.

“Shaking it helps the ink dry faster,” Nikki stated so matter-of-factly that had Wren not read the instruction manual of her camera, she would have believed him. She rolled her eyes and huffed at his observation before speaking again.

“Shaking it damages the image, you arrogant know-it-all,” she muttered with a smirk on her lips. Nikki wanted to make her come after him to retrieve the photo, but he knew there were eyes on them: more specifically, the eyes of the two people they hired to be equals with Wren, but whom he believed were trying to become her bosses. Slowly, he extended the photo back to her and felt his heart sink once more that morning as she plucked the picture from his fingers.

“Whatever you say, babe,” Nikki sighed under his breath as Doug approached where the trio stood.

“Getting a lay of the land I see,” he commented to the group without really looking any of them in the eye. This—standing alone in and desolate field merely hours before it would become teeming with life and excitement—was nothing new to Doug. He’d been in bigger places with bigger bands, and he would be lying if he tried to say he could still remember how exhilarating the newness of everything was. To Doc and Doug, the scene was like any relationship—after the honeymoon phase is over, it’s all the same shit. Hell, they’d been in the game so long they hardly even associated with anyone afflicted by the honeymoon phase of stardom anymore. “You guys are on at 5 tonight. Don’t do anything too stupid beforehand and don’t fucking break yourselves! If a bone splits and you can’t play all of us are fucking S.O.L.” Wren furrowed her eyebrows at Doug’s way of warning the guys not to be a couple of dumbasses, but didn’t bother to interrupt. “You’re going on after Quiet Riot and are going to be followed up by Ozzy Osbourne.”

“No fucking way! We’re opening for Ozzy?” Tommy asked as he folded his arms across Wren’s shoulders and leveraged his weight against hers.

“Yeah, and after him is Judas Priest, followed by Triumph, the Scorpions, and then Van Halen,” Doug explained before he lost Tommy’s attention. “The gates open at 3 so sound check is going to be around 11 for you guys.”

“Don’t start getting into costume until around 3:45 or 4. It’s supposed to be hot and all that leather is going to be a pain in the ass for you guys to sit in for longer than necessary,” Wren interjected as Doug continued his spiel.

“Doc is talking with Mick and Vince right now. We’re going to need all four of you in trailer two by 10:30 and then again at 3:30. Do you mind wrangling them up for that, Wren?” Doug asked and turned to the woman who was currently being used by the lanky drummer as something to rest his head on.

“No problem. I can get them started on hair and makeup then,” Wren responded as she watched the corners of Nikki’s mouth tighten as he pulled back his lips and attempted to hold his tongue.

“Thanks. Doc and I will be a little tied up by then. Do they have a set list made up yet?” Doug continued as he paid no attention to the tension building in Nikki’s body.

“Yeah, Nikki wrote one up,” she said as she dug into her back pocket to find the piece of notebook paper he’d slipped into her denim shorts that morning. She blushed at the memory of a rather groggy Nikki, still half asleep, leaving his room just to come into the kitchen where Wren was making herself some Eggo waffles for breakfast. He stood behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and held onto her as if she were the only thing keeping him on his feet. After muttering a few obscenities about how early they all had to get up to drive to San Bernardino, his hands fell on her waist once more as he dragged himself away from being plastered to her back, and slid a piece of paper into her back pocket before giving her ass a nice squeeze.

“Great, I’ll can get this to the sound engineers. Stay with them and make sure they don’t fuck this up,” Doug said with a sly smirk on his face as he turned away from the three founding members of the Crue.

“She’s not a glorified babysitter!” Nikki spat back before Doug was out of earshot.

“Dude!” Tommy hissed under his breath as he back handed Nikki in the chest. “Do you really want to lose the people who got us this far?”

“They didn’t get us this far, Tommy. They got us this gig. Wren got us everything else, we put ourselves on the map, and now they’re swooping in like vultures, trying to take credit for Motley’s success.” Wren could feel the anger pouring from Nikki’s words, and as much as she wanted to help calm him down, she couldn’t believe the reason he was harboring so much resentment towards Doc and Doug.

“Calm down, Nikki. It’s okay,” she tried to say only for Tommy to speak over her.

“Just chill out, dude. They’re not the bad guys here.”

“What? I can’t correct him in his assumption of what her fucking job is?” Nikki scoffed as he took in Tommy’s wary expression and Wren’s confusion.

“Look, if it bothers me enough, I’ll correct them, okay?” Nikki knew she only meant that she could handle herself, but his mind was on edge. He’d felt an immense amount of bitterness, shame, and guilt for a number of different reasons, all of which he did not want to talk about with Wren because…well because he knew he was being erratic and that her decision on the matter was the best decision to make.

“Of course, you can. I almost forgot I’d learned that lesson the hard way.” Nikki couldn’t keep himself from adding that unnecessary comment, but he certainly hoped he’d said it soft enough for neither Tommy or Wren to hear.

“On that note, I’m going to go check on Mick and Vince,” Wren announced as the smile that had occupied her face fell into a scowl at Nikki’s words. Tommy waited until Wren was well out of their range before he punched Nikki in the arm.

“Ow! What the fuck, man?”

“I should ask you the same thing!” Tommy hissed as he pointed in the direction Wren had walked. “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Nikki asked as he rubbed off the punch he had received and glared into Tommy’s dark, furiously swirling eyes.

“Are you two fighting?” Nikki could hear the obvious change in Tommy’s voice as the abrasive and accusing tone shifted into that of concern. Taking Nikki’s silence as a confirmation, Tommy continued. “She’s been so happy, recently. When did you start fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” Nikki said through somewhat gritted teeth.

“Well, that sounds like something a person in a happy relationship would say. You’ve got me convinced,” Tommy sneered as he folded his arms over his chest and glared at Nikki. With his impatience growing, Nikki found a portion of the walls he’s built up around himself begin to crumble—not enough to let someone in, but just enough for a six-foot-four-inch-tall drummer to look over and see what was happening on the inside.

“I didn’t want her to be a groupie.” Nikki sighed in defeat as he balled his right hand into a fist.

“She’s not a groupie,” Tommy quickly denied.

“I know that, and you know that, but Doc and Doug won’t believe it and neither would anyone else we come across who should look at her as the professional she is with this band. They’re just going to see Wren and think, ‘Oh, it’s the girl that fucks around with Motley Crue,’ but she’s so much fucking more than that.”

“She doesn’t fuck around with Motley Crue. She fucks around with you, making her a you-ie, not a groupie.” Tommy tried to chuckle a little to lighten Nikki’s mood, but he didn’t seem to know the best ways to reassure Nikki, at least not in the ways that Wren did.

“I just don’t want to be the reason she isn’t taken seriously. I don’t want to feel like I’m holding her back.” As Nikki vocalized his concerns, Tommy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sorry dude, but Wren’s a tornado. Once she’s on a path, there’s not much that can stop her. I mean, I’ve never tried to lasso a tornado, but I would assume it would be easier than holding Wren back from doing what she’s set her mind to. Besides that, Wren is always going to make sure she’s taken seriously, regardless of her connections to anyone. Fuck, I’m her best friend! The most non-serious human being to attend a high school was best friends with the girl who was valedictorian and had her associate’s degree before she got her high school diploma! No one who knows Wren doubts her, and no one who doubts her matters.”

“Then why the fuck do I feel so shitty about what would happen to her if Doc and Doug knew she was with me?”

“Maybe the reason you feel like shit and are concerned about damaging any reputation she has with the new managers is because you love her.” The second that word—the ‘L’ word Nikki hadn’t used to describe anyone other than his grandparents—left Tommy’s mouth, Nikki’s stomach sank and he contemplated throwing up on Tommy’s shoes for suggesting such a thing. Love? No. Love was something people spend their lives looking for and end up settling for something similar—some other type of connection that feels like what they assume love is. Love isn’t something that walks into a men’s room from an alley, mouths off to you, and steals your liquor. Love isn't something that happens to you after getting punched in the face. It doesn't walk up to your booth in a diner dressed in leather. Love doesn't have an intoxicating smile. It isn't when someone gets you riled up for the sake of being able to. It’s not the reason people steal music for someone else, or the catalyst behind one’s anger after someone else is harmed. It’s not the sharing of pain from one soul to another, or the safety of home a person finds in another person. Love doesn't just wander into your life at twenty-three-years-old, burrow inside your chest, and then decides to wake up from its nap two years later. Is it?

[hawklanstargazer]

Fractured Diamond Chapter 4

(TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault)

Mondo didn't know how long he sat there. He could see no indication of light anywhere in the room, although the cloth tied around his eyes didn't help either. The gang figured a blindfold would provoke more fear, thus better reactions, better screams. Not that it would even matter, Mondo couldn't even see if he wanted to. His left eye was swollen shut, and his right was sealed under a thick line of blood from his forehead. He figured the gang preferred it anyway for twisted aesthetic purposes. The cement chamber had proven to be soundproof, so it wasn't like he could call for help anyway, his throat felt like sandpaper. Every breath he was forced to take was agonizing, even shallow ones were labor. Every time his chest expanded was as if his ribs were stabbing him through his lungs and sides, fractures creaking against each other like an old wooden door. Breathing through his mouth would result in him gagging blood from where his rear teeth used to be, only furthering his burning chest. Breathing through his nose was his only choice, forcing him to take in the horrid stench of blood, sweat, and urine that lingered in the air. He remembered their jeers before leaving him in his "pigsty". He should've been humiliated, but breathing was taking up all the energy he had left. 

No one was coming for him. And why would they? What samaritan would wanna fought off one of the most dangerous gangs in Japan to save some lowly biker who probably screwed them over somehow? Was this the price for being in a gang? For being a Diamond? No, he wasn't a Diamond. Not anymore. Or maybe he never was. 

'Just a shiny piece of glass, shiny piece of glass, shiny piece of glass...'

Intrusive thoughts were nothing new to Mondo they were his only company at this time. Every taunting word stuck to his brain like a hair on honey. Not once did he try to shake them out. At first, he did, but eventually learned to like it. Like a dog learning his name, Mondo learned his place in the world. 

A faint but alerting metal clashing against a concrete wall crawled its way through Mondo's intrusive thoughts, he was too familiar with it by now. His body instinctively curled in on itself as much as his bindings and injuries would allow, which wasn't much, prepared to take whatever beating he was about to receive.

'...notadiamondnotadiamonddnotadiamondnotadiamondnotadiamond...'

Mondo wheezed in a small whimper as inside and outside voices blended in his skull. "..Okay...I...I get it..!" he slurred in a half-sob "I...I'm not a Diamond..! Okay..?! I get it...! You were right..!"

'notadiaMondnotadiamOndnotadiamoNdnotadiamonDnotadiamOnd..'

He jumped as something or someone grazed his bruised face. He cried out as loud as his broken ribs would let him. "S-stop...! I'm sorry, okay?! Jus...just lemme...lemme...d..!"

"--MONDO!"

He felt something touch his cheek again, but something felt different. Familiar. He hadn't realized his blindfold had been removed when he forced his swollen eye to open. He almost believed what he saw was real. 

Daiya, his brother, standing before him at eye level. His figure was silhouetted from the illuminated doorway, but there was no doubt it was him, Mondo recognized those sunset-orange eyes anywhere, glistening like dim but burning embers. But something was off about his face. It seemed to be stretched in an expression Mondo wasn't familiar with. Panic? That wasn't a face Daiya was known for. He always kept a cool front, no matter how fucked the situation was. His thick, black eyebrows were always furrowed, and his lips in a permanent half-smile to assure anyone he's ready to take on anything. So why does he look so scared? Mondo could see his lips moving, and it only took a moment to finally snap out of his daze and hear his brother.

"--ondo! Can you hear me?" he moved Mondo's crimson-caked bangs from over his eye, and Mondo was finally able to open it. 

"Gnhh...D-Daiya..?" he said in a hoarse whisper

Daiya rested his chin on his chest as he heaved a brief sigh of relief. "Thank god, thought I lost ya there, Lil bro." he half-chuckled, "It's okay, you're safe. We're gonna get you out."

'We?', Mondo thought.

As if hearing his thoughts, Daiya turned behind him and called out. "Michi, guys, he's over here! Come help me out with this!" 

"Got it!"

Another voice. Mondo recognized it; Takemichi, their youngest brother. Mondo was still trying to fathom it all, but there wasn't any room for doubt. This was all real, happening right before him, and he could not be more ashamed. 

Takemichi's darkened figure appeared through the doorway and froze where he stood, eyes fixed on Mondo. "Holy shit..." he breathed. Michi hasn't been in the gang for very long, probably less than a year now. He was still a middle schooler, still had some childlike innocence in him that was reignited after he ran away from his abusive household and found a new home with the Diamonds. Daiya wanted to preserve that innocence as much as possible, keeping Michi away from the action when things got bloody. So much, he wanted the boy to stay at the base while they rescued Mondo, but his stubbornness was like that of an ox. He was a Diamond, after all. Most times, Mondo believed him to be more so than himself.

An orchestra of boots stomping grew heavier and heavier until the room was flooded with Diamonds, all exchanging looks of shock and even concern when they saw the room and Mondo's fragile form. It was overwhelming, for them to see Mondo so pathetically mounted like this, like a prisoner, the fact that this image of him will be burned into their brains forever, Mondo felt as though he could just die right then and there if the universe showed him a glimmer of mercy. 

"Woah, stand back, guys." Takemichi directed the other gang members, "Give him some air. We only need a few men in here."

Daiya peeked over his shoulder to meet eyes with the gang. "You heard 'im. Clear out," he said in a stern tone, firm enough to command his team but soft enough not to frighten Mondo. Understanding the order, most of the members left while only a select few remained. Michi turned to Mondo and have him a reassuring smile before going to help Daiya. 

Mondo felt the two crouched on each side under his arms as the other Diamonds cut through the rope binding his wrists. Losing the support of the rope, he fell and would've crashed onto the concrete if Daiya and Michi weren't ready to catch him. He wished it was comforting as it was, but their support reignited his bodily pain. Crouching forward brought agony to his ribs, but straightening up burned the cuts on his back. He let out a dry painful groan. As if remembering, Daiya quickly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a water bottle, offering it to Mondo's lips. Mondo winced at the sight of the object, visions of past events screamed in his head, but his thirst screamed louder as he chugged the bottle. 

"Woah, hey. Easy, bro, easy." Daiya cooed softly, as he directed Mondo to drink slower. He didn't blame him one bit but knew Mondo would only feel worse if he chugged it. Taking his time savoring the liquid, Mondo had finished the bottle, sighing a relaxed breath as best as his burning lungs would allow. 

Daiya returned the empty bottle to his pocket. He gazed at the rope still loosely binding Mondo's wrists and gently removed them. He winced at the raw ligature wounds, old and new blood alike, coating Mondo's skin. He heard Mondo weakly hiss in pain. He only dared to look at the rest of his body. That didn't matter now, the only thing that did was getting his brother out of this hellhole. "I'm sorry, bro..." he breathed softly. 

Letting Mondo's head rest wearily on his shoulder, Daiya scooped him up in his arms as if he were carrying him to bed when Mondo was a little kid. As they left the room, Mondo felt Daiya nonchalantly step over something, probably some fallen furniture, though judging by the disgruntled expression plastered on Daiya's face and the faint groan under his feet, Mondo figured it was more like someone. The hallway was littered with limp beaten figures of Reapers, only Diamonds standing above them, pinning them down under their feet, giving them a boot to the face if they so much as twitch. Mondo glanced at Daiya's bruised and bloodied knuckles. Of course, his brother wouldn't go on without caving in a few faces of his own. Daiya stopped in his tracks when heard a wet cough behind him, his scowl grown deeper.

"Hey, Owada..!" Several feet away from the Diamond leader lay the grey-clad Reaper leader, beaten and broken. One of the larger Diamonds stood above him with his foot on his neck, although judging by the man's unnaturally bent knee, it was apparent he couldn't return to his feet even if he wanted to, the stance was more for physical empowerment than provided security. The grey man spat out a few bloodied teeth before continuing. "How does it feel...when you lose a brother..?" he wheezed painfully but sternly. "Bet it makes ya feel...fuckin' powerless, knowin' you... coulda done some'in ta prevent it..! My brother...is gone...and so's...yer's. Tell me...how does it feel..?"

Daiya stood strong and firm as a diamond, his expression hadn't faltered. Barely even breathed.

The grey man growled, face contorted in hatred. "What? Ya don't remember me..?" his scowl turned into a sinister smirk. "He does."  

Daiya glanced down at Mondo's body curling up in reminiscent fear. He could only pray those words had an empty meaning. Still, he couldn't help but recall how fragile and painfully Mondo fell to his knees as if he were suffering from a terrible stomach ache. Bile crept up Daiya's throat. 

The man noticed the reaction and his grimace twisted further, showing bloodied teeth. "He knows my name. I...made sure...he never forgets it. He was...beggin' me ta stop, y'know. Beggin' for you...ta save 'im. His whimpers were so...beautifully pathetic. I wish...I recorded it for ya. But I figured it'd be better if ya...imagined it yerself. If ya didn't...drag ya feet, maybe...he'd still be your brother. But now...he's my pet." he let out a wet chuckle as he saw Mondo tremble like a leaf in Daiya's tensed arms. "Go on, boy...tell 'im..! Jog 'is memory..! Say my--" 

"Sasaki!"

Came a deep voice. Mondo would've thought he said that if his throat wasn't already so torn up from screaming that cursed name, his lips couldn't even form the word. He looked up at his brother's discontented face. Surely, he didn't. Another wet laugh from behind. A sharp pain shot through Mondo's heart. 

"So, you do know! Good boy!" the grey man cackled. "Try an' remember that now...! Remember the name...of the man who destroyed you and your brother..! I would say we're even...but there's no reason I can't still have fun with your gang..!" Daiya could feel Sasaki's eyes shift over to Takemichi. "Like him. He's fresh. Doesn't matter if 'e's...just a kid...He's in a gang...an' is better to...learn the hard way. Are you broken yet, Daiya Owada? Or do I...have--"

"Just shut the fuck up and listen, Reaper," Daiya growled, making it clear he wasn't finished talking. The grey man listened on, slightly disappointed at the white-clad man's retaliation. Daiya turned to gaze down at the man with eyes burning like the sun.

"I killed your brother Chisaki." his words flew from his mouth as if it were the most natural thing ever to be said. No hesitation, no remorse, not even a hint of regret. Mondo blinked and looked up at his brother. He couldn't remember the last time Daiya said something so cold, or if he ever heard him speak that way at all. Still, Daiya's eyes hadn't left his target. 

"He didn't seem to get my last message about staying out of our turf. He knew what he was risking when he crossed our path. And he paid for it. I pulled the alarms, I alerted the cops, and I left you all to die. I trust you and your colleagues have enough pattern recognition not to follow in his footsteps. Do what your brother couldn't do, and stay out of our way. If I ever see you or any Reapers on the streets again, it's kill on sight. Consider this business and personal." 

The grey man shuddered but let out a low, blood-curdling growl. "Do it, then!" he coughed and wheezed. "I ain't goin' nowhere, so...ya might wanna finish the job now! Kill me, an' there'll be no more Reapers, no one ta take my place..! So, do it! Kill me!" 

Daiya didn't turn back, nor did he respond. He just walked away, his gang followed, leaving the grey man broken on the ground. 

"Come back an' finish this like a man, Daiya Owada!" Sasaki cried, struggling to pry himself from the floor but to no avail. He heaved in one shaky breath after another as something wet splashed on his hand. 

Daiya heard one last pathetic scream as the door slammed behind him.

"OWADA!" 

[re-diesirae]

Chapter 2

Chris

Chris watched his sister's back as she disappeared down the corridor. Something about her overall appearance was bothering him, but he pushed the thoughts away. Claire always hated it when he hovered over her, and, considering that he hadn't seen the woman in almost three months, he didn't want to spoil their time together by annoying his sister.

"Huh, she's going to be mopping about this later," Saya sighed, "she will be feeling guilty after all this."

The comment caught Chris's attention, and the soldier turned to the Asian doctor with a quizzical look.

"Guilty? Why?" Chris asked.

"Well, it isn't like she gets a lot of friendly visitors often. I can tell she was overjoyed to have you here, but with all this mess, unfortunately, with this mess, Claire has barely been a proper host, and that will haunt her."

Chris felt a pinch of guilt at the woman's words. He knew Claire was a strong girl. Claire had always been independent, but she valued family like nothing else. She probably missed him as much as he missed her; maybe he should consider dropping by more often.

"You seem to know her well," Leon said casually, looking around the place.

"We are old friends and colleagues," Saya said, picking a notepad and scribbling something, "we have grown close after sharing so many night shifts side by side. I am not sure which of us spends more time in this building. Maybe we should start a contest on that."

"Night Shifts?" Chris asked, "She has night shifts?"

"Well, her promotion carried a lot of extra work," Saya explained, "Sometimes the amount is ridiculous, especially when the other chiefs are calling and asking for help. She's too kind to say no. Sometimes she has so much work that she just gave up going home at night. I do the same, so eventually, we ended up making each other company."

"So, she hasn't been going home?"Jill asked.

"She does, but rarely. Deep down inside, I believe she prefers it here because that way, she won't feel lonely. You know she lives alone, and sometimes when something bothers her or she wakes up from a nightmare, it is nice to have someone to chat with and have some hot chocolate."

"Nightmares?" Barry asked.

"She still has them?" Moira asked.

Chris looked at the girl, and he saw Barry put his arm protectively around his daughter.

"Yes, it has become a regular thing lately. I heard yours have become less frequent," Saya said, tilting her head.

Moira nodded and looked at her dad.

"Natalia and I used to have them for a while, too," Moira said, and Barry rubbed her back comfortingly, "but they have almost stopped completely."

"Well, that's good," Saya nodded, "unfortunately, our Claire wasn't so lucky."

"I didn't know she still had them. I mean, we all lived a nightmare on that fucking island. She should have told me. Talking it out might help."

Saya smiled and sighed.

"You know she wouldn't say a word," Saya shrugged.

"Well, why not? We went through that hell together."

Chris was the one with the answer to that.

"Because she always keeps quiet," Chris sighed, "It's been like this since she was a kid. Claire never says anything when she is having trouble with something."

"She doesn't want to worry us, probably," Leon said.

He had spoken with her a few times on the phone. She usually asked how things were doing, and when he returned the question, she merely said she was bored or lots of work. On the phone, it was hard to tell when the girl was hiding something, and the younger Redfield was proficient in that area.

Their chat was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the automatic doors opening. They had expected it to be Claire, but instead, a tall blonde man wearing a black security uniform came in, walking impatiently.

"Ok, Redfield, why did you need me? It better be for a good reason, because I've got to reboot the system, and that is not doing itself."

The blonde stopped dryly and stared at the group in confusion.

"Ok, now this is weird..." he said, turning to the Asian doctor.

"Wallace," Saya said, surprised, "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? Red called me up here. Isn't Redfield here?"

"Well, that depends on which Redfield, kid," Barry snorted.

"What?"

The man was visibly confused, but it was Moira who cleared it up for him. She pointed at Chris lazily.

"What my dad means," Moira said, pointing at Chris, "he is Chris Redfield. I mean the Chris Redfield, you know. Claire's beloved brother?"

"Oh! Now, that makes sense. I'm Grant Wallace, Head of cybersecurity. he said, shaking Chris's hand ceremoniously, "It's an honor to meet you, at last, brother. Forgive my lack of courtesy. I am in a rush since I need to fix the crap those hackers did to my precious system. Let me be a little more specific, then, is Claire here?"

"No, she isn't here," Saya said, crossing her arms, "She left some minutes ago to find you."

"She... what? Why?"

"Why?" Saya said, indignantly, "You called her, and now you ask why?"

"What? I never called her. She was the one who asked me to come up here."

"This isn't time for jokes," Saya chastised him. "We all heard it. You said that there was something in the Command Center you wanted her to see."

"I never said..." Wallace said, "I was in command, and she told me she was having issues with the security system in the lab. She even told me to drag my lazy ass up here, or she would make me pay."

Everyone fell silent, and it was then that something clicked inside Chris's head. If the man had not called Claire, and he was there. Who was waiting for Claire at the Command Center?

"Where is the Command Center?" he said with a grave tone, "Save the talk, just answer…"

"Basement, but…"

Saya's eyes went wide, and Grant fell into realization.

"It is a trap. Someone lured Claire there," Chris said furiously.

Before anyone could react, Chris was already running out of the room, followed closely by Leon and Jill.

Everyone fell silent. It was then that a switch clicked in Chris's head.

"Where is the Command Center?" he said with a grave tone, "Save the talk, just answer…"

"Basement, but there's no one at the Command Center," Wallace said, "and you say I called her down? There's something wrong there."

Wallace's eyes widened, and he looked at Chris in shock.

"Someone lured Claire there," Chris said furiously. "It is a trap!"

Before anyone could react or say anything, Chris was making his way through the corridor, heading for the stairs. The others exchanged glances, and with no more to say, Jill and Leon ran after him.

"Claire, you better be in one piece when I get there," Chris thought out loud as he ran down the stairs, followed by Leon and Jill.

Leon was the first one to follow him as soon as they had found out that Claire was potentially in danger. They were good friends; that fact was not a secret. Both had gone through a lot during the first outbreak in Racoon City, and those kinds of events usually created everlasting bonds between people. If there was anyone as worried as Chris was, it had to be him.

The second set of footsteps were Jill's. The woman seemed worried.

"We need to hurry. I want to be wrong, but if I am not, Claire will need our help," Chris told his companions.

Claire wasn't a damsel in distress. If she had to kick some asses, she would do it without trouble. But if she got tricked down there, she would not have been able to foresee the ambush that awaited her, and the element of surprise would leave her in a disadvantageous position.

They reached the Command Center in a short time. The office door was ajar, and there was no sign of Claire anywhere. That made Chris have a bad feeling.

The trio stepped into the room cautiously. There were evident signs of a struggle: papers scattered on the ground, furniture turned over, and few bloodstains on the floor. There had been a fight, and Chris prayed with all his heart that the red liquid on the ground wasn't Claire's blood. After inspecting the place, they came to the sad conclusion that it was empty.

Chris cursed himself for being late as he watched helplessly around the empty room.

"Shit, where are you, Claire?" Chris growled.

"Chris..."

The soldier turned to Leon. The man had crouched, and he was holding something silver in his hand. Chris recognized it at once.

"That's Claire's necklace."

"It seems she got ambushed," Jill said, after looking at the scene, "No deaths, as there are no corpses, but judging by the looks, someone got beaten into a pulp."

As long as that someone wasn't his sister, it was fine. Chris could live with it.

"Three attackers," Jill said, "Male and trained. I think Claire knocked out two, but she missed the third one. They can't be too far."

"We gotta move if we want to find her, then."

Jill nodded. The group was ready to step out when Jill stopped them and brought a finger against her lips, telling them to be silent. Someone was outside the room. The trio exchanged looks and took cover to listen.

"That bitch didn't go down without a fight, huh?" an unknown male voice said, "she's feisty. I guess that is why they are interested."

"She's tougher than the other ones," a second voice said, "what do you suppose they do with them?"

"That's none of your business. Our task is to collect the subjects. The rest is up to them," the first man said. "Now, move. You don't want to be in the city when they drop those presents in the city."

"Now that's going to be a show. What do you think those guys will send this time?"

"Some of their ugly pets, probably."

Chris looked at Leon and Jill. Those last words made the hair on the back of Chris's neck stand up. They were planning an attack on the city, and if it were as bad as Chris imagined, Hughesville would soon turn into a second Lanshiang Catastrophe.

"Let's see how those stupid TerraSavers handle that," the first voice said with amusement.

The trio held their breath as the voices receded. Chris had to restrain himself from attacking the men with his fists. Those men were his best chance at finding Claire. He would make them pay, but until his sister was safe and sound, he would let them go.

"Are they planning to launch an attack here?" Jill asked, "I can't believe this."

"We should get used to this crap," Chris said with anger, "Jill, go back to Barry and the others. We need to warn the BSAA about a possible bioterrorist attack asap. We need the forces to get moving before things get out of control."

"Yes, of course," Jill nodded, "what are you going to do?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Chris said, fiercely, "I am hunting down those assholes and getting my sister back."

"Chris, don't get me wrong, but going after them all on your own..." Jill said, and Chris growled.

"If I wait, I'll lose them. I can't let that happen."

"Yes, I understand that, but you can't expect me to let you go alone."

"He won't," Leon said. "I'll go with him. I'll help him get Claire back, so you can focus on evacuating the people before this becomes another tragedy."

Jill looked at them and hesitated.

"I have Leon as my backup. I will be fine. The attack will happen soon. If we want to save as many people as we can, we need to hurry. I am sure everyone in TerraSave will help us."

Jill nodded. The woman turned on her heels and ran back through the corridor, leaving the soldier and the agent behind. Chris knew that Jill was reluctant to leave. She loved Claire, too, and the idea of the girl getting kidnapped by a bunch of terrorists didn't make her happier than it made Chris. However, duty was a duty; the woman turned on her heels and ran back through the corridor, leaving the soldier and the agent behind.

Chris turned to Leon and found the agent fidgeting with his mobile phone.

"I contacted Hunnigan and asked her to help us track down Claire's kidnappers."

"Great, that will come in handy," Chris nodded, "Did you bring any weapons?"

Leon gave him a smile of irony and showed him the holster under his jacket.

"After all these years," Leon said, "They never leave my side."

"Tch, it must be nice to have the government's permission to carry your toys," Chris scoffed, "Fair enough. Let's move, then."

The two men rushed out of the room, following the path that the two chatting men from earlier had taken. It wasn't long before Leon and Chris caught up with them. It was a group of six men wearing black suits and masks. One of them, as Chris noted, was carrying an unconscious Claire over his shoulders. The sight was enough to make the man's blood boil, and the soldier clenched his fists, ready to throw a few punches.

The eldest Redfield looked at Leon, sending him a tacit plan, and the man nodded. They pulled out their guns and shot, aiming at the legs. The first man fell to the ground. The group was confused for a moment, but they soon reacted to their attackers. Three of the closest men began to fire back while the remaining ones sneaked away with Claire. It was evident that their priority was getting her out of the building.

Chris cursed. He had no time to waste, and the men were right in the way. He looked at Leon, and the blonde nodded, raising three fingers, counting down. When the last finger was out, the two jumped out from their cover and began firing at the men. The encounter lasted a couple of minutes, and soon the three attackers laid dead on the floor.

Leon seized the chance to check the bodies.

"What's that?" Chris asked, seeing that Leon had pulled out something from one of the body's pockets.

"A badge. I recognize it. It's one of those small terrorist groups that have ties to Neo-Umbrella," Leon muttered, "I'll let Hunnigan know. Let's get Claire back before they escape."

"Roger to that," Chris nodded.

The two men made their way through the empty corridors until they reached the underground parking lot. Chris and Leon made an abrupt stop when a black van passed them at full speed and broke through the parking entrance.

Chris glared at it and ran to the guard's office. The guard was on the floor. The soldier checked his vitals and concluded that the man was dead. There was nothing that he could do, so he picked a set of keys and rushed to grab one of Terra Save's vehicles.

It took them nothing to catch up with the van, and Chris was glad that no traffic had tried to stop him for his reckless driving. He could picture his sister's lecture about it in his mind, but considering the circumstances, Chris thought that his recklessness was reasonable.

"There they are," Leon said, putting out his gun, "keep it steady. I'll try to stop them."

Chris watched Leon stretch out through the window and began shooting. His accuracy was on point, and Chris was grateful that the agent was pointing at the tires only. It was the safest way to stop the car without the risk of hurting Claire in the crossfire.

"Leon, watch up," Chris said.

Two men were coming through the van's windows with their guys aiming at them. The exchange of fire was unavoidable, and Chris had to maneuver the car the best he could to avoid the incoming fire.

"The bastards came prepared," Leon groaned, reloading his gun. "I guess this won't be easy."

"Has it ever been easy?"

"Right," Leon snorted. The blonde aimed his gun and shot the man on the left.

The bullet hit the man cleanly on his forehead, killing him instantly.

"Nice shot," Chris smirked.

Leon smirked at the compliment, but the light mood short-lasting.

A loud crash resounded in the street as one of the closest buildings collapsed right in front of them, blocking the way and forcing the black van to make a turn to dodge the flying debris. A strong inhuman roar echoed through the city, and Chris found that howl unpleasantly familiar.

"Shit," Chris groaned, pushing the door open, "not this guy again."

"Friend of yours?" asked Leon, doing the same.

"Old acquaintance."

The ogroman let out a savage howl, hitting the nearby buildings with his large hands. The men in the black van had stepped out with their cargo. Claire was still unconscious. They seemed to have forgotten about their human chasers and were only concerned with finding a way to escape the infamous creature. The ogroman, however, had other plans. It snatched a couple of the more unlucky men and broke their bones with its hand.

Their fate wasn't one Chris wished for anyone, not even those damned terrorists.

"Great, just what we need," he growled.

"I am guessing you know how to deal with this guy," Leon asked with a frown.

"Yeah, and I can tell you we are not ready for this fight."

"Why am I not surprised?" Leon sighed. His attention got momentarily diverted from the monster as he watched the men take Claire through an alley. "Chris..."

Chris followed the blonde's sight and frowned. They ran to the alley to chase the escaping group but got violently stopped by the Ogroman punching the street. Chris and Leon rolled in opposite directions, evading the hit and the flying rocks.

"Shit," Chris cursed, "Are you okay, Leon?"

"I've been better," Leon groaned, "Any ideas?"

"Yeah, you follow those assholes. I'll take care of this guy."

"Are you nuts?"

"Don't worry. I know how to deal with it," Chris replied, "I'll distract it. You get Claire."

Leon pondered their options and nodded. Chris wasn't a rookie. He was a veteran with even more experience than Leon in some things. If someone could deal with that thing, it was him. Leon took some of his extra ammunition and threw them to Chris.

"Take this. You'll need it."

"Really. Where were you hiding these, huh?"

"I've got my tricks. Be careful, Chris."

"You, too, and make sure Claire is safe, or I'll kill you myself."

Leon snorted. He gave Chris a wave and ran into the alley, leaving the soldier to face the ogroman.

Chris could only trust that the man would save his sister; then again, Leon had proved himself a competent fighter and probably was the person that worried most about Claire, after himself, of course.

"Time to do some clean-up."

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 4.5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: guns, fighting, shooting, murder (none of the characters!), fluff??, mentions of insecurities

A/N: This takes place AFTER Neville tosses reader off the balcony.

“Alright boss! I’ve got her, toss her down!” Seamus called, arms outstretched. As much as Neville didn’t want to, he knew the safest option was throwing her down to him. Without another thought he placed a kiss on her forehead before flinging her over the balcony. 

Neville sighed, smoothing down loose strands of his hair as he watched Seamus run off with her before disappearing into the distance. He wasn’t worried about his ability to protect her. Seamus was more than capable of getting her home safe and sound. He was worried about how she was feeling and whether she’d be too upset with him about it all. Even though he hadn’t lied to her, he wasn’t fully truthful about what his job really was and he was scared that once she realized, she’d leave.

“Well, let’s get to business.” he said to himself before cocking his gun, making his way inside. As soon as he did so a fist came flying his way which he dodged, jabbing his elbow into the crown of the attackers head. He heard a familiar chuckle, looking up to see Ron there, a small cut on his face.

“That was a close one. Your little girlfriend got you distracted, boss?” he asked. Neville’s response was halted due to another challenger which he shot right in the center of the forehead. He felt a movement behind him, turning around he headbutted the guy causing him to collapse to the ground. He turned back to Ron who was wide eyed, a smirk on his face.

“You were saying?” he felt a movement to his side aiming his gun but quickly lowering it when he saw it was Fred. He was kneeling by the guys who were either dead or passed out, taking the money from their wallets. Neville rolled his eyes, kicking him in the rear which caused him to fall over. “You still do that? What is the point in that, you make more than enough money!”

Fred stood up shrugging as he brushed himself off. “It’s a tradition! We did it on our first ever mission and I’ll do it to the end.” He held up his hands, flashing the fifties and hundreds. “Plus it never hurts to have pocket change.”

“Whatever. Where’s George?” his answer questioned itself as he heard a familiar hyena like laugh combined with the a round of rapid gunshots. “Nevermind. You and George take the basement. I’ve got Blaise searching the more obscure areas. Ron, I’ll stay with you down here. Any questions?” they all shook their heads and he nodded before beginning to walk off. “What’re you doing then? Let’s go!”

So far, everything had been going quite successful. After taking out the majority of the men, they found the ones who were in charge of the missing shipment. They clearly weren’t the ones in charge, he assumed them to be two lower rank goons trying to make their ranks up to whatever rich family they were employed to.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Who the fuck are you working for?” he asked the guy through gritted teeth, gripping at his jaw harshly. The two men had been refusing to speak since they had been tied up, resulting in them being bestowed a plethora of bruises, cuts, and wounds. Near there feet were a few teeth covered in the remains of their own blood. “No? Okay how about this one then, where is the shipment?” he growled out. The two men continued to look back and forth, scared out of their mind. Neville shrugged, standing up as straight. He shot a look to Ron who snapped his fingers causing one of their men to open the door. In they brought in one of the few enemy men who hadn’t been beaten, killed, or escaped. Without hesitating Neville pulled the trigger, blood splattering on the wall. The men in the chairs jumped, loud sobs and pleas leaving their mind.

The mob boss laughed, walking around them in a circle. He held the gun to the back of the one on the lefts head. “You know, I could take your life just like I did his. I’ve got zero fucks and an insanely bad temper so if you wanna push your luck, so be it.” He trailed the gun over to the side of the man’s head as he leaned down closer to him. “But just know it will cost you your fucking life. I don’t have time for games and your existence just so happens to be one.” the man stuttered, not really saying any real words as he tried to stay still as possible. He removed his gun from that man’s head, putting it on his partners. “Or you? You look weaker than him so why don’t you go ahead and spill?” he felt a puddle at his feet, noticing the guy had completely pissed himself. He grimaced, growling as he dug the gun deeper into his head. “ Your in real deep shit now so I suggest you start speaking.”

“I-it was the Livingstons! They heard about the shipment that was gonna be leaving and told us to do something about it! They sent us all as a warning to tell yous all to step off!” he wailed, his partner nodding frantically from beside him. “We ain’t toss it in no water or nothing! It’s at Belmont pier on the corner of Demona Drive!” Neville hummed in content, pulling the gun away from his head. The men relaxed, sighing in relief. Little did they know, Neville was not being so kind tonight. He was tired and worst of all, they had ripped him away from his flower. Sure it wasn’t directly their fault, but still held some of the responsibility.

“See? Now was that too hard fellas?” he said, taking a seat in the large chair behind the desk in the room. He sighed, a fake pout making its way onto his face. “Unfortunately for you though, you’ve wasted hours of my time and messed up my Givenchy’s. Harry, bring in the twins. I’ve got better places to be. Ron get the car and bring it around front.”

“Th-the twins?! Who are the twins?” he smirked, not turning around as he reached the door.

“Oh you’ll see soon enough. Probably the last thing you’ll see actually. Blaise, Draco. Let’s go.” he said as they all walked out the room, the twins taking their place. As they walked towards the entrance the sounds of screams could be heard from the room.

“I’ve gotta go get something real quick boss, I’ll be right back.” Draco said before running off towards the stairs. Blaise chuckled some, shaking his head as he nudged Neville.

“That was harsh, even for you boss.” he said, opening the car door for the man as he slid in next to him. Neville took out a blunt from his pocket, sparking it. He took a large hit before passing it to Blaise, looking out the window. “Guessing it has something to do with your girl waiting at home?”

“More or less. I just wanna make sure she’s alright. I-I know she’s in good hands but I can’t help to worry. She’s sensitive, you know?” Blaise nodded along, patting the man on the leg.

“I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll be home shortly.” with that, the car door opened once more a giggling Twyla hopping in with Draco who’s face was covered in lipstick. 

“That was amazing! I can’t believe you guys get to do that all the time!” she exclaimed, snatching the blunt from Blaise’s hands. Draco tightened his grip on her waist as the car began moving again. Blaise laughed some too, relaxing into his seat.

“Yeah you were a natural out there! Perhaps you’ll consider joi-”

“No absolutely not.” Draco spoke up, taking the blunt from the girl as she stuck it between his lips. He let out a puff, coughing some as he glared at Blaise. She awwed at him, ruffling his hair.

“Aww you care about me? That’s so sweet! But for your information, I wasn’t going to say yes. I enjoy watching the action more than I like being apart of it!” Draco relaxed some, letting out a deep sigh. Neville couldn’t help but laugh at the dynamic they had. Once Harry was in, he told Ron to floor it which he did.

----------------------------------

When he got to the manor, he went up to his room opening it to see the girl wasn’t in there.

“I figured you’d want me to put her in another room.” Seamus said, startling him. He turned around yawning as he gave him a tired smile.

“Yeah, thanks. I think she’d appreciate her. Is she in the room down the hall from mine?” once Seamus nodded, he walked out of his room heading to down the hall. Once he got there, he smiled at the sight. Twyla had taken the liberty of changing her out of her dress but in her drunken state, forgotten to tuck her in. Lifting her up, he pulled back the silk sheets before tucking her in, pecking her forehead. Neville couldn’t help to smile, she was absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t wait till the day he’d get to wake up next to her, finding her fast asleep in his arms.

‘It wouldn’t help to lie here for a bit, would it?’ he thought to himself. He didn’t plan on staying the night in her room. She had only had her first kiss earlier in the night, a step like this would be sure to make her a bit overwhelmed, especially waking up in a new place. He slid in next to her, letting out a soft groan at the softness of the bed. (Y/n) mumbled something in her sleep, scooting closer to the man, nuzzling her head into his chest. He felt his heart swell. She was too adorable for his own good, every time he looked at her he just wanted to ruin her. Carding his fingers through her hair, he yawned taking a long blink.

------------------------

Neville jolted awake, looking at the analog alarm clock on the side table. 3:30 AM. “Shit.” he mumbled, looking down to see the (h/c) haired girl was still there. He began to slide out the bed, placing a pillow where he was once lying. He grinned softly, brushing her hair out of her face as she snuggled into it. He was glad she was sleeping so well. Neville had worried that the girl would have trouble adapting to everything but to his luck, she was doing just fine.

Closing the door gently, he sighed before making his way back to the room, throwing himself on the Alaska king bed.

“One day.”

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[adamarks]

If one more person says simon snow should lose his wings i’m gonna lose my goddamn mind: a meta

Alright you guys, I’ve had ENOUGH. Simon cannot lose his wings unless you want him to break up with Baz, and this is why.

Let’s start with Baz.

This analysis is obviously Simon-based, and yes i’ll get there, but first we need to look at the biggest key we’ve been given to what Simon’s wings could possibly mean subtextually and metaphorically for the story at large. That key is: Baz’s vampirism. 

Baz being a vampire is constantly compared to/mentioned in tandem with his queerness in Carry On. In his first chapters, what are the three most important traits that we learn about him? 

he’s a drama queen

he’s a vampire

he’s hopelessly in love with simon snow

If you boil his character down until he’s basically just a stick figure, that’s what he is: an over dramatic vampire in love with Simon Snow.

We’ve all read the books, we all know this, and we all know he’s much more than that. What of it?

What’s important is that Baz’s vampirism is treated almost the exact same as his homosexuality. 

Hiding it from everyone, being ashamed of it, knowing what you are but being terrified of it. His dad being “definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.” 

I mean, holy shit, let’s look at this bit in Carry on from Chapter 51:

“I think if I got married, to a girl from a good family, my father wouldn’t even care that I’m queer. “

This scene really hits, because how many times have you wondered “What if I was straight? Maybe this thing wouldn’t be as bad?” “What if i was just a straight poc?” “What if I was only gay and not trans?” “What if I was only disabled and not gay on top of it?” What if, what if, what if. Would my life be easier? you wonder. Would I get hurt less? Would people treat me better?

If Carry On is about self-realization, then Wayward Son is about the struggle of self-acceptance. 

Baz going to Las Vegas and meeting Lamb probably seemed familiar for some of you people that are LGBT+. It’s how you feel when you’re from a small town and you go to a big city like New York or Orlando or LA for the first time and you see gay people all around you. Flamboyantly gay! Gay people holding hands! Gay people kissing! Trans people that don’t fit the gender norms! Older trans ladies just walking down the street!

It’s exciting, it’s exhilarating. Your baby-gay brain is so confused because no one’s giving them dirty looks. They don’t look nervous or ashamed. Is this allowed?

The party in the penthouse is glamorous and beautiful and alluring and none of the humans there are scared or look like they’re in real danger. It’s because they aren’t. None of those vampires are there to kill people. 

This is where Baz’s fear of his own nature comes in. Let’s hear it for all you homosexuals in the crowd that are/have been terrified of being predatory. Of turning the gender you’ve been told all of your life you’re not supposed to want into pieces of meat. You feel ashamed for wanting physical intimacy. You feel wrong for wanting emotional intimacy. 

Lamb is the older gay that you meet/learn about/watch on youtube or whatever that makes you learn that no, you’re not inherently evil. Lamb is the queer history, the queer movies, the queer people that you discover that make you learn that “no, i’m not bad. I’m not broken. I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful.” 

Baz thinking the sight of Lamb drinking that guy’s blood being alluring and beautiful is crucial to his arc. Baz needs to see that all of him is beautiful. 

So homosexuality = Baz being a vampire? How in the flying fuck does this have anything to do with Simon?

Remember, Baz is our key. His struggles have been happening since book one. Simon just gained his “creature” status at the end of Carry On. He’s new to this. Which means we’re new to the subtext. Which means: let’s dive on into the next big point.

Our Big Bisexual Boy

Whatever label you choose to use for Simon is up to you. As long as we all agree he likes more than one gender then it’s whatevs. I’m going to be using the word bisexual for this meta, though. 

We’re all well aware that Simon is Struggling with his bisexuality in this book. 

“I still haven’t sorted out whether I’m still attracted to women or whether I ever was, or whether I’m some kind of Baz-only-sexual. But the cleavage at this place is abundant, and I’m not mad about it.”

(taken from chapter 21) 

Like....... y’know. We know. It’s... we get it. 

The important part of that quote is that it’s at the Ren Faire. The Ren Faire is the first time Simon’s had his wings out in public since god-knows-when, if ever. This is also the first time he really considers kissing Baz in the book. Kissing Baz in Public.

Any of you that have been to Pride probably got a little bit of the warm fuzzies during this scene. The faire brought back such deep memories of my first pride it was a little bit emotional. I talked to random people, people ran around in rainbow outfits. There was body paint! Stupid hats! Weird dye jobs! The classic pride-flag-as-a-cape look! I talked to so many people and 

“Everyone here is so friendly.”

(also taken from chapter 21)

Everyone was so nice to me.

Baz feels right at home; Simon is all smiles. The only one not having a blast is Penny and she’s (I’m sorry, Penny) the token straight friend in these books. 

I don’t know how Rainbow did it, but she made me relive my first pride through Simon, and I’ll never not be grateful for that. 

“Today I’m someone else entirely. Today I’m just a bloke with fake red wings.”

The Pride/Ren Faire parallels were pretty obvious, but I wanna get a little further into the whole “wings = being bisexual” thing. 

We’ve established with Baz that being a magical creature or whatnot is Gay, but while Baz is fully magical, Simon’s “half-normal.” Kind of. It’s a weird situation there but half-normal works for the argument. 

“’Smells like dragon... but also smells like iron. Another abomination!’” 

(chapter 35)

Now the word “abomination” is really fucking unfortunate in this context, but biphobia exists so idk man. I’m gonna start talking in gay/straight terms and I absolutely know bisexuality isn’t half-gay half-straight but we’re talking in metaphors and i’ll tie it together at the end so just stick with me, okay?

He’s part dragon, part Normal (kind of). Simon’s not like Baz where he’s absolutely, 100% a vampire. He has traits of dragons and humans. This is why it’s so bad that he hates his wings half the time. They are part of him. They may not be “normal” and he may have to hide them, but he can’t just cut off the gay part. Our queerness doesn’t define us, but it’s a defining feature. 

Penny says she wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t a mage. Simon wouldn’t be Simon if he wasn’t bi. 

The mistake Simon and almost everyone else makes during this book is that they think of his wings as these separate entities. There is no gay part and straight part of Simon Snow. All of him is Simon. From the tips of his toes to the tops of his wings, all of him is Simon. He might’ve discovered this part of himself during a tragic point in his life, but that doesn’t mean it has to be something bad. It doesn’t have to be something tainted. 

Sometimes you discover things about yourself during the hardest moments of your life. When you’re already down in the dirt, beaten and bruised, sometimes a mirror is put in front of you and you realize something. You realize you’re trans. You realize you’re gay. And sometimes you resent those realizations because they came to you at the worst possible time. “This is just one more thing on my plate,” you think. 

This series is about reclaiming the things that where taken from you by the ones that hurt you. 

Simon’s going to have to learn to love his wings, because even though they remind him of something that hurts-- hurts more than anything-- they’re part of him. They are him, as much as the rest of his body is. Simon’s going to have to forgive himself, and learn to love himself for all that he is. 

Because all that he is is beautiful. 

We all know it; it’s time for him to understand that.

All right, bitches. Let’s get to the bit we all REALLY care about. this is the one that really fucks me up my dudes. Because it’s Brutal. But anyways here we go.

His wings are the Big Baz Love 

What are the two things that Simon’s  considering cutting off in this book?

“That’s what I’m going to say when I break up with Baz.”

“Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready.”

(Chapter 2, Epilogue)

Yikes!

My guys..... Simon and Baz don’t kiss unless Simon’s wings are out.

I truly do not understand how some of you are out here saying Simon’s gonna lose his wings I really don’t. It’s stressful. I’m stressed. Ms. Rainbow Rowell, you have me stressed. 

His Wings! Are! His Love!

On Love’s Light Wings!

Goatman dances his nasty little fingers all over the bridge that is Baz’s ass? Wings out, uses his tail to help kill the guy. Lamb is hitting on Baz too much? 

“’Spell my wings off.’”

(Chapter 45)

In the airport, when a lady is giving them the “don’t be gay” stink eye he immediately checks to make sure his tail is hidden. 

Baz can’t spell his wings off, guys. 

Baz can’t spell his wings away.

“’Snow needs you to cast your angel spell on him. I hid his wings for breakfast, but they’re still there.’“

(Chapter 19)

In Chapter 41, the biggest kiss scene we get, Simon wraps his wings around Baz to hold him. He’s embracing him in his love guys. Guys. 

Have you people noticed how i’m suddenly less articulate? It’s because i’m in crisis. Set me on fire I wouldn’t notice. I’ve been living with this terrible knowledge.

The first scene we finally see them kiss is after the scene at the Ren Faire when Simon’s wings are finally out and he finally got to fly.

“Simon catches up with me and traps me against the car. He’s kissing me before I see it coming.” 

Simon is so dtf in this scene Penny throws a water bottle at them, and it hits him in the wing. 

“’So hot,’ Simon Says. ‘Got to see you fight without picking a fight with you myself.’

Bunce throws a plastic bottle over my shoulder, and it smacks Simon in the wing.”

(Chapter 22)

She had to smack him right in the love for him to calm down, my dudes, my guys. Do you realize how hard it was for me to annotate this goddamn book with this knowledge? Every. Single. Time. Simon stretches a wing or flaps them around it’s about Baz. It gets to the point where you have to put the book down or you’re gonna explode. 

Simon’s wings are always out around Lamb. He’s jealous as hell and he hates that motherfucker’s guts. The only real injuries Simon sustains in this book are to his wings and they’re almost always when Baz gets hurt too. 

When did Simon get his wings? Only a day after he first kissed Baz.

Simon’s love for Baz is so big and so obnoxious he can’t hide it. His wings and tail have spikes, because that’s all Simon knows. He’s rough around the edges, he’s been hurt, he’s been used.

He’s never been in love before.

His love is spiky; it’s loud. It’s hotrod red and you can’t miss it when it’s out. Baz can’t see it, because Simon’s tucked it away. He hasn’t flown with it. He hasn’t wrapped it around Baz in so long. He doesn’t know how to handle a love this big, where to put it, when to unfurl it. 

Simon gets jealous. He gets scared. He’s insecure. He wants so dearly to finally give to someone instead of feeling like he’s just giving in. Like he’s still just taking from Baz.

What do you do with wings? 

How do you find somewhere safe to fly?

The Resolution.

I said earlier that if Carry On is a story of self-discovery, Wayward Son is a story of self-acceptance.

Simon has to love himself, and learn that his love for Baz is a good thing. As he accepts himself (and his dragon powers evolve go read my dragon simon meta it’s good.) he’s going to start to shine. 

This is a story being told to us with nothing but love. This is a story about a boy that’s his own worst enemy-- as all of us often are. It’s so scary to accept our wings. It’s so scary to accept our fangs. Especially when they’ve come out of such a hideous occurrence. 

We need to accept these dark times and acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, we were made more beautiful because of them. Maybe the light we give after we’ve been in darkness is more vibrant, because we know how scary the dark is. The things that happened to us were horrible, and hideous, and terrifying, but we aren’t. We’re different from how we were before, but we’re still beautiful. 

Simon Snow is going to accept himself.

Simon Snow is going to accept his past.

Simon Snow is going to finally, finally tell Baz he loves him.

And for the first time, Simon Snow is going to see that he’s beautiful.

If you’ve liked this meta you should also check out this one where i explain how they’re finally gonna get their relationship together. Also the one about the scarf

Special thank you to @singerofsimplesongs for listening to me howl and screech about this damn thing. 

Tagging some people that might be interested!

@neck-mole @watfordwallflower @carrybits @theflyingpeach @fight-surrender @shitty-posty-times @wisest-girl @slaying-fictional-dragons @gucciglitzy

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Mostly gen, this chapter is pretty tame. Reader gets pretty horny towards the end but nothing below the belt actually occurs

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 5/16 (all chapters)

You didn’t get any sleep that night.

As a result of your visits to the police station, hospital and briefing at UA, you didn’t get around to checking your phone until 8PM, only to find it had exploded with missed calls, text messages and voicemails. You had missed well over 200 messages in the group chat you shared with your friends and 32 çalls from your mother.

They all knew you worked at UA and by now the attack was all over the news.

You gave up on catching up on everything you had missed after the first five minutes, choosing instead to send a copy pasted message to everyone in your notifications.

Hello, there was an incident at UA today. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Thank you for your concern.

Responding was a mistake, for even more messages flooded through the moment you hit send.

Everyone wanted to know the gory details. Cousins you hadn’t talked to in years suddenly had more than a passing interest in your affairs.

And then there was the message that made you drop your phone; a single sentence buried between notifications.

It was from your ex.

You had parted on relatively good terms, considering, though hadn’t talked since he picked up his things from your house. You had told yourself it was for the best, even if it shattered your heart to pieces.

It was strange to hear from him now and he seemed to know it, for his words were no more intimate or friendly than those of your distant cousins. It was as if you’d never been lovers, yet memories flooded back.

You remembered eating lunch together at your kitchen table; remembered wearing his sweater on nights he wasn’t home and burying your nose in the collar. You remembered picking out dresses for date nights and taking his hand on the train ride home.

It had been a long, emotional day and you didn’t trust yourself to reply. Instead you got up to make a late dinner, stealing glances at your phone out of the corner of your eye. You couldn’t help but wonder how today might have gone if you were still together. Would he have picked you up from the police station? Maybe he would have taken you for gelato.

You picked up your phone as you waited for your food to cook, opening and closing his message. You gave up in the end, copy and pasting the same response you had given everyone else, but with one minor change.

Hello, there was an incident at UA today. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Thank you for your concern.

How are you?

He replied within the next five minutes, detailing the brand new business partnership he had achieved with one of the major hero agencies in Roppongi. He’d been chasing such a partnership for many of the years you had known him and it was difficult to stop yourself swelling with pride. He wasn’t your boyfriend now, after all.

He was just as curious about your new job at UA, though mostly seemed confused. You had been in your previous job for years with no desire to move, after all. You kept quiet about the fact that if he hadn’t broken your heart you would probably still be there.

After an hour or so of back and forth, he finally sent the message you had been dreading.

We should go for dinner some time.

You cast aside your phone and poured yourself a much needed glass of wine. You didn’t trust yourself to see him in person. It took everything you had not to call him there and then so you could hear his voice.

Your reply was as polite as it was cagey, apologising for your busy schedule under the current circumstances. It was at least partly true, and he seemed understanding enough. Everyone in the country knew about UA’s upcoming sports festival, after all.

Little did you know you’d be seeing him far sooner than expected.

━

UA was closed the next day for repairs and staff meetings. All UA staff were present, with one notable exception. Shouta was still in the hospital and expected to rest up for the rest of the week.

The attack on the USJ might have been foiled, but the implications of it were massive, especially with the sports festival on the horizon. You expected the games to be postponed for the immediate future, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, the attack made Nezu even more determined to make this year’s games the biggest yet.

You understood his decision, even if you didn’t completely agree with it. The sports festival was critical to the future prospects of all UA students, many of whom (such as the third year pupils) would not get another opportunity to show off their skills in such a public manner. You only hoped that it wasn’t a mistake.

Your own contributions to the meetings were small in the grand scheme of things and you were finished up for the day by 1:30 in the afternoon. You considered picking up groceries on the way home, only to get off the train at the nearest platform to the hospital.

By now Shouta must have come around from his anaesthesia and you decided to call in and visit to find out if he needed anything, like spare clothes or someone to help out with his household chores during his recovery. You had heard Hizashi and Nemuri make comments about his love for cats and seen cat hair on his clothes on certain occasions. If he had pets, you were only too happy to babysit them while he was away.

Unfortunately, your plans were quashed almost immediately.

“What do you mean he discharged himself?”

━

You thought about Shouta as you took the train, as you packed up your groceries and slipped through your front door. He had been terribly beaten up the last time you’d seen him, so much so that even his doctors had recommended he rest for the week. Why would he leave after less than 24 hours? Why would he overstrain himself in such a way?

You thought about him as you made lunch and the final adjustments to your schedule. He was a grown man, you told yourself. He was perfectly capable of making his own choices and taking care of himself.

Even so, you couldn’t stop thinking about his two injured arms. How was he going to cook? How was he going to clean? Surely he didn’t mean to continue underground work with damage to his skull?

You lasted until 5PM before giving up and texting Hizashi.

Can you call me when you’re free?

He called you only seconds later.

“How can I help you, sweet listener?”

“It’s Shouta,” you said. “I called by at the hospital and...well...he’s discharged himself.”

“He what ?!”

“I know,” you said. “I’m really worried.”

“That’s so typical of him,” Hizashi sighed, “what is he thinking?”

“I was thinking I might stop by his place to check on him,” you said. “Do you know where he lives?”

He went quiet for a couple of seconds, clearly thinking about it.

“You know, (Name), it’s not the kind of neighbourhood for a lady…”

“I’ll text you when I get there?”

“Hmmm…”

You could practically see him leaning back in his chair and scratching his chin.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Thank you!”

“You’ve gotta text me though.”

“I will!”

“And, by the way…”

“Mhmmm?”

“How long have you been calling him Shouta?”

You flushed a bright red, feeling as if you’d been caught with your pants down.

Of all of the teachers, Shouta was the only one who hadn’t openly given you permission to call him by his first name in informal situations. You referred to him as Aizawa while around other people and even on the rare occasions you were alone. You had reset, even if he would always be Shouta in your mind.

“I…I...I’ll speak to you later, haha, bye!”

You couldn’t hang up fast enough. You were convinced the intonation of your voice would betray the truth.

You buried your head in your hands, as if to hide your face from your phone.

Well, shit.

━

Hizashi hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Shouta lived in a shady area. Many of the buildings had boarded over their windows and just about every exposed area of brick had several layers of graffiti, most of which were obscene.

You felt eyes on the back of your neck as you pressed the buzzer for Shouta’s apartment, though soon identified the source as a grey cat sprawled across the wall, watching you with steady amber eyes.

“Hello,” you said, leaning over, “are you the gatekeeper?”

The cat yawned and stretched out a paw.

“Oh, I see, I see,” you said, tapping a fingertip against its paw by way of a handshake. “Well you’re doing a very good job.”

“What are you doing here?”

That voice sounded incredibly familiar and you glanced up towards the balcony above you. Shouta was peering over it, still bandaged up and both of his arms in casts. You couldn’t see his face but you knew he was scowling.

“I came to check in on you,” you called up. “The hospital said you’d discharged yourself, and-“

He turned on the spot.

“As you can see, I’m okay. You can go home now.”

“But…”

You had packed an insulated bag full of food before leaving home and glanced from that to the gate. Were you going to have to carry it back on the train? You’d already packed a big lunch for the next day, ahead of seeing 1-A through counselling. Just what were you going to do with all of this extra food?

Shouta peered back over the balcony and sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “But make sure you hold the door open for Sushi.”

“Sushi?” you wondered aloud as the buzzer sounded and you let yourself through the gate. “Who’s Sushi?”

As if in response, the cat hopped down from its position on the wall and wandered up the path as if it had done so a thousand times. It stopped at the front door to the building and turned back to you expectantly, waiting for you to open the door.

You followed the cat into the building and up the stairs. The cat, Sushi you supposed, would rush off ahead of you and then wait for you to catch up. It barreled up the stairwell and then sat at the top before climbing the next. You knew which apartment belonged to Shouta even without checking over Mic’s message, for the cat sat down outside of it and looked back at you.

“Thank you, gatekeeper,” you said, tapping at the door.

“It’s open,” Shouta called out from within and you reached for the handle, Sushi the cat squeezing through the gap the moment you opened it even slightly.

You didn’t know what you expected from Shouta’s home. You knew he spent very little time there and that much was clear the moment you got inside. He had minimal furniture: a couch in one corner, along with a small table and even smaller television. There were no photographs on the walls; no blankets or decorations. Everything in his home had a clear function, as if designed to be left in a hurry. It was the opposite of your home in every possible sense.

“Make yourself comfy, I guess,” he said.

“I don’t know when exactly you checked out of the hospital,” you said, “but I thought you might be hungry. I made a few things…”

You walked over to the table and unzipped your bag.

“I wasn’t sure what kinds of food you liked, so I brought a bit of everything,” you said, pulling out each container. “There’s some soup, some rice, meatballs, an omelette…”

Retrospectively, you had rather overdone it.

“Some of these can be frozen or reheated,” you said. “You don’t have to eat all of them at once.”

He glanced from you to your food containers, which by then had taken up almost all of his table.

“You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Oh, it’s no bother. We’re colleagues, remember!”

“Yeah,” he said. “I-”

He didn’t get to say anymore, though, for his stomach rumbled noisily.

“Shouta,” you said. “When did you last eat?”

“I...hmm...I had a small meal at the hospital before I-”

“You... wh-?! That was hours ago! You need proteins and vitamins to heal.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

It wasn’t fine. Not by any means.

You simmered as you plated up a few of the containers and refrigerated the rest. You couldn’t believe how little one person could care for their own body and pretended you didn’t see the bottles of antiseptic, antibiotics and bandages on his shelf. How many wounds had he gotten without seeing a doctor? How many of his scars came from cuts he had tended himself?

“I don’t want to hear you complain about Midoriya breaking his bones ever again,” you muttered as Sushi rubbed against your legs, seeming not to notice the bowl of cat food only a short distance away.

Of course he’d remembered to feed the cat.

Of course.

“Yes, yes,” said Shouta, leaning back on the couch and pulling down some of his bandages to expose his mouth and chin.

You brought the food over to his table and proceeded to pack away your empty food containers, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned over to pick up the cutlery, only to flinch and drop it.

“Do you need some help?”

“Nope, I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ye-fuck.”

The cutlery clattered to the table with a dull thud and you took a seat next to him, reaching for the cutlery and holding it out to him.

“Thank you,” he said, albeit reluctantly, balancing it in his fingers before dropping it again.

“Let me help you,” you said, grabbing the fork and scooping up some of the omelette. “Open wide.”

“Wh-no way,” he said, eyes darting from you to the fork. “I ain’t a toddler.”

“It’s not like I’m going to make aeroplane sounds. Let me help you.”

Shouta grumbled under his breath, but ate from the fork you raised to his lips.

“..cious,” he murmured as you gathered a second forkful.

“Hmm?”

“I said...if you tell anyone about this I’ll shave off your eyebrows.”

“Neglect yourself this much again and I’ll shave your entire head.”

A smile crept across your face; you couldn’t help it. This whole situation was more than a little absurd. Here was the underground hero, Eraserhead, known for his smooth takedowns of villains in Musutafu’s underbelly, struggling to hold onto a fork. You were little more than a girl he’d hooked up, yet there you were, nagging him as if you were married.

Shouta fell into contemplative silence as well.

“At the attack,” he said at last. “Did they hurt you?”

“What do you mean?”

You hadn’t been involved in the fighting, but perhaps he didn’t know that?

“At the hospital,” he said, “you had blood on your shirt.”

Your heart skipped a beat, remembering how you had kissed his forehead before you could stop yourself. You’d thought he was asleep. Had he been awake the whole time?

“No,” you said. “Nezu had me go to the police station. I used my quirk too much on the suspects too much, that’s all.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Were you… worried about me?”

“Of course not! It’s just that you’re useless in battle.”

“Oh my god, you were worried about me.”

“No I wasn’t,” he said, stubbornly. “Now give me some of the chicken.”

You scooped up some of it and lifted it to his lips but he didn’t move, even though he’d asked for it.

“Shou…” you began, only to fall silent as he leaned in.

You told yourself you should pull away, even as you met him in the middle and ran your tongue over his bottom lip. He leaned over towards you and crushed his lips against yours, kissing you so deeply that it sent a shiver through your core. You wanted his hands on you; wanted to ride him until both your throat and cunt were raw.

Oh no...

Before this, you had never known that kisses could feel like stormy seas. For the first time in your life, you wanted to drown.

You reached to cup the uninjured side of his face.

Two seconds more and you would break the reset. Three and you wouldn’t even regret it.

Sushi took the initiative, though, making use of the distraction to hop onto your lap and steal the chicken from your fork. You broke the kiss, both pulling away as if burned.

“I…” you said, “I’m sorry.”

What were you thinking? Shouta was injured and likely still had remnants of anesthesia in his body. Even if he didn’t, the attack on USJ would leave anyone shaken. You had gone there to help him out with chores, not take advantage of him while he was in a potentially vulnerable state.

“I should go,” you said, clearing your throat and rushing away to zip up your insulated bag.

“(Name),” he said. “I-”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It was my fault. I…”

You gave him the biggest, most artificial smile in your arsenal; the one you used at job interviews and dinner with your parents.

“I’ll see you at work!”

━

You thought about the kiss on the train ride home, as you washed your dirty food containers and took a bath. You sank down into the water, wishing you could wash away the fluttering in your core.

It was just arousal, you told yourself. Sex released chemicals, namely oxytocin, and it was natural for you to feel attached to him. Hell, you’d seen each other completely naked, which in itself was something profoundly intimate.

It would fade in time, as all things did.

You repeated it over and over as you dried yourself off and got into bed. Soon, very soon, you would forget how it felt when he’d touched you. Bodies replaced their cells every decade or so; one day your bodies would have never touched at all.

The exhaustion from the past few days caught up with you the moment your head touched the pillow and before long you were dreaming.

You dreamed of waking in the arms of your lover, who ran his fingers through your hair and kissed you on the forehead. The bed was comfortably warm and bathed in soft morning light; your lover’s arm heavy across your waist.

“(Name),” he whispered in your ear and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“(Name),” he whispered again and you looked up into his face, taking in his black hair and dark eyes. “Why are you crying?”

Your eyes snapped open then, dragging you back to your empty room.

There was no one else in your bed, you realised. It was the middle of the night, with no trace of the early morning glow you had so happily basked in.

The tears, though, they were real.

━

A/N

yes, it's that Sushi