#like if you know that chattering is an issue and chattering is worse on softer tyres because they're initially grippier then??

[batsplat]

Do we know why ktm has so much chattering problems? I heard that Ducati had them too at the start of the season but how come that they got theirs sorted out while the ktm bike still vibrates so much. I saw a video that redbull posted and it’s clear as day that the chattering doesn’t only affect the bike but it also moves the rider

okay, so. my understanding is that the chatter problem has been caused by michelin's new tyres. it's specifically a chatter problem of the rear tyre: the very, very high amounts of grip generated by that tyre, which kinda caught the manufacturers off guard. having a lot of grip isn't typically a bad thing because, well... if you can exploit it properly, your bike goes super fast (cf all the lap records being smashed)... but sometimes it's too much of a good thing and suddenly you've got so much grip you weren't expecting and your bike is bouncing absolutely everywhere

obviously, different bikes have been affected to differing degrees. basically the bikes with more grip - that can essentially 'extract' more of the grip levels from the tyre - have also had more problems with this. so with ducati, given that the levels of grip had been a strength of their bike the last few years, they were initially really struggling with it. the problem with chatter is that because it can be caused by so many different parts of your bike and the interaction between those parts - the 'resonance' that's caused by all those little springs and joints and moving bits inside it - this really isn't an easy problem to fix. it often kicks in during really precise situations, maybe just a few corners of a circuit where you're taking a specific angle at a specific speed, maybe when you're on softer tyres with just enough grip to really screw you over. that vibration caused by these situations then gives you the tyre 'bouncing' around, which obviously means you lose a lot of speed - you end up losing grip. this also points to why some riders are able to 'ride around' the issue better than others: by having more flexibility in adjusting how they approach certain corners. ktm similarly to ducati had been blindsided by these new tyres... but unlike ducati they haven't seemingly yet been able to find a satisfactory fix

a little more detail. from here, which I would recommend reading in full, one of the more straightforward explanations I've read of what chatter actually is and what it's caused by:

and why the ducati was affected particularly badly - versus, say, the honda, with its lack of grip:

and on the role of the rider in making adjustments:

so you basically have to get creative to attempt to mitigate the issue - which you see now with the ktm, where there's a pretty broad range between the four riders to what extent they're able to cope. this has been reflected publicly in comments made by ktm, specifically about how much two of their riders haven't been able to get the most out of the package:

back around the time of jerez, you had acosta putting the onus on michelin to do something about the issue:

but jerez was also around the time ducati was saying they were getting to grips (ho ho) with the problem. god knows what they did, though here from the piece linked above are some general suggestions for what they will have been looking at:

for fairly obvious reasons, ducati's not gone into a great amount of detail about how exactly they fixed the problem - and so we also don't know why ktm hasn't been able to do more about it. maybe it's something fundamental to how their bike is built, maybe they just haven't come up with solutions as good as ducati's team, maybe a combination of the two. but yeah, that's the basic summary of it: the new tyres mixing up the field, with some able to adapt better than others to these changes. this also seems to be a common theory for why bezz specifically is struggling quite so much - because he's the type of rider who would actually prefer low grip gross and greasy conditions where everyone's sliding around as much as possible and he can exploit his natural casey stoner-certified feel. if everyone's got a lot of extra grip, suddenly that advantage is basically neutralised. with ktm, it also feels a bit like these tyres have turned a strength into a weakness, with all the grip they're generating working against the bike. hard to give a more definitive answer than that, but hope this helps! I'd also strongly recommend a fairly recent episode of the oxley bom podcast on this topic, 'a matter of balance', for more detail

[natokkiz]

OUR PATHS | 13. OHMYGOsh he's crazy (wc: 0.8k)

THE APARTMENT was quiet when you got back, the usual chatter from yeji and ryujin in the living room had been relocated to their bedroom. you rolled your suitcase in, trying not to draw any attention to yourself. you could tell that you failed that task once you heard their door open and saw ryujin slowly emerging from their room.

ryujin paused at the sight of you, her own shoulders tightening. “hey,” she started tentatively, her voice softer than usual.

you didn’t look up at first, awkwardly avoiding her gaze. “hey,” you replied flatly.

ryujin moved slowly towards you in the hallway, “let me help you with your stuff.”

“okay,” you spoke, finally meeting her eyes. “i’m just going to change, and then we can talk,” you said before walking off to your room.

you came back to find ryujin on the couch in the living room, slightly rubbing her stomach—a habit of hers when she’s feeling flustered. you two made eye contact again and she took a deep breath before speaking again, “i know you’re mad at me and i get it. i don’t really know where to start—”

“i know exactly where to start,” you took charge of the conversation. though your tone wasn’t sharp, the hurt was evident. “let’s talk about how you decided it was okay to withhold something so important from me.”

ryujin raised her eyebrows in distress. “i... i didn’t mean for it to feel like that. at the time, i thought i was protecting you.”

“protecting me?” you repeated. “ryu, i spent months—actually, a year—thinking i wasn’t worth fighting for. thinking he didn’t care enough to try to explain himself.”

her head dropped slightly. “at the time, i thought hearing him out would just make it worse. he hurt you before, y/n. how was i supposed to trust that he wouldn’t do it again?”

“but that wasn’t your decision to make!” your voice cracked, and she quickly wiped at her eyes. “it wasn’t your breakup to deal with. it wasn’t your relationship to fix or ruin. you knew how much i went through because of that, and still… that was what you decided to do?”

ryujin’s voice raised slightly. “because i was scared, okay?” her voice trembled. “i was scared that if he came back into your life, he’d destroy you all over again. and i wanted to look out for you. you’re one of my best friends, y/n. i couldn’t stand seeing you like that.” she reached out for your hand.

you fell silent, but took her hand into yours. you understood where she was coming from, but it didn’t erase the hurt. “you should’ve told me,” you said quietly. “you should’ve let me decide if i wanted to hear him out. instead, you took that choice away from me.”

ryujin’s eyes filled with tears. “you’re right. i should have. and i’m sorry. i really am. i never wanted to hurt you, y/n. i thought i was doing what was best, but... i see now that i overstepped. by trying to stop him from hurting you, i hurt you instead. if i could do it differently, i would.”

there was a heavy pause, the two of you taking turns with the tissue box. “i get why you did it,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “i do. but it still hurt. it made me feel like you didn’t trust me to handle my own life.”

ryujin nodded, attentively listening to you. “i was wrong. i promise i’ll never do something like that again. i’ll support you, whatever you decide—whether it’s jaemin, someone else, or no one at all.”

you felt a sense of relief wash over you. “thank you for saying that. i forgive you. just know that i’m still dragging you to the exhibition on opening night. are you sure you’ll be okay seeing him?”

ryujin gave a small chuckle at you. “i told you, i support you no matter what. even with your avoidant attachment style and roster issue. and the fact that it’s so obvious you are choosing jaemin again.”

you jokingly hit her arm, “hey! why is everyone coming for me today…”

“because we love you and we care about you! and that means coming for you when you’re being a little stupid. please tell me you’re breaking it off with yangyang soon.”

“i am, don’t worry. and, thank you. for caring about me. even if you got it wrong the first time.”

ryujin pulled you into a hug, her voice tinged with relief. “always.” the two of you heard yeji’s footsteps in the hallway and looked around to see her put her hands on her heart, “finally. i couldn’t stand the two of you not being okay!”

prev | masterlist | next

NOTES | i kept my promise <3 just one more serious talk for y/n... also sorry for the crumbs in this ��� this is mainly a friendship driven chapter but it propels the plot dw... TAGLIST (open!) | @polarisjisung @tommina @luvv4bby @222low @luluvhs @spideykeyring @dudekiss3r @sunghoonsgfreal @jeonghansshitester @injunnie-lemon @eternallyhyucks @njmluvr @n0hyuck @junviadinho @hyunnies-world @hahaechans @p4tyaraujo @baeseungcheolie @untilthesunrises @lotties-readings @mango-bear @angelicaleex @jungaji @luvvhaechan @lionzyon @y4wnjunz @luvandletter @applejaem @pikibell @keeryverse @botchedbrat @mystverse @t-102 @skzfairies @andyprkmyluv @gomdoleemyson @slayhaechan @channnaa @lovekm @sungsgirl

bold = couldn't tag

[erodasfishtacos]

It’s Just Me (mini blurb)

if you enjoyed this fic - PLEASE reblog, rec, like, and come chat with me about the fic!

if you like my work and can donate as i do this for free - please consider donating to my ko-fi.

———————

It was a terrible twos kind of day. The kind of day when YN can’t tote Ivy along to a charity organization brunch because she would meltdown.

Harry had her in his office with him, she was sitting on a blanket Harry had laid out, and was quietly playing with her stuffed animals (mostly seals.)

Occasionally, she would babble to herself and get pissed of at her inatimate playmates, ending in her tossing it to the side.

He caught himself just staring at her, smiling as he watches the little human he and his soulmate created right in front of him.

When his phone rings, he automatically picks it up, professionally stating, “Styles.”

“Hi, this is Dan from Payroll,” The guys voice was already shaking and Harry knew he was about to get really pissed off.

“How can I help you?” He asks in a tone that’s was definitely did not sound like he wanted to provide any assistance.

There is a pregnant pause before Dan nearly stutters, “Er, I accidentally missed reviewing the marketing departments hours and they did not receive their last paycheck.”

Harry takes a very deep breathe because he wants to do what he normally would - scream through the phone at this idiot.

However, he can’t because his curly haired little baby is playing with her toys in the middle of the office with a smile.

“Please come up to my office,” Harry replies curtly before hanging up.

He gets up, goes over to his daughter, and squats in front of her, “Ivy, baby.”

She looks up at him with a toothy grin before reaching over to hand him a stuffed seal, “Play, daddy.”

Harry thumbs over a stray curl on her forehead, “Daddy can’t, my love. I need y’to go with Granny Dor for a little.”

Ivy had been very clinging to both YN and Harry recently. She had a fit when YN dropped her off, despite how happy she was to see her dad.

Her brows furrow, lips purse, and Harry has to laugh because she looks like a carbon copy of him with the sour face.

“Oh, no mean looks t’daddy,” He hums with his own frown, “S’just for a moment, m’dove.”

“No.”

“Ivy, y’need to listen.”

And Harry knows it coming, she sucks in a huge breathe and then just lets out a scream in protest of him.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, y’do not scream. Y’know better. Are we going to have to take a timeout or are you going to go sit nice with Dor?” Harry’s voice is still softer than he’d use with any of him employees but extremely firm to her.

“No timeout, daddy,” She mumbles, her volume decreasing significantly as she lowers her gaze from her father’s.

“Alright, then c’mon. Thank you for listening,” Harry praises, gathering up her toys for her and leading her into his waiting room where Dorothy is typing away on her computer.

“Dor, Dan is coming up and I need to have a private meaning. Will y’watch her for a little?”

Ivy is already clambering up into her lap, into the warmth of her arms, and nuzzling in - because Granny Dor spoiled her silly.

Harry rolls his eyes, muttering, “And you and YN say I spoil her too much. Bloody ridiculous.”

Dorothy just shoos him away, readjusting Ivy’s bow, and combing through her hair softly to simmer her down a little.

Dan trails in solemnly soon after to face his inevitable doom.

He sees his boss’ daughter perched on the secretary’s lap and he wonders how such a sweet little thing could be created from the demon of a man.

As Harry and Dan meet, Ivy gets wriggly and squirms off of Dorothy’s lap.

“Stay close,” She murmurs to the toddler as she picks up her phone to answer a call for Harry.

Of course, Ivy doesn’t listen, and she noticed that the door to her father’s office is cracked open just the littlest bit.

It’s enough for her to slip through the space between the heavy doors and toddles on, she’s blocked by the leather couches so Harry can’t see her.

“I have givin’ you so many fuckin’ chances!” Harry seethes angrily at his employee. His tone was more like a growl than anything else.

Ivy pauses, eyes widening in fear as she hears her dad speak in a frightening manner she’s never heard before.

“I…There was a coding error that I had been distracted with, it won’t happen again,” Dan insists, knowing he had actually committed a fireable offense.

“You are absolutely correct because you’re fucking fired,” Harry replies, no wavering in his raspy register.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Dan explodes, “It’s unfucking fair treatment! It was one mistake, you fuckin’ asshole!”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I can fuckin’ show you unfair treatment. Get the fuck out of my office and learn how to do your goddamn job,” Harry retorts, his voice rising as well.

Ivy is stuck in her spot, frozen in surprise at hearing the arguing and how mad her father sounded, voice echoing through the room.

“You listen to me-“

“Get the fuck out of my office!” Harry booms furiously, this employee managing to get a rise out of him.

“I was ju-“

Both the men pause when they hear a wail from behind the sofa and the sound of Ivy plopping herself on the ground.

Harry instantly is out from behind his desk and going to round the sofa in a flash with a rose of panic in his chest.

His heart drops when he sees his baby looking up at him with fear in her watery eyes and she’s literally shaking.

“Oh, baby. Did y’hear daddy bein’ loud?” Harry murmurs in his sweetest, comforting voice - uncaring of his employee hearing him.

Harry expects her to nod sadly and ask for a cuddle but she instead wriggles backwards when he goes to reach for her - out of his reach.

“Ivy, little dove, s’just y’daddy,” He tries again, sitting down in front of her - doesn’t even look up as Dan leaves quietly.

She’s scared though and has had never felt worse in his life as his daughter backs away from him until she’s getting to her wobbly feet.

He tries again, reaching his arms out, “Ivy Elizabeth, s’just daddy. M’sorry I scared you, bub.”

Ivy doesn’t budge, crying loudly with her face pinched up as hot tears run down her soft chubby cheeks.

Dorothy appears with a worried look, “I apologize, I thought she was by the table.”

“S’not your fault I’m a shitty father,” Harry mutters, standing back up and roughly brushing off his trousers.

“Oh Harry, she’s just a little frightened,” Dorothy hums, picking the girl up when she toddles quickly over to her.

Her dad trails over, “Ivy, m’love. Can you look at daddy?”

She refuses, digging her face into the woman’s shoulder, curls bouncing fiercely as she clings onto her.

Harry loved to be feared. Not like this though. Not by the child he’d literally jump in front of a train for without a second thought.

He would rather have her screaming, pitching fits, throwing toys rather than this. She was so scared that she wouldn’t even look at him.

“Let me take her on a little stroll, okay? See if I can calm her down a bit.”

—

Harry waits patiently for Dorothy to arrive back but he automatically hears his daughter’s steady stream of sniffles and whimpers.

He goes out to the waiting room to see her reentering the room, she sighs, “I think it’s time to call mummy.”

Harry had no idea how he was going to explain this to his wife. He was I trouble and he knew he deserved it.

“Hey H, is the bab okay?” YN greets warmly, chattering in the background.

“Er, she’s okay, just upset. Ivy accidentally walked in on me flipping out and firing an employee. Now she’s scared. Dor tried to calm her down and she doesn’t want to be near me right now.”

YN’s next words were calm, Harry however did not miss the sharp edge when she replies, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Then she hangs up on him.

Which she really never does unless she is really really upset.

—

When YN arrives, Ivy is sat on Dorothy’s lap with puffy eyes and her thumb tucked between her full lips, popping it out when she sees her mother.

“Mumma!” Ivy shrieks, tears beginning streaming down her face as she impatiently waits for her to cross the room and gives her a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Hi baby, give mummy one minute and then we’ll leave okay?” YN murmurs soothingly, thumbing of some of the tears.

Ivy nods but is standing next the secretary’s desk, waiting patiently with her thumb going right back between her lips again.

Harry’s sitting at his large oak table, looking like a guilty puppy as his wife comes in with a disapproving look on her face.

“Baby, m’sorr-“

“What the fuck, Harry? Why is our daughter out there terrified right now?” YN demands, crossing her arms to prove her anger.

“Some fuckin’ idiot messed somethin’ up and Ivy walked in while I cursed him out and fired him. She was hiding behind the couch. It was an accident,” He defends, bristling a bit.

“Even if the door was shut, she would have still heard you. You knew better than to act like that around our daughter.”

“I had to fire him,” Harry makes the lame excuse because he knows he’s in the wrong and he’s not always great at admitting he is.

“You were supposed to have Ivy for two hours and this happens. I have her all day everyday and I’ve need had an issue with controlling myself in front of others!” YN yells (quietly) at him.

“What the fuck is tha’ supposed to mean? Y’calling me a bad father? Y’have her all day with her because I work so that you can stay at home with her.”

YN rolls her eyes, “Well thank god for that, she’d be cursing and screaming at people all day everyday if she was with you all the time.”

Harry is thoroughly pissed at his wife and she is equally just as furious with him - it doesn’t happen often but when it does it’s bad.

“Y’got some fuckin’ nerve. Our baby is polite, well-mannered because of me too! Not just you, fuckin’ claiming all her good qualities,” He replies with a snarl.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” YN bites back, “I’m not one of your employees. Neither is Ivy despite you talking like that in front of her.”

Now she was just trying to push his buttons and it was well onto it’s way of working.

“Y’bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous! It was a accident and you’re acting like I did it on purpose! Fuckin’ hell!” He raises his voice in frustration.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are raising your voice at me but I’m leaving,” YN tells him, giving him one final glare before storming out of the office.

“Fuck!” He grunts, smacking cup of pens from his desk before slamming his fist on the desk.

—

Ivy was waiting patiently, whimpering when she sees her mum, and gesturing to be picked up, “It’s past your nap time, Vee.”

“Nap,” She lisps sadly, instantly curling into then familiarness that is her mother. Eyes instantly fluttering shut.

“Thank you, Dor,” YN whispers, blowing her a kiss, before trekking out of the office with the exhausted little girl.

—

Harry can’t handle the rest of the day, wants to go home, and make amends with his wife which leads him to heading out only an hour after them.

He finds YN in the den with the baby monitor propped on the coffee table, she’s watching a horror movie with a smoothie in hand.

“Hi, m’heart,” Harry murmurs cautiously, loosening up his tie until it falls limp around his neck.

She glances over at him, sarcasm lacing her tone,“So you do know how to talk without yelling at me, hmm?”

His face falls, frowning, “Hey, lovie - don’t be like tha’. Y’gonna let me apologize?”

“Come scratch my back and I’ll hear you out,” She hums, keeping a serious face.

“Y’drive a hard bargain, m’heart. Show me y’tits,” Harry begins to smile, striding over and getting her no time before he’s pulling off her shirt and sports bra.

He sits down then gently lays her down on her tummy and she rests her head in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t thinkin’. Now I’m worried she’s gonna hate me forever,” Harry mumbles, using his blunt nails to trace up and down her back.

“You’re her favorite person. She’ll always love you more than anything,” YN tells him seriously, arching when he scratches an extra itchy spot.

“I hope so. I love her more than anythin’. A little mixture of how much we love each other. How much we worked to get her,” He sighs softly.

—

YN dozed off and Harry tucks a blanket around her bare chest.

When the baby monitor alerts that Ivy had woke up after quite a long nap, he takes a deep breath before walking up the staircase to his fate.

He’s preparing himself for her to scream and cry when she sees her monster of a father because he’d scared her so horribly.

But his mini just widens her green eyes and he looks at his world with bated breath, waiting for the scream or tears.

Instead, she just dimples happily at her father, and squeals with excitement, “Daddy! Hi Daddy, miss you!”

And just like that….

They’re best friends again.

—-

Enjoy! Come talk to me!! 💕❣️💕❣️💕❣️

[jaskiersvalley]

(Nearest) Furthest and Dearest

Written for @aphelioo as part of @thewitchersecretsanta.

Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary:  With so many suitors and adoring fans to swoon over Jaskier, Geralt had no hope of ever being more than a protector and source of inspiration. He'd all but given up, accepting his fate. It wasn't like Witchers should want or need anything anyway.

It was an understatement to say that Jaskier was popular. He had fans across the Continent who adored him to an almost alarming extent. This made Geralt both happy for his friend but also rather sad for himself. Because, in the constant stream of admirers, Geralt didn’t stand out. He didn’t have a special place in Jaskier’s life. Well, he did, he was Jaskier’s muse, took him on adventures and provided inspiration for songs. But that wasn’t all Geralt wanted to be. Like the many other adoring fans, he had only gone and lost his heart to Jaskier. Unlike the masses, Geralt didn’t just love the image of Jaskier and his songs. Nobody else got to watch Jaskier wake up, squinting worse than a startled mole into the sunlight while creases from the pillow lined his face. Geralt quite doubted Jaskier would have quite as many fans if they had to bear witness to not just the songs in the taverns but the grunt and whining in the forest after a slightly underdone squirrel meal. Over the years Geralt had seen Jaskier in every state of being and still loved him, no matter whether he was belching after an ale or snoring thanks to a cold.

The problem was, Geralt could watch from afar as Jaskier charmed his way through life, got invited to bed after bed, often with the offer of more than just a tumble. All those suitors, they could offer so much more than Geralt ever could. A Witcher didn’t have a lot, they have even less to spend on frivolous gifts. The scarf Geralt managed to save up for and present Jaskier as the weather turned cold was, by Geralt’s standards, extravagant. Yet it paled in comparison to the three others that were given to Jaskier over the following week, each more ornate and of softer material than the previous. It was no wonder Geralt’s measly offering got shoved to the bottom of a pack and forgotten about.

Anything Geralt offered, it was vastly surpassed in value by others. When he could offer a nicer room at an inn for the night, a suitor whisked Jaskier away to a cleaner, larger and less drafty room for the night. The food Geralt could buy was pigswill when Jaskier could dine at any court he wished because he had invitations from all over the Continent to play for the rich and elite. It wasn’t like Geralt could even offer Jaskier a horse to ride with him. Feeding two humans and a horse was strain enough on Geralt’s coin pouch already, he went hungry so Jaskier and Roach wouldn’t more frequently than he’d hoped. It didn’t matter anyway, any horse he could have offered Jaskier would have been good for nothing more than glue when compared to the carriages that came to whisk Jaskier away if he so wished.

Despite all this, Jaskier still stuck by Geralt’s side. It certainly wasn’t for all the gifts Geralt had tried to bestow on him, it wasn’t for good company because even Geralt knew he was sullen and bitter most days. The only reason Jaskier stuck around was probably for the safety of travelling with a Witcher while exploring the Continent. Geralt couldn’t begrudge him, he knew Jaskier craved the new and the exciting, was familiar with how Jaskier would pout when a contract was something as mundane as a handful of drowners. He had even begun to turn his nose up at kikimoras, preferring to stay at the inn and entertain his loyal fans than get dirty and be in danger for such boring contracts.

If all that hadn’t been enough of an unfortunate mess, Geralt’ heart had one more painful twist to choke itself with. Namely that he was failing as a Witcher. He was meant to be aloof, above frivolous things like matters of the heart. Maybe the second round of trials were wearing off, weakening him. Geralt had no idea what was happening to him. Working through his inner turmoil and allowing himself to gift Jaskier things had been difficult enough. Now, he was left holding the tatters of his heart and trying to figure out whether it was terminal.

So caught up in his worries, Geralt didn’t notice at first that Jaskier was chattering away. That was another problem. Jaskier spoke so many words but rarely actually said anything and Geralt didn’t have the time and energy to parse all of them. Thus he often found himself humming along to Jaskier’s chatter without actually paying much attention. There were more pressing issues to concentrate on, such as the surrounding area and listening out for any danger as they settled for the evening. What did draw Geralt’s attention was Jaskier huffing as he dug through his bag.

“Honestly Geralt, why do you let me carry so much crap around? I don’t even need three scarves.”

Said scarves were being pulled out of the bag and being dumped unceremoniously in the dirt by Jaskier’s feet. Rich, vibrant silks that were now covered in dust. Geralt never could understand how anyone could have such disregard for their possessions. Then again, Jaskier didn’t treat Geralt’s heart any different either, maybe he just didn’t value what he had.

“What do you keep them for then?” They could sell them or burn them and they would be more useful than when they lugged them around, bursting their bags with frivolous gifts.

“We might need them.” Jaskier frowned at Geralt as though he’d heard the worst suggestion on earth. “I’m certainly not tearing up my doublets to bandage your wounds with.”

Not that Geralt ever expected him to. “I don’t need or want you to.”

“I know.” There was a hint of sadness to Jaskier’s words. “You don’t want anyone or need anyone. I know.”

Which was an absolute lie but Geralt couldn’t refute it. A Witcher didn’t have wants or needs. They had the Path, their swords and their purpose, and that ought to be enough. They shouldn’t be mooning over a bard who could have anyone and anything. They most definitely shouldn’t be trying to impress them. Maybe there was a ballad in it that Jaskier would never realise: the Witcher who gave his all and still wasn’t enough. Usually, those Witchers ended up dead.

A soft huff from Jaskier drew Geralt out of his introspection. His friends was staring into the bag with a small, almost bitter smile twisting his lips. Whatever he had in the bag, he was running his thumb over it.

“I imagine it’s nice, not wanting anyone. It gives life a certain simplicity surely.”

“I guess.” The lie burned Geralt’s throat.

“Makes me wish sometimes that I could have some of your stoicness, some of the stones of the fortress around your heart.”

So someone had caught Jaskier’s fancy. It was only a matter of time, Geralt knew. Their time together was limited, dictated by Jaskier’s whims and desires. Geralt had done all he could to entice Jaskier to stay but, like always it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

“We can go back and find them. It’s not too late.” If the lies had burned, saying those words was agony. Geralt didn’t want to let Jaskier go, didn’t want to deliver him on a platter to someone else. But Witchers didn’t want anyone, Geralt didn’t need Jaskier. That wasn’t a luxury he could afford, both literally and metaphorically.

“It’s okay Geralt, they don’t want me. I know that for sure.”

How anyone wouldn’t want Jaskier was beyond Geralt. He cleared his throat, wanting to comfort but that was a skill he never developed. When Roach was upset, he pressed against her side, so with great simplicity, Geralt shifted to sit close to Jaskier, shoulders together. It meant he also caught a glimpse of the item in the bag that had Jaskier all misty eyed.

A cheap scarf. A very familiar one at that. Geralt could distinctly remember buying it and shoving it at Jaskier’s chest in a market when it was cold. It was never worn after that first day and Geralt had known he’d failed at giving a gift once more. Now, it was in the bottom of their bag, being caressed by a sad Jaskier while other, fancier scarves were still on the ground.

“It’s silly, I know,” Jaskier whispered. “But I couldn’t bring myself to wear it for fear of damaging or losing it.”

“It doesn’t match any of your outfits.”

“I don’t care.” Jaskier turned to Geralt, pulling the scarf out. Keeping eye contact, he linked his fingers with Geralt’s and wrapped the scarf around their joined hands in a mockery of handfasting. “You gave it to me. That makes it important.”

Speechless, Geralt frowned, trying to make sense of it all. He didn’t have to because Jaskier’s eyes were flicking down to his lips as they leaned in closer together. As their lips brushed, Geralt had a thought. Maybe, just maybe, he had been enough all along.

[agerefandom]

Something Wrong

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Regressor!Katsuki Bakugou (aka. Kacchan), worried!Izuku Midoriya (aka. Deku), worried!Shouta Aizawa (aka. Sensei), caregiver!Eijiro Kirishima, and the rest of 1A as background characters

Words: 4,000

Summary: Izuku notices Kacchan regressing in class and makes the mistake of following him when he leaves, intending to try and help. 

Content warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. Dissociation. Trauma. Bullying. Prevented (unintentional) self-harm. Self-neglect. Physical abuse. Verbal abuse. Mild burns. Blood. This fanfiction raises many questions and issues and doesn’t necessarily solve all of them, although everyone receives physical care by the end. 

Author’s Note: Please note the content warnings and exercise caution when reading. I just finished the third season of My Hero Academia, and I have many emotions about the way the relationship between Katsuki and Izuku is handled by both the writers and the characters in the show. I’m also aware that their dynamic is a popular one in the fandom, and thus something I might be asked to write when I open requests again. This story was my attempt at figuring out how I felt about that. (Conclusion: I’m willing to write regressor!Katsuki with other caregivers, but not with Izuku, and vice-versa. I promise my regressor!Katsuki fics will not all be this angsty. I just had to get this one out of my system.) 

Something was wrong with Kacchan today.

Izuku spent a lot of time looking at Kacchan from day to day, since the taller boy’s head blocked his view of half the blackboard. Even in Junior High, Izuku found himself often watching Kacchan from the back of the class. He was always in motion: his leg bouncing and his fingers tapping on the sides of his desk.

Here in 1-A, many of the students had trouble sitting still. The classroom was always alive with the shifting of fabric and clicking of pens, and any students with sensory problems had to wear sound blockers when trying to get work done (Izuku himself took advantage of that sometimes, although it made his tendency to mumble a little worse).

Today, though, something about Kacchan’s tapping fingers was different. They wouldn’t stay on the desk. He kept lifting his hand to his face, tapping them against his jawline and then around to his mouth. Izuku couldn’t see what Kacchan was doing, but he knew that the other boy had often teased him for biting his fingernails in Junior High (Aww, are you sucking your thumb, Deku? I always knew you were just a baby!) so surely Kacchan wouldn’t have the same habit. And even more strangely, Kacchan kept whipping his hand down and away from his face, keeping it frozen at his side for a few minutes before his fingers started tapping against his leg and the entire cycle would restart.

There were other signs, too: Kacchan wasn’t taking notes, Izuku’s view of his notebook around his shoulder confirming that he was just scribbling random lines across the pages. As careless as Kacchan seemed, he was a good student, and his friends often asked to copy his notes. There must be something wrong, Izuku knew it.

Maybe he didn’t sleep well last night? Izuku knew that Kacchan had been having trouble sleeping since the kidnapping. He started playing loud music at all hours and snapping at anyone who asked him to turn it down, even Kirishima and Kaminari. Eventually, they had to bother Aizawa about it, and Kacchan had been threatened with his sound system being confiscated. That seemed to stop the noise, at least when it was lights-out. But Izuku could still hear him pacing sometimes.

Most of the class had nightmares about their various villain encounters, and insomnia meetups were a regular occurrence in the dormitory common rooms. It had been nice to find out that the others had been struggling to sleep since everything started. Izuku had originally assumed he was alone in the experience. Calming down after a nightmare was easier with Denki chattering about the game he was playing or Koda’s quiet presence sharing the space.

But Kacchan never came out of his room to join the others when he couldn’t sleep, and only the distant sounds of pacing and the darkening circles under his eyes allowed Izuku to notice when he was doing worse.

Shoot, Izuku had started missing some of Aizawa-sensei’s lecture because he was so distracted by Kacchan. He turned his attention back to his notes, scribbling desperately to catch up with the lecture slide before it changed. He could always borrow notes from Tenya, of course, but he didn’t like to bother his friends about things like that.

Izuku snuck another glance up and saw that Kacchan’s fingers were back up to his mouth. His head was tilted slightly down, as if he were looking at his notebook, but his pencil wasn’t moving.

Was Kacchan asleep, maybe? That wouldn’t last long: for all of Aizawa-sensei’s naps, he didn’t tolerate students falling asleep in lecture, his capture weapon quick to pull a napping student’s chair out from under them.

Just as Izuku started to worry, there was a harsh shriek of metal against floor as Kacchan pushed himself to his feet.

“Bathroom,” Kacchan blurted, and stalked for the door with his shoulders a tense line.

Confusion and worry warred in Izuku’s stomach, and he was standing before he could think twice about it.

“Same, yeah, bathroom,” Izuku said, and speed-walked out of the room before Aizawa could remind him that only one student was allowed to leave the class at a time, according to school rules.

The hall was empty, which meant that Kacchan must have taken off running as soon as he’d left the class.

Izuku paused as the door closed behind him, considering his options. There was a possibility that Kacchan had abandoned class entirely and gone back to the dorms, but he probably would have taken his backpack with him if that was the case. Usually, Kacchan went straight for the training rooms when he was upset, but they would be in use by classes right now.

In the absence of a better idea, Izuku decided to check the nearest bathroom and see if Kacchan had been telling the truth.

Izuku’s shoes squeaked quietly against the hallway as he approached the door to the boy’s bathroom and pushed it open. The sound gave him away, but he distinctly heard a gasp, followed by a sharp sniffle.

“Kacchan?” Izuku called out, letting the door close behind him.

There was no answer. Izuku walked fully into the bathroom, easily picking out the stall that Kacchan was hiding in. It was the only one with the door closed, but Izuku could see that Kacchan had pulled up his feet to avoid being seen. Something was definitely wrong, he’d never known Kacchan to be this desperate to hide.

“Kacchan, are you okay? Are you sick?” Izuku approached the door, straining his ears. He could hear Kacchan’s breathing, familiar from the years they had spent together.

“Fuck off, Deku,” Kacchan snapped.

Izuku could hear the tears in his voice, and something like curiosity unfurled in his chest. He hadn’t seen Kacchan cry in years. Izuku was the crybaby, and Kacchan was the one who got to tease him for it. What was going on?

“What’s wrong?” Izuku leaned against the line of sinks, staying in front of the stall. “Did something happen?”

“I told you to go away!” Kacchan shouted. “Nothing’s wrong, you idiot. Fuck off!”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Izuku told the stall door. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he would get to the bottom of this. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Deku…”

Izuku could hear the warning in that growl, but he ignored it. Just as he always did.

“Come on, Kacchan.” Izuku tried a softer voice. “It’s okay! I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Kacchan started to laugh, and something in Izuku’s stomach twisted. That wasn’t a good sound. It was strangled and getting louder, the tears abandoned for hysterical cackles. Izuku shifted to standing, but stayed in front of the stall. Maybe he was getting somewhere?

Sure enough, the lock clicked open, and the door swung inwards to reveal Kacchan.

Kacchan was standing on the floor now, his uniform even more rumpled that usual. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears still streaking his cheeks.

“You? Make fun of me?” he managed between the harsh laughter. “Deku, you wish.”

Kacchan stepped forwards, and Izuku knew what was going to happen only a second before his hand wrapped around Izuku’s neck and pushed him back into the line of sinks. Pain shot up through Izuku’s spine from where the edge of the counter hit his back. Kacchan didn’t stop pushing, forcing Izuku’s head to lean back against the mirror behind him.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Always rushing in, Izuku lectured himself, closing his eyes to avoid the furious expression on Kacchan’s face. He had only wanted to help, but he knew Kacchan, and knew that he was at his most dangerous when he felt vulnerable. Why had he put himself in danger?

Force of habit, said a cynical voice in the back of Izuku’s head.

���You don’t listen, huh? Everyone thinks you’re so smart, but you and me know different.” Kacchan’s hand wasn’t pressing hard enough to cut off Izuku’s airflow, but he could feel his quirk starting to heat up the air between them, the sting of a thousand sparks jumping from Kacchan’s palm. Not enough to hurt, not really enough to leave burns, just a red mark that would fade in a few hours. Izuku kept his eyes closed. Kacchan had set off one of those tiny sparks in his eye once, and Izuku had needed an eyepatch for a whole week. Of course, Izuku had spent that time pretending to be Peg Leg the Pirate Hero, but it had still hurt.

“I was worried,” Izuku managed, bringing up his hand to try and tug Kacchan’s wrist away. Kacchan intercepted the attempt, making a tight fist around Izuku’s hand.

“Worried about me? You should worry about yourself, pipsqueak. You know I can take care of myself.” Pop pop went the tiny sparking explosions, starting to hurt the tender skin on the underside of Izuku’s chin. Those little burns could layer up and get painful eventually.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I know.”

“Do you? Do you really, Deku? Then why did you follow me?” Kacchan shouted, and Izuku felt spittle hit his cheeks.

“I don’t know!”

Izuku pushed out with his free hand, and was surprised when Kacchan’s grip on his throat subsided, the other boy stumbling back. He opened his eyes and saw his hands sparking, the power of One For All coming to his defense.

Kacchan had only been pushed a few steps back, and he was grinning now.

“You want to fight, shitty Deku? That why you followed me here?” The same little sparks were going off in Kacchan’s palms, flashes of light that made Izuku’s throat ache just watching them. At least they were away from his skin now.

“I don’t want to fight.” Izuku dismissed One For All, feeling the buzzing energy dissipate from his body. Kacchan’s cheeks were still blotchy, his eyes wild, and Izuku couldn’t bring himself to get on the offensive against him. “I’ll leave if you want.”

“Oh, no,” Kacchan hissed. “You had your chance to leave, but you just had to see me, huh? Wanted to gloat some more. Are you happy now, Deku? Want to rub it in?”

“I… no!” Izuku waved his hands in front of his face, feeling his eyes widen. “I’m not gloating! What? Why would I be happy that you’re sad?”

One moment, Kacchan was glaring down at Izuku with sparking palms, and then his face suddenly crumpled. His eyes closed, and he curled inwards, his quirk turning off as his hands went to grip his elbows. “Fuck,” Kacchan muttered. Izuku was close enough to hear his breathing hitch. “FUCK!” he shouted, and brought his hands up to his face, sparks flying again, this time against his own skin. It didn’t affect him, of course, his skin resistant to his own fire, but Izuku automatically started forwards. Kacchan’s eyes were still vulnerable, and he could damage himself.

The movement caught Kacchan’s attention. His head snapped up again, and Izuku could see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Deku?” Kacchan asked, and he sounded… confused.

“Y-yeah, it’s me,” Izuku said. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t-” Kacchan shook his head, bringing his hands up to his face again.

“Careful!” Izuku stepped forward and caught his hands, keeping the sparking palms away from Kacchan’s eyes, even as the tiny explosions started to burn Izuku’s fingers. “Kacchan, what’s wrong?”

Kacchan had frozen under Izuku’s touch, but Izuku could feel his hands shaking.

“What’s wrong?” he echoed, and his voice sounded wrong. Tense and tight and young. “What’s wrong with me, Deku?”

“It’s okay,” Izuku said. “You’re okay. It’s just anxiety, I think. Just breathe, okay?”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Izuku didn’t see the attack coming this time, as he was pushed back against the mirrors for a second time. This time, the push was less controlled, and he felt the back of his head hit the mirror with a cracking noise. Hopefully, that was the glass.

“Kacchan!” Izuku reached out, trying to grab his shoulders. “It’s just me, it’s okay.”

“Shut up!! Stop trying to… COMFORT ME!” Kacchan shouted, and backhanded Izuku across the face. The sharpness of the pain made Izuku gasp, but it was easy enough to bring his head back up. “I don’t need your help! I told you to leave!” And Kacchan hit him again. “I told you to leave me alone!”

This is familiar.

The sour smell of the bathroom, the hard line of the counter pressing into Izuku’s spine, and the surrender to the pain of blows to his face. Usually, it had been Kacchan with a number of other boys, two of them holding Izuku’s arms, but Kacchan had never really needed the physical backup. Izuku was helpless enough on his own. Quirkless, couldn’t even stand up to a friend. Couldn’t stand up to one person. The burns, the bruises, the feeling of floating above himself as the pain became sharper yet somehow more distant.

I’ve been here before.

Izuku couldn’t remember the first time Kacchan hit him. He felt like it should have been a turning point in their relationship, like it should have made him see the other boy differently. But Kacchan had always liked to hit people. Like heroes, he said, practicing his Detroit Smash on all his friends. Like heroes, he said, when he tied Izuku upside-down and left him for the teachers to find. He just wanted to be like a hero, and heroes talked with their fists.

Izuku could feel tears on his cheeks as blood filled his mouth, but he hated the tears more than the copper taste on his tongue. He hated that crying had always been his first line of defense. When he was excited, when he was sad, even when he was angry, he could barely speak through the tears that rose up and choked him. It was just more for Kacchan to mock, calling him a baby, calling him weak, calling him useless.

I’ve never been anywhere else.

Izuku couldn’t tell if Kacchan was using his quirk or just his fists. The sharp impacts felt the same at first whether his hands were on fire or not, the heat of the pain blocking out the deeper burns. He would only know later how bad the damage was, whether he would need to hide his face on his way back to the dorms.

It was a shock when the punches stopped.

Izuku stayed where he was, leaning back against the counter. He didn’t know if he could move if he tried. His arms felt numb, his face stinging, and his head was distantly aching. He could see through his eyes, but it felt like he was watching from a long way away as he watched Kacchan draw back and wipe his eyes.

They had both been crying this time. That was unusual.

What happened next was even more unusual.

“I’m sorry,” Kacchan whispered, then turned and walked out of the bathroom.

There was silence.

Izuku drew in the first breath he was aware of, and stood up. It hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. He turned and saw the splintered mirror behind him, blood streaking down it. Head wound. That explained the warmth soaking the back of his school uniform. They always bled a lot. He could see the shattered pieces of his reflection, a red puffy face and tears still rolling down his cheeks. It would be a few hours before the burns and bruises really become visible. For now, he was just red all over, as if he’d gotten a bad sunburn. By tomorrow, everything would be a rainbow of white and red and green-red-brown, but for now… it didn’t look so bad.

Izuku limped out of the bathroom and walked towards his class as quickly as he could manage. He knew he would disrupt the lecture, he knew the broken mirror would be charged to his mother, he knew it was going to suck to open the door, but it didn’t matter. He needed help.

Sure enough, Izuku pushed the door open and was met with a collective gasp from the class.

Aizawa was kneeling in front of Izuku before he knew what was happening, his hands resting gently on Izuku’s shoulders.

“Were you attacked?” Aizawa demanded, his eyes flickering over Izuku’s face and back to the door he’d walked through.

Izuku ignored his teacher, shrugging under Aizawa’s hands and dragging himself towards the person he came for.

“Kirishima,” Izuku said. “You need to find Kacchan, he’s really upset and I’m worried about him. I think he might be in danger. He wouldn’t listen to me, but… maybe you can help.”

Kirishima’s face swam in Izuku’s vision, shocked and concerned.

“Did he… are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Izuku smiled. “Please just find Kacchan.”

“O-okay?” Kirishima said, and Izuku stepped out of the way to let him leave.

“Deku!” Ochaco’s hands were the next to land on Izuku’s shoulders, less carefully than their teacher. Izuku fought the urge to flinch and smiled at her. “Did Bakugou do this? Are you okay? Oh my god, you’re bleeding a lot…”

“It’s just a head wound,” Izuku explained. “They bleed a lot.”

“Do you have a concussion?” That was Tenya in front of him now. With how much his vision was swimming, it probably was a concussion.

“Don’t worry!” Izuku said, trying to wave them off, but then Tsuyu was also in front of him, looking worried. “I’m okay! I’m sorry for interrupting the lesson!”

“He looks like he’s gonna pass out,” Denki commented.

“I’m not going to pass out!” Izuku said. “I’m fine!” He had a concussion, sure, but he’d gone to class with a concussion before. He would probably miss most of the notes, but that was okay. He could catch up later. “I need to text Kirishima…”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Aizawa was there again, looming over Izuku’s classmates. Izuku winced, dropping his eyes to the ground. He was definitely going to get in trouble. “Everyone, back to your seats. Stop crowding him.” Izuku moved to obey, but Aizawa’s hand blocked him. “Not you, Midoriya, stay where you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” He risked a glance upwards and saw Aizawa’s unreadable expression, his mouth more downturned than usual. “I should have… I thought I could help. I’m sorry.”

“You’re a hero, Midoriya,” Aizawa sighed, and Izuku had never heard anyone say the word ‘hero’ with so much weight. It didn’t sound like a compliment. “Of course you thought you could help. Can you walk to Recovery Girl, or should I carry you?”

“I can walk, sir! But I really don’t need to visit Recovery Girl. She… doesn’t want to see me anymore.” Izuku winced, thinking back to all the times she had threatened to stop treating his injuries if he didn’t stop visiting so often.

“That isn’t her decision,” Aizawa said in a tone that allowed no argument. “Her job is to treat our students. And my job is to protect them. Now, for the rest of you, I expect you to behave while I’m gone. Start any more trouble and you will be expelled when I return. I’m not lying this time.”

From the dead silence that met his words, no one doubted him.

“Come on, Midoriya.” A hand was offered, wavering in Izuku’s reluctant vision. It took him two attempts to accept the hand, his depth perception all but gone. Eventually, though, Aizawa’s fingers wrapped around his, and Izuku was led out into the hallway. Aizawa’s grip was gentle, but Izuku could still feel the callouses on his fingers and palm, the marks of a lifetime of hero work.

It was easy to focus on that warm sensation as Izuku stumbled down the hallway after Aizawa’s long-legged strides, his head spinning.

“I really am sorry, Aizawa-sensei.”

“Save it until it’s time to tell your story,” Aizawa told him. “I won’t make you go over it while you have a concussion, but we’ll talk after.”

“Okay,” Izuku said meekly.

I hope Kacchan is okay, Izuku thought as he followed Aizawa into the elevator, trying to stay on his feet as the world spun around him.

--

Eijiro leaned back against the wall, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Katsuki was curled up with his head on Eijiro’s lap, his favourite stuffie tucked under one arm. Eijiro’s cheek hurt, where Katsuki had gotten a strike in before Eijiro’s quirk had been able to protect him. Eijiro’s quirk was what made him able to be Katsuki’s caregiver, able to stand up to the worst of his tantrums. And today had been a bad one.

The walls were scorched, and even Eijiro’s hair was blackened. Eijiro had tried not to fight Katsuki, but eventually he had to protect the room from being set on fire. It was always awful, holding Katsuki down as he screamed threats and struggled and wept. But eventually, the tension had drained from his body and left him sobbing, and Eijiro had let his skin soften and pulled him into an embrace, Katsuki melting against him.

Katsuki had fallen asleep as soon as he’d stopped crying, and Eijiro had no idea what mood he would be in when he woke up: ready for another fight or craving cuddles and nostalgic cartoons.

Eijiro thought of Midoriya’s face, all red and wounded but trying to smile, waving away Eijiro’s concern and worrying only about Katsuki.

We can’t keep going like this.

Midoriya didn’t deserve the treatment he got from Katsuki, they all knew that, but there was nothing they could do. Katsuki turned on his friends just as fast, accusing them of taking the other side. Eijiro only knew bits and pieces of the pair’s history, and it had always disturbed him, but… it had never seemed like his business. Now he wondered if he should have put his foot down sooner.

Something was wrong with the two of them. Midoriya, all bloody and raw and waving them away with that innocent smile, as if he didn’t feel the pain at all. Katsuki, desperate for affection, screaming as Eijiro’s arms had wrapped around him, struggling until he was too exhausted but accept the simplest kindness of human touch. Constantly lashing out at anything that tried to help him.

Eijiro had always wanted to stand by Katsuki, but sometimes he found himself scared of Katsuki’s actions and where it would lead them. He wanted to believe that he would stand up to Katsuki if he ever went too far, but…

The image of Midoriya’s tear-streaked, smiling face flashed in Eijiro’s mind again.

How far is too far?

Eijiro closed his eyes and tried to push away all the big questions. He needed to rest so that he could be ready for whatever mood Katsuki would wake up in.

Maybe they could figure this out. Maybe he could ask for help, explain what’s going on. Someone else must know better than him. He was only fifteen, after all. How was he supposed to help, really? Why hadn’t anyone stepped in already? It felt like something was terribly wrong, but maybe this was normal. Was he worrying too much? Was he worrying too little?

Eventually, Eijiro managed to fall asleep like that, sitting up against the wall with his thoughts running in circles and Katsuki’s head resting softly in his lap.

[volexis]

⤷ december 14 ▸ don’t leaf me hanging ft. bakugou

summary: holiday parties aren’t the best way to spend a pleasant, snowy evening, especially when you bump into your frenemy practically everywhere you go. your evening takes a turn for the worse when you’re stuck together beneath the most odious sprig of the season: mistletoe. how will you get out of this one?

warnings: slight hint of college au, some cursing, mentions of drinking, unwanted advances

wc: 1.9k

a/n: this was horrible but terribly gratifying to write at the same time,,, low key my first time writing for both bakugou and bnha and high key v nervous about posting this since its like a billion years late but i guess its a christmas present?

note: find the rest of the advent calendar here!

Idle chatter rings in your ears as you cradle a mug of now cooled hot chocolate. The room was pleasantly warm, but the onset of partygoers stifled you. Everything was swelteringly suffocating and you gave Mina a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna go refill my drink, I’ll be right back.”

“(Y/N), you haven’t even touched—”

You paid her no heed and all but bolted towards the kitchen. Immediately the atmosphere quieted, the living room’s noise dulling to an easily ignored thrum. You leaned against the marbled counter, fingers skimming the slight pores of the mineral. 

“What’re you doing here?” You heard a growl from the other side of the table, the tenacity of its timbre almost making you drop your cup. You spun to meet scarlet eyes that practically burned into you. Immediately, a scowl pulled at your lips. Of course, it was none other than the resident pain in your ass, nuisance extraordinaire: Bakugou Katsuki. 

He had it in for you the day you’d met, that much you knew. It was as if he took one look at you and dismissed you as what he generously liked to call ‘an extra’. As if he couldn’t be bothered to dignify you with his presence, let alone a conversation. Normally, you’d brush it off but something about it all irked you to no end. You made it your mission to be around him as much as possible, learn what makes him tick as well as what made him hate you so. Initially, he reacted as predicted. He practically leveled the building that first day in his booming voice and irate fury, to which you responded with nothing but a laugh. As enigmatic as he may seem, Bakugou was surprisingly predictable. 

The weeks passed by and you’d come to notice his yelling had toned down, not significant enough to be perceptible by the rest, but his words no longer held the same sharp edge as before though his aggressivity was as boisterous as ever. Soon enough you began to feel more at ease in his presence, even going as far as looking forward to the next time you’d see him at your lectures, in the halls, out at lunch. Catching yourself scanning the area for his presence every time you’d enter a room. In short, you had fallen for him. Hard.

Together you fell into a steady rhythm. He allowed you to remain in his vicinity unscathed and you didn’t have to tiptoe around his easily detonated temper. 

You quickly learned his moods were more fluctuant than you ever could’ve guessed. The days leading to the small holiday party you found yourself in were riddled with the same explosive disposition from when you’d first met. Every stinging barb and taunt wounded you a little more than you’d like to admit. And then, radio silence. You no longer studied together, he no longer met your eyes when you had made a particularly interesting comment. Back to the very beginning when he didn’t even know you existed. You didn’t know what hurt more. 

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and smooth your words into a clipped, polite speech.

“I’m in the kitchen, same as you. Do you have a problem with that?”

The blonde balked, opening his mouth to spew a retort, when Mina stumbled into the kitchen, bright smiles and full of boundless cheer. “(Y/N) since you’re in here would you mind getting me and—” 

Her words died on her lips, tripping over each other as he planted her hands on your shoulders and tugged you away from the blonde, an uneasy grin on her face. “We’ll be going now.”

You gave him what you hoped looked like a sincere smile; one that hid the painfully evident panic that shot through your limbs. You knew well enough not to provoke him nor did you have the energy to do so. 

Mina stopped pulling once you were safely outside in the hallway. Silence followed as her hands slipped from their perch on your shoulders to your own, shaking them lightly to force you to look at her.

“What was that?” The incredulity that filled her words matched her bug-eyed expression, swerving as she alternated from staring at you and the room you’d just exited. 

“Actually, I don’t know.” You were equally as shocked and stumped as the poor girl. 

“Well, in any case, I don’t think it’s worth ruining Kirishima’s party over whatever it is that’s been going on between you two lately. Just in case, it’ll be safer to avoid him for the rest of the evening, yeah?”

You nodded numbly and allowed her to take you back to the living room now outfitted with a hastily put together dance floor. Mina was right, anyhow. From just one quick look towards the rest of the room, you could tell everyone was enjoying their evening, basking in the warmth coming from the central heating as well as the close proximity. There’s no need to need to spoil the festivities with a silly quarrel you could fix any other day. However, there was one slight issue with your plan. Out of the corner of your eye, you’d catch a glimpse of spiky blonde hair. No matter where you’d go, he’d still be there, somewhere. Every move you made seemed to draw him closer. With a huff, you maneuvered around the throng of dancers to make your way back to the kitchen. There’s still a chance he’d follow you, but at least you’d be further away from the vigilant stares of the crowd. 

As you thought, Bakugou was already leaning against the marbled counter once you stepped in. 

“Mind telling me why you’re avoiding me?”

Before you could answer him, someone else stumbled into the kitchen seemingly towards you, all wobbling steps and inebriated smiles. His drink sloshed in the dented plastic cup he held onto so tightly, rivulets of it spilling down the side and splashing onto his clothes. “You’re really pretty, would you give me your number?”

You scoffed at his sudden forwardness, a scowl pulling at your lips once you had fully registered his words. “Why should I?”

The man, startled at your response, was silent for a beat. Seemingly regaining his composure, he pressed closer into you, backing you further into the counter. “Well,” he leaned towards your ear as if his next words were to be shared only with you. “If you do give me your number, maybe I can call you up and I could show you a good time. Whaddaya say, pretty thing?”

Words failed to form, tripping over each other as you stumbled away from him, away from whatever he thought he was doing. You bumped into something solid as you backtracked, turning around to see that it had been the fiery blonde himself. 

“That’s not happening, asshole, we’ll be going now.” absolute venom dripped from his words as he smiled cruelly, his lips contorting into something akin to a sneer as he takes your hand in his, tugging you away. 

Despite the constant abrasiveness in his everyday mannerisms,  you couldn’t help but marvel at the gentle manner he used to intertwine his fingers with yours. He wasn’t rough in pulling you from the kitchen, he didn’t crush your hand in his grasp or practically pull your arm out of its socket. He was almost sweet, coaxing you away from the situation. 

He only stopped once you were a safe distance away, turned in the direction you’d come from, to presumably make sure the offender hadn’t followed. You’d been too preoccupied with the softness of his touch to notice him watching the kitchen doorway and then the rest of the crowd once he noticed the other student sift in, glaring sharply every time their eyes met. Suffice to say, you were probably not going to hear from him in a long time. 

“Bakugou?” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, eyes still trained on something across the room. 

“You can let go of my hand now.” 

He blinked owlishly, looking down at your fingers as if he now just realized what he had been doing. “You never answered my question.”

“And you haven’t let go of my hand.”

His next words were drowned out by tumultuous cheers and wild shouts of the other students. They’d formed a crowd behind the two of you. Why?

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” You looked to Bakugou in confusion, who responded by pointing up to the top of the doorway to spot a small tangle of mistletoe lies poorly taped to the wood. 

Realization dawned on you and frustration ebbed into your rapidly spiraling thoughts. Of all people to be stuck under that odious herb, it just had to be the one who sent your poor heart into overdrive every time you’d catch one of the softer, more peaceful looks he’d sport around you. Part of you wanted to grab him and plant your lips on his, that part of you had longed for such an opportunity for a while now, longed for him. The other part of you was caught up in trying to process Bakugou’s radical change in behavior. From one minute to the next he had gone from his usual brutally harsh demeanor to holding your hand so tenderly as if he was scared to hurt you.

“We don’t really have to do this if you don’t want to,” You were unsure of what you wanted, what you thought of him. He said nothing as he gently placed his hands on your cheeks, drawing closer till his lips met yours. The world drowned out around you. Electricity surged through your every nerve and you shivered as you felt him nip at your bottom lip. You drown in the taste of spiced cinnamon and his tongue swiping along the roof of your mouth. It’s dizzying and you almost couldn’t believe it had happened once he pulls away. 

Once you look into his eyes you’re suddenly aware of the crowd’s roar behind you. The full weight of the past few moments settle in and you don’t know if you want to slap him or kiss him again. 

“You never answered my question, but I have been treating you like shit all week. You don’t deserve it. You really don’t,” he repeated, tapering off as he fumbled for the right words to say.

“I got scared of my feelings, of what they meant, and I pushed you away because of it.”

“That’s putting it lightly, Bakugou,” You let the ghost of a smile pull at your lips. After all, that’s probably the closest he’d get to an apology.

“Dumbass, don’t interrupt me while I’m trying to tell you that I like you—” His cheeks burned once he realized what he’d said. You mirrored his reaction, eyes widening at his words.

“You like me?” Your smile quirked into a full grin as you pulled him back towards you in another kiss. Immediately his hands shot to your waist, pressing you closer to him as you lost yourself in the way his lips melded against yours. He’s everywhere, up the curve of your spine and down your arms, kissing you with a fervent urgency you’d never known before. The feeling of melting so deliciously against him made your nerves sing. A sudden giddiness spun through you as you pulled away and mirrored Bakugou’s radiant smile. 

“Luckily, I just so happen to like you too.”

taglist: @tsumuseum @amoroushero @mrslordexplosionmurder @ssat0ris​ @osamusriceballs @seraphgabrielle​ @1642lux

strike through means I wasn’t able to tag you

additional note: event taglist is open! send an ask if you’d like to be added <3

[starman-john-tracy]

mmmmSKSKSKSKSK I sent this to the wrong blog but,,,for the prompt list thingy you reblogged, misc 13 with 2 characters you want

(I HOPE TO JESUS IT'S YOU WHO REBLOGGED IT THIS TIME)

“I’m worried about you.” [From this Ask meme]

The best response John can manage, at that precise moment, is a vague, dismissive flick of his fingers as he swipes his older brother’s hologram off of his screens, ending the call.

He’s busy, damn it, Scott.

Alan and Kayo have taken Thunderbird Three out to an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter to help a returning deep-space shuttle with engine failure and Alan’s got twelve minutes of air left in his tank, blood-red holograms ticking the numbers down at the corner of John’s vision. Thunderbird One’s been deployed to the Alps in the sub-zero temperatures of a snowstorm following reports from the family of a missing skier, and John could really have done with all the little comments about their Mom that Scott had decided it was a good time to slip in amongst receiving his instructions, probably in an attempt to keep it together himself. To crown it all, Gordon’s in the middle of a risky deep dive with Thunderbird Four in one of the darkest parts of the Atlantic Ocean, trying to find a missing ocean surveyor, with Two coasting overhead despite the fact there’s not much Virgil can do but clutter John’s airways with his worries. Penny’s apparently in the middle of some kind of bank heist in England, and so can’t take FAB1 to help. John, in an almost Scott-like fit of insanity, is almost itching for The Hood to turn up, just because he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to hit something very hard with the mooring claw…

It’s been like this for a week solid. John’s not slept in thirty-two hours and colours are desperately trying their best to become audible. His mouth tastes stale with jumbled numerical readings and directions and what-his-brothers-need-to-do-nexts. 

The astronaut takes a deep, ragged breath and rips his hands from the blue glow of his holographic array. He rubs the textured blue fabric of his fingertips hard against gritty eyes, trying to force away the tired moisture that’s gathering determinedly there from trying not to yawn.

This should all be routine by now. He’s got a schedule. A delicate balance of exhaustion and focus. John knows his body’s limits and how to push himself past them - swaddling himself in a cocoon woven of holograms and the loud, urgent voices of people who need his help until he’s lightheaded from the brightness and downing enough caffeine to make his hands shake is the only thing keeping him going.

It’s not a good system, but it works.

Well, sort of works.

John scrubs at his eyes harder, pushing against his closed lids until phosphenes bloom fractal galaxies across the darkness from the pressure. He’s so tired but there’s no way he's gonna be able to sleep this one off. Not with everything going on all around him right now. 

Not until these people are sa…

“John.” Fantastic. Scott’s back. Calling on his wrist Comm this time, and big brother doesn’t exactly sound pleased about being hung up on. John thinks better of ignoring him twice, though he rolls his eyes about it. “You’ve been running Comms for three days straight now, you need to take a break.”

“I’m fine, Scott.” John’s mouth shapes the words even though he feels anything but. He has to be fine. “I’m just doing my job. Go get on with yours. And fly a little lower, the wind speed’s up.” The holograms had started swimming alarmingly over two hours ago, most of their words blurring beyond legibility, but John knows what the warning orange blob and its proximity to the logo of Thunderbird One means regardless. Focusing is getting harder and harder and that’s probably dangerous because what if he slips up, what if he gives one of his brothers the wrong instructions and something bad happens, what if...

John really wants a coffee. Another coffee. That’s probably a bad sign in itself because John, ninety-nine per cent of the time, doesn’t drink coffee. Certainly not like his brother’s do. Thunderbird Five’s got a massive range of teas vacuum packed in little silver packets, mostly courtesy of the Lady Penelope, because John far prefers it, but there is a sturdy metal tin of strong, Indian coffee in the galley, waiting ominously for him like a red break glass in case of emergency box.

John’s been choking down up to three mugs of the stuff, black and thick as tar, spiked with crushed caffeine pills, every other hour, in an attempt to keep himself with it enough to do his damn job.

The system works.

He grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying futilely to prevent his pounding headache from getting any worse. He thinks there’s a bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit, Brains’ good ones, and mixed with another mug of caffeine John reckons that should get him through the rest of today even though he’s hungry and exhausted, and all his muscles have a dangerous, creeping ache that warns of atrophy, of too much time spent in Zero G. John just knows his whole body is going to kill the minute he relaxes, and that, if the constant chatter of the globe weren’t enough, makes taking even a little break just not an option. He ignores it all like a pro, slipping out of the segment of Five’s ring with the globe in, and drifting toward the galley, his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy on the handrails.

Coffee. Black. Two capsules of painkiller and another of caffeine, crushed into a powder with his fingers and dumped in.

He snatches up the plastic cup of coffee and heads back toward his globe, lifting the cup to his lips.

“John,” Scott says in his ear. “You can’t seriously be going to drink that…?”

John does, in fact, drink that. He knocks back the boiling beverage so quickly he doesn’t even need to swallow and chases the scald down with another cold cup of coffee that’s been left on his countertop from who-knows-when in the past three days. It’s gritty in the bottom from the drugs. John swallows hard at the acrid taste, coughs, and shakes out his shoulders.

“Alright,” John manages, suppressing the urge to throw it back up. “I’m good.”

Scott just blinks at him like he’s clearly a moron. Which, John thinks, is a bit rude when he’s the one with two PHDs.

“How long has that mug been there?” Scott asks, gaping slightly. It’s not at all like John to leave liquids out in the open, and especially not in space. “John, it had a layer of mould floating on it.” Not like him at all.

“Yeah,” John offers him, with a weak, crooked smile that doesn’t make sense on his face. “Penicillin. Adjust your tail flaps thirty degrees, you’re coasting too low. You need to compensate for the way the wind’s being channelled between the rocks.”

“John,” Scott’s voice comes back dangerously low, “John, when did you last have a proper break?” John’s head throbs and he’s saved from trying to work out any kind of reply to that because Gordon takes the opportunity to check-in. It doesn’t matter that John’s vision is blurring, as long as he can hear his little brother just fine. 

Crackling static buzzes in the spaceman’s ears long after Gordon clicks off again.

The newest shot of caffeine is slowly starting to soothe his frayed nerves, though everything’s a bit… hazy, if he’s honest.

“John!” Oh, Scott’s still here, huh. “Ok, little brother,” The elder of them puffs his chest out and folds his arms, but John’s not paying enough attention to his hologram to notice. “If you string yourself out much longer, I’m going to put you on medical leave until you die, alright? Nothing can stop me.”

“I don’t need med leave!” John exhales all of the air in his paper-bag lungs at once. “I’m fine and I’m doing a damn good job monitoring everything! I never take sick days…”

“You never take vacation days, either.” Scott cuts pointedly across him.

“Irrelevant.” John dismisses him again, flicking the point away like it’s a hologram he’s done with, “I’m just doing my job. If you want to come down on me for working hard, then you’re the one with the issue here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Scott growls. “Your exhaustion and carelessness puts everyone who works under you at risk and I don’t know what the answer to your workload without Dad around is, but it sure. isn’t. this.” A sweeping hand encompasses his brother head to toe - taking in the coffee stains on John’s blue fingertips and the darkness smudged under his eyes. “We’ve got to, I don’t know, there must be something that can take some of the pressure off. Alan was talking about wanting to try a rotation.”

“Alan’ll be bored to death within five minutes alone up here,” John points out, “he’s still too young.”

“Gordon then, or Virgil, hell I’ll do it. I’m sure we can scrape together something.”

“Scott.” John’s voice comes out much softer this time, certainly softer than intended. “We’ll work something out but… just… not right now, ok?” It sounds almost pleading. A little broken. Perhaps Scott shouldn’t have brought up their Father, or perhaps there’s already too much for John to focus on without throwing himself into the mix. “We can pick this up later if you want, when we’re finished,” He goes on to offer, hollowly, “but right now you need to check your heat scanner and find that missing skier before those kids who called lose a parent.”

There’s a harsh intake of breath from Scott at that. He knows as well as any of them why they, why John, does all this. If they can keep together just one family, compared to their own loss, anything seems worth it.

Doesn’t mean Scott’s got to like it though.

He clicks off and John closes his eyes for one, very long moment - the residual Comm chatter swirling in his ears. It’s tempting to just press his forehead against the cold glass beneath his feet and just not exist for a few hours... But Alan needs to get back aboard his Thunderbird with the crew members, and Gordon’s discussing going EVA with Virgil in the background and Scott’s thermal scanner has just picked up an orange blip amongst all the blue.

There’s always a later. When everyone’s safe. John can rest later.

[staranon95]

colourful

a red hood au drabble

Gavin doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he feels he needs to do something. He needs to do this on his own. He can’t wait for Trevor to scheme and come up with a plan. He can’t wait for the crew to say they have his back. He can’t wait for Geoff to swoop in and save the day. In many respects, this feels like Gavin’s issue and only his. He can reach out to Alfredo. He can get past that hard exterior and reach him, not Red.

He just has to find him first.

He goes to his apartment first to grab his go-bag he keeps stashed in his closet. He leaves his phone and any other equipment Matt might be able to track his movements from. He’s got a few burner cellphones in his bag he’ll use for emergencies, but for this he’ll be going off the grid.

He leaves his apartment. He leaves his motorcycle and heads for a 24 hour garage that does business with people like him. There he’s able to get a bike the crew won’t be able to find him on. Then he stakes out a new place to work out of. He stays the night at a hostel and finds a cheap motel to work out of, paying cash at the front desk under a fake name.

Day one of finding Alfredo is literally all online. If there’s some new crew making its rounds in the city, people will be talking about it in forums. If you’re a civilian in Los Santos, you’re probably a fan of a criminal and talking about conspiracy theories and keeping up on the news. There are some smatterings of ‘Red’ on the forums that Gavin pays close attention to. If Alfredo is working for someone, then Gavin needs to know about it.

There’s some chatter about something called ‘Spectrum.’ Some people think it’s a group of highly trained grifters, conmen, hitmen, and more. An elite group. Others think it’s a person named ‘Spectrum.’ Like the Corpirate or Edgar. A moniker for a titan of crime. Or it’s an international organization that comes to massive cities like Los Santos to sow corruption into the municipal government for the betterment of mega-corporations and CEOs. Either way, Spectrum is something Gavin needs to consider. It’s information he’ll need to send to the crew.

Some people on the forums have said they’ve spotted members of Spectrum. And that an identifying feature is brightly coloured clothing for important members. That might explain Alfredo’s red sweater and why he wore it last night.

Gavin builds the profile based on what he has. He has some locations to work with that he’ll haunt for the next few days. It’s tedious work, but Gavin has the mind for it. He’s always been a puzzle guy, willing to sit and wrestle with something until he has the answer. So he builds his routine, makes note of locations, potential names and descriptions of people he’ll encounter.

It’s not that easy for him to move around—the so called ‘Golden Boy’ of the city. A lot of people know him on sight. So he shaves his beard, which easily takes a few years off his appearance. He ditches his designer jeans for loose cargo shirts and a shirt that’s two sizes two big. It makes him look younger, more immature, allowing him to pass by unnoticed when he needs to be.

In his room he hangs a map against the wall, using red thumbtacks to track the locations he’s checked out that he knows Spectrum has been by. He notices clusters of activity, attempting to triangulate to a location where this group might be working out of.

There’s one location in the downtown he decides to check into. It was one of the first apartment buildings built in the city, from the 1910s. The historical aspect of it is overlooked by the absolutely squalor that’s taken residence in it. There’ve been attempts to refurbish and remodel it, but it’s located smackdab in the crime district. Any politician worth their salt would know attempting to gentrify this area will end in failure, so no one is going to make an attempt on it.

He takes the fire escape all the way to the top of the building. It comes to an elegant point on top with slightly curved arches at the four corners. There are four massive eagle statues at each point, wings folded to make them look sleek and imposing. The age of the building means that very little surveillance has been incorporated into its architecture. It would make it great for hiding a criminal organization within it.

The entire top floor, what would’ve been the penthouse suite, is in constant sate of repair. Nearly all the fixtures had been torn down. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling in sections. Gavin has to admit, though, the view from the city is nice up here.

When he hears voices at the door, he ducks out one of the windows to crouch near one of the statues. It’s dark enough he shouldn’t be noticed.

“Prism has asked Blue and Yellow to move up to the docks,” says one.

“Yeah? And?” That’s Alfredo.

“Prism thinks you’re moving too slow. Once Blue and Yellow are in place and have the docks secure, Orange will be paired with you.”

Alfredo scoffs. “Prism can fuck off. I know the Fakes. I know how to handle them.”

“You had the opportunity to have three of them put in strict lockdown the other night and you gave them an out. How do you think that looks to the rest of Spectrum?”

“The Fakes have the most resources out of any crew in this city. They would’ve made bail no matter how high the DA would’ve set it. They have the best lawyers on retainer. You think a little burglary would’ve stopped them?”

“No, but I do find it odd that they were tipped off to the raid of their penthouse. They’ve been there for, what, almost ten years since Ramsey signed that lease? And someone tipped them off.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. You think I tipped them off?”

“I don’t know what I think. Just that a lot of coincidences have been happening concerning the Fakes lately. I’d be careful if I were you, Red. Prism doesn’t hand out second chances like they’re candy.”

“Is this a threat, Violet?”

“No. Just a thought. Careful, Red. Your true colours might start showing.”

The second voice moves off. Gavin hears the door close. He peers around the statue and spots Alfredo’s silhouette. He wonders if he should make his presence known, try to talk to Alfredo and try to understand what this is all about. Or should he try to make his escape. Or possibly trail this Violet person.

But he’s not ready for that, not yet. He decided to do this, go off on this quest to talk to Alfredo. Just talk.

He creeps along the edge and back towards the open window. He sets one foot in, toes then heel before the rest of his follows. He balances himself with his fingertips on the ground, looking for Alfredo’s figure in the dark. He hears a sigh off not too far. He stands.

“So you sleeping here or is it more of a vantage point?”

Alfredo whirls. He still has that mask in place, but his hood is off. Gavin knew his hair was longer. He kept it pretty short back in the day, but now he gets to see it fully, see how much Alfredo has changed.

“Gavin.” Alfredo scoffs, pulls up that wall of cold and sarcastic indifference. “I knew one of you would come looking. Thought it might be Fiona. I hear she’s more of a solo player. But you? Didn’t know you did shit like this anymore.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah, apparently. Thought you were the one who stuck by your friends. Even in the ugly times.”

Gavin swallows. It’s time he faces the past. “Everything pointed to you being dead.”

Alfredo laughs. “You for real right now? I know the type of impossible shit you guys have pulled. You broke Geoff out of a maximum-security prison in broad daylight. You guys once faked your own deaths! And what happens when you don’t find my body? You wash your hands and walk away.”

“We were there on the scene. I was just about to run in and get you when the building exploded in front of me. And I still ran in! If there was any chance you were still in there, I was going to look for you.”

“But you still didn’t find me,” Alfredo says, softer this time.

His admission makes Gavin pause because isn’t that what happened? Did they give up? Did they stop looking when they realized they were out of their depth? Geoff took Alfredo’s death very personally, and having Geoff demoralized like that affected the rest of the crew.

“We didn’t,” Gavin settles on. “And it fucks with me every day that we didn’t. I feel like I held on the longest. Kept some things of yours afterwards.”

“Yeah?”

Gavin nods, takes a step forward. He sees Alfredo shift his weight into a more relaxed position with his arms crossed over his chest. “A sweater of yours. This dumb disposable camera you had. Even got the photos developed. And your old Gameboy.”

“You kept all that?”

“They were important to you. I was hanging onto them for you. And for me.”

They never really had a deep talk about what they meant to each other outside of the crew, outside of their work. Does Alfredo still think of those times like Gavin does?

“Gav.” And then Gavin thinks Alfredo will drop the act. They’ll talk. They’ll leave. They’ll figure out this Spectrum/Prism mess together, and then—

Alfredo moves quickly. He swipes Gavin’s legs out from beneath him, sending him crashing onto the ground. Before Gavin can move, Alfredo is straddling him, pinning his arms to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’d fall for that. The sappiest trick in the book! You taught me that one and you fucking fell for it! Man. You’re out of practice. Or maybe you’re just too in deep to notice you’re drowning.”

“’fredo, I—”

“No. I’m not your ‘fredo. I’m not your ‘freddie. I’m not one of your fucking boys! I didn’t come back for you.”

“Then why are you keeping an eye on us?”

“Maybe because I like to screw around with you. Now get the fuck out.”

Alfredo stands and stalks off. Gavin is left shaken, but no worse off than before.

He retreats. He takes the fire escape down to the street and takes a twisting path back to his hotel until he knows he’s not being followed. Then he digs out one of his burner cellphones and calls up Trevor.

“Trevor, I think we need to get Geoff in on this. It’s bigger than I thought.”

[just-the-daydreamer]

Too much

By @just-the-daydreamer for @ferretshark 

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Characters: Peter Paker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, FRIDAY (Marvel), May Parker (mentioned)

Summary: 

“I-I think it’s a sensory overload. I don’t know what caused it. Everything is just, too much!” Peter managed to grit out, hands still locked in place over his ears. They weren’t really helping him filter out the sound, but it gave him something to focus on.

OR

Peter wakes up with a sensory overload and Tony is there to help him out.

Ao3 link (Doesn’t work yet)

Taglist:

@paradoxicalblueberry @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @aatticsaltt @marvel-us-world @tony-wheres-my-supersuit @sketchydragonscales @baloobird @a-l-ias @spideynamu @troubledpixel @irondad-is-cannon-bitch

Hi! I really hope you enjoy this!! I tried to keep the whump to a minimum and tried my best at Protective Tony! I hope you like it!

Peter’s head was pounding. He’d only woken up a few minutes ago but he was sure that it was not going to be a Good Day. The fabric of his shirt was rubbing against him in a way that seemed to burn and the blanket felt even worse. The only reason Peter even kept the blanket was to hide himself from the light. It was burning his retinas. 

His alarm clock suddenly went off and the shrill ringing was even more painful than the light. His hand shot out from under the blanket and switched it off before yanking his arm back underneath. He groaned quietly after remembering that he had a math test and he couldn’t skip school, even though his body was begging him to. 

Dragging his body out of bed was one of the most difficult experiences he had ever dealt with as Peter Parker. Usually, the painful stuff was left for Spiderman to deal with. Somehow, Peter managed to get ready for school, wearing the comfiest clothes he owned. 

Forcing his legs to move, Peter made his way to the kitchen to grab the lunch he had prepared yesterday evening. He snagged a few nutrition bars to eat along the way. They would, hopefully, keep his energy up until lunch. 

The commute to school was awful, being in a compact area pressed up against countless other people was nauseating. Peter stumbled out of the carriage and made his way to the gates, head still spinning from the journey. He staggered into his homeroom seat and as soon as his bag was off, he rested his head against the cool table for some relief. 

“Peter? Are you okay?” Ned leaned across his table to whisper his question in Peter’s ear. 

“I’m fine. Just a headache.” He replied, stringing the least amount of words together to suffice Ned’s worrying. 

“It doesn’t look like ‘just a headache’ to me. Should you even be at school?” Ned continued to press the issue, unaware of how Peter truly felt. 

Peter turned his head to whisper, eyes still closed, “I’m fine, Ned.” Before continuing to rest his head against the table. 

Ned backed off after that. It was a small mercy which Peter was grateful for. He just hoped that everyone else would leave him alone. 

-

The misshapen, paper ball hit its target once again. The target being the back of Peter’s head. It was really irritating him and he was already in a bad mood. It seemed his senses had become even more sensitive and now he couldn’t block out anything. The longer the day went, the worse he felt. It was a mistake coming into school but any more missed days and Peter would’ve faced disciplinary action. 

His original plan was just to keep his head down, hood up and try to focus on blocking everything out but that plan was soon scrapped after getting told to take his hood off. His new plan was to tough it out until after the maths test and go home, saying he was sick. Less than an hour in and Peter was just about ready to leap out of the window and go home anyway. 

Flash had been getting extremely on his nerves today and Peter didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He was really regretting not sleeping in now. 

As the lesson continued to drag on, Peter’s head began to hurt even more. The fluorescent lights were piercing his eyes, even when he had them closed. The thumping sound of his classmates’ heartbeats surrounded him and their droning chatter was vibrating in his ears. He could smell the wood shavings from someone’s pencil and the food in people’s bags, all mixing together to form a repulsive odour that only he could smell. His clothes brushed against his skin and its touch was the worst sensation he could have felt. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it might have been if he hadn’t chosen comfy clothes that morning but he didn’t really want to think about it. 

The bell rang and the sound of thousands of feet shuffling and stomping against the ground was all that Peter could hear. The ringing was still echoing through his eardrums and the noise of the people’s conversations and their shoes squeaking on the floor was too much. 

He wanted to tear his ears off, the world was so loud. His hands instinctively moved towards his ears, trying to block out as much noise as he could but the vibrations still made their way to his overwhelmed eardrums. It was so loud it felt like his brain was rattling in his skull. 

His fingers were still clamped over his ears when he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. Judging from their grip, Peter assumed it was Ned. Peter opened his eyes, not even realising that he had closed them at any point, to find an empty and blindingly bright room and Ned behind him. 

“Okay, what’s going on, Peter? Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine.” Ned said with a firm tone. He removed his hand from Peter’s shoulder and crossed his arms, looking (rightfully) displeased. 

“I-I think it’s a sensory overload. I don’t know what caused it. Everything is just, too much!” Peter managed to grit out, hands still locked in place over his ears. They weren’t really helping him filter out the sound, but it gave him something to focus on. 

“Look, I think you should go see the nurse. Maybe she’ll let you go home or she might be nice and let you sleep it off. Either way, I really think that you shouldn’t be in school today.” Ned’s voice was softer this time, lower in volume. It wasn’t much but it gave him the slightest amount of relief. 

“Can’t go home. Got a maths test. May’s at work, too." 

"Oh my gosh, Peter! You can’t seriously believe that you’ll be able to take a maths test when you can’t even stand up right now and get a good score! You can retake the test another day - Mrs. Davis loves you anyway so just take the day off.” The teen softly exclaimed, astonished at the stupidity of his best friend. 

“I don’t wanna make a scene, Ned." 

"I think you already made a scene when the bell rang and you were still sitting here with your hands over your head. Plus, I’m already late to my next lesson so I might as well have a proper excuse.” And with that, Ned hauled Peter out of his seat, careful not to irritate him too much. He grabbed his friend’s bag and threw it over his shoulder before hovering around Peter in case his knees buckled. 

-

A painful couple of minutes later, the duo arrived outside the nurses office. Ned was already 10 minutes late so he just stayed with Peter and explained the situation to the nurse. He was already late, why not help his friend out while he’s there? 

Peter’s details were taken and May was called but the nurse was obviously disappointed that she didn’t pick up.

Even though they’d already said she was at work.

So, Peter’s second emergency contact was called and it went about as well as Ned would’ve imagined. 

“Hello? My name is Susan Lee and I’m calling on behalf of Peter Parker. Is this Mr. Stark?" 

"This is him, yes. Is Peter okay-" 

"He’s feeling a bit ill. He has a headache and he says he feels sick. His aunt didn’t pick up the phone so we had to call you. Is it alright for you to pick him up?" 

"I’ll be there soon, thanks for calling me.” The phone cut off with a beep and Miss Lee set the phone down softly on the desk. 

The nurse whirled around towards Ned and raised a shaky finger at his face. With wide eyes she questioned, “There is no way that was Tony Stark! How does” - she pointed her finger towards a pale and unresponsive Peter instead - “ that boy know Tony Stark?!”

Honestly, Ned was slightly impressed at how calm she had been while talking to a literal celebrity. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t unnerved by her accusing finger. He backed away from her slightly, shifting his gaze between her concentrated gaze and Peter, who was collapsed against a table by his chair. 

“He interns for Stark Industries! I think he’s Mr. Stark’s personal intern!" 

"There is no way Stark Industries hires high school interns!” She pressed, hand slowly sinking into her lap. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger! If you don’t believe me, why don’t you just wait and see? Mr. Stark said he’s coming to pick Peter up anyway so you’ll see him then!” Ned tried to placate her but he wasn’t sure if she would listen or not. It was quite intimidating to be honest, Miss Lee was always a nice nurse so this side of her was kind of terrifying.

Ned checked on Peter, saying his 'get wells’ and goodbyes one more time before turning to leave. He was late enough, and he didn’t need to be there for Mr. Stark’s arrival. 

-

Tony burst into the school with an air of calm disguising his worry. Peter was never one to just get a headache and go home, so either he was hiding an injury or something worse had happened. 

When he opened the door, the first thing he could see was a head of curly brown hair slumped against a small table adjacent to a row of chairs. His thinly veiled calmness almost shattered there and then but he managed to hold it together to turn to the nurse and sign some papers, muttering something about taking Peter home. 

Tony truly had no idea what he had said, he felt like he was in a haze, but whatever it was, it seemed to work and he gathered Peter’s things before turning to said teen. 

He crouched down in front of him and ran a calloused hand through the boy’s sweaty hair. 

Tapping the side of his face he whispered to the teenager. “Hey, Pete. A little birdie told me you weren’t feeling too hot today. You wanna get outta here?" 

A small nod was given in response and that was all that Tony needed to help Peter up and walk them out the school gates. 

-

The drive back was… painful to say the least. Tony tried to drive as fast as he could back to the Tower but Peter was in pain the entire time. It killed him to see the kid in so much pain but there was nothing he could do at that point. He’d already given Peter his sunglasses which seemed to help a little and the kid had already grabbed some soundproof headphones from his bag, but even then he could still hear sounds. 

The kid had also explained briefly that he was having a sensory overload, which was something that Tony could deal with. At the Tower.

On the road, however? Not so much. 

When they finally reached the elevator, FRIDAY took them straight up to Tony’s personal floor. 

As soon as the doors opened, Tony whispered, "Protocol Bedtime.” Immediately the lights went off and Tony guided a much more relaxed Peter towards his room, through muscle memory alone. 

He had Peter change out of his clothes and put on something softer to wear to sleep. He wasn’t really sure what to do to help Peter, but some rest seemed like a good idea. Hopefully, he’d be able to sneak away and build something to block out input. 

Forcing Peter to lie down, Tony closed the curtains in his room and sat down on the mattress next to where the young adolescent laid. 

“You feeling better, kiddo?” Tony whispered at what he hoped was a suitable volume. 

“Um, yeah. Yeah everything’s great.” Peter fidgeted under the covers. 

“You sure? Because if there’s anything I can do just say the word, it’ll be done.”

“Erm, yeah, there’s-there’s this one thing. It’s really embarrassing though and- actually it’s fine don’t worry about it.” Peter decided, pulling the covers over himself and looking away from Tony’s gaze. 

“Come on, kiddo. Spit it out. I want to help you. I bet it’s not even that embarrassing. What is it? You need the toilet but I tucked you in too well?” Tony replied with a small smile, hoping he could get Peter to talk. 

“Wi-will you stay?” Peter asked, tentatively, glancing back at Tony. 

The billionaire’s eyes softened as he glanced at the kid- his kid. He would do anything for this kid and his heart was bursting with so much love for him. He wouldn’t admit it though. He had a reputation to keep. 

“Of course I’ll stay. Scoot over would you?” Tony slipped his shoes off and sat under the covers with Peter who’d moved away from the centre of the mattress. 

Peter immediately moved closer to his mentor, until his head was against his hip. Peter rolled on his side to face Tony and he closed his eyes, taking relief in his father figure’s presence. Tony didn’t say anything, just placed his hands in Peter’s curls and began untangling the knots that had formed. He didn’t know if it would help Peter, but his blissful expression said everything. Tony stayed with him, carding his fingers through Peter’s soft hair, until he was sure that the teen had fallen asleep. Trying to be as silent as possible, Tony extracted himself from the bed and slipped his shoes on before exiting the room. 

He headed down to the lab and told FRIDAY to notify him when Peter woke up. He left a message for May, explaining what had happened and that Peter was okay. Then he got to work. 

-

“Boss, Peter has woken up.” FRIDAY helpfully informed him a few hours later.

“Thanks, FRI. I’ll be up there soon." 

Tony made his way up to his floor, some sleek earphones in hand. Opening the door softly, he poked his head through the door and looked to see a half asleep Peter sitting up, his hair wild and sticking out. A soft chuckle was heard from Tony as he opened the door completely and walked inside, heading towards the confused hero. 

"What’s happening?” Peter’s voice was scratchy and raw. 

“You had a sensory overload. You hungry?” Tony replied, setting the earphones down on Peter’s lap. 

“What’re these?” Peter asked, turning them over in his hands. 

“Earphones. Hopefully, they’ll block out the worst of the sounds when you’re in public. I made them small so you can wear them in class and still hear what’s going on without being overwhelmed.” Tony replied with a shrug. 

Suddenly, he had an armful of Peter who was holding on tightly to the billionaire. Tony smiled and after a few moments he returned the hug, gripping the kid just as tight. 

When they finally separated, Tony started to tame the boy’s hair, smoothing it down. “I asked you a question earlier. You hungry?” Tony said, his lips quirking up into a smile. 

“Starving. I was gonna go home at lunch after I had my math test but…” he trailed off, looking bashfully at his father figure. 

All Tony could do was laugh at his stupidity. His kid had no common sense. “What am I going to do with you, kiddo?" 

"Make me a grilled cheese sandwich?” Peter replied, voice hopeful. 

“Sure. Let’s go.” Tony snorted, pulling Peter up and leading him into the kitchen. The billionaire pulled him into a one-armed hug while they made their way into the kitchen. 

He couldn’t hide his grin when Peter leaned closer.

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 12 of it’s always ourselves we find is here!

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

[kristanna / m / modern au / coworkers & enemies to lovers ;) ]

all good w greg? 

.

No. Guess what was wrong with the printer?

.

out of ink?

.

Unplugged.

.

omg i feel like i shouldn’t laugh but i am

.

Well, then it turns out he had six different viruses on his work issued laptop.

.

no shit? that’s worse than hans

are you gonna make it to the dinner? I’ll save you a seat

liss told me it’s just a bunch of subs and chips and stuff but i mean it’s free

.

Don’t think I will. I’m sorry :/. Haven’t even showered.

.

don’t be sorry! i’ll just sneak some out and we can eat together in the room 😊

can’t have you starving to death

.

And suddenly, the bubbling, hot tide of irritation that had been rising in him since the moment Greg had first interrupted them on the beach was all washed away.

“So,” Greg said, squinting, “where did all my toolbars go?”

Kristoff chuckled and clapped the older man on the shoulder. “Good one, buddy.”

“No, seriously.”

“I’ll cut you a deal. Either you promise me never to click on a pop-up porn ad again, or I’ll tell Harry exactly how many pop-up porn ads you clicked on while using your work computer.”

The other man paled at that. “How can you tell?”

Kristoff winked and tapped a finger against his temple. “Call it intuition. Have a good one, Greg.”

It was for the best that the lobby and hallways were uncrowded as he made his way back upstairs to the hotel room, because not only did he still smell sort of seaweed-y, but he was paying next to no attention to where he was going. Every part of him felt charged somehow, like the air between a burst of lightning and the clap of thunder, but in the best way; he kept pulling his phone out to check it, to remind himself that this was real, that Anna actually returned his feelings, that she was choosing to be with him tonight.

Tonight-- and maybe beyond that, if this streak of luck continued. 

To his relief, she still wasn’t back in the room by the time he got there; he wanted nothing more than to hold her again the way he had in the water, but he also knew that there was definitely still some sand where it did not belong and that his chances of finally getting to kiss her were severely lowered if he didn’t hurry up and rinse off the saltwater that still felt like it was clinging to every inch of him.

He was just rinsing the last of the suds from his skin when he heard the door to the room open and Anna calling for him.

“In here,” he called back. 

“Hurry up before your food gets cold.”

He chuckled. “It’s sandwiches. It’s supposed to be cold.”

“Yeah, but you had to stop and think about it for a second, didn’t you?”

“Did not,” he said as he switched off the water and reached for his towel.

“Definitely did,” came the cheerful reply. “But seriously, hurry up, slowpoke. I’m fucking starving.”

When he emerged, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt as he ran a hand through his still-damp hair, she was just coming back in from the balcony, her teeth chattering. “Hey, Kris,” she said, and without further preamble she wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her face against his shoulder.

“Hey, yourself,” he said, one hand instinctively flying up to cradle the back of her head as the other pressed against her back, pulling her closer to his chest.

Anna sighed happily and nuzzled her cheek against him. “Sorry, is this okay? It’s just kind of chilly now that it’s dark out.”

“‘Course,” he mumbled, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “But I’ve got a sweatshirt you can borrow. I’d hold you all night, but that’d make eating difficult, huh?”

She peered up at him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Would you really?”

He swallowed hard. “Ah, shit, Anna. I-- it’s one thing when I tell you stuff like that on accident, but on purpose…”

So fast he didn’t have time to react, she brushed a kiss against the underside of his jaw and whispered, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Speechless, he only nodded and headed over to his suitcase. “Here,” he said, pulling out a worn, navy blue sweatshirt and offering it to her. “It’s kinda old, but it’s pretty warm.”

Anna wriggled quickly into it, and for the second time that day his heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of her wearing his clothes. The sweatshirt was even bigger on her than his button down had been; it hung nearly to her knees. She giggled as she held up her hands to examine just how far past her fingertips the sleeves of the sweatshirt dangled. “At this rate, you’re going to go home with an empty suitcase.”

Kristoff didn’t reply, too overcome with the sudden thought of this is the night you’re going to kiss her. Of course he had tried to earlier when they were interrupted, and he just might have even before that in the elevator if only they’d had another ten seconds or so, but now seeing her so delighted to be wearing something else of his, the way her eyes had sparkled when he’d offered, the fact that she’d snuck him his dinner up here so they could enjoy it together underneath the starlight with nothing but the sound of the waves to disturb them--

Tonight, he thought, a shiver of wonder racing through him.

“Kris?”

He blinked, startled from his reverie, and looked down to see a look of concern crossing Anna’s face. “Are you alright?” she asked, looking suddenly nervous. “You were just-- staring at me.”

“Yeah, it’s just-- just-- yeah,” he said lamely, and to his surprise, her cheeks turned rosy. 

“Well, anyway,” she said, a little shy as she tugged the sleeves up enough that her hands were free, “I, uh, I put the food out on the table out on the balcony. I got you a Dr. Pepper, that’s your favorite, right?”

He nodded, once again too overwhelmed for words, and reached down to tangle his fingers with hers.

They ate in near silence, exchanging shy glances across the little table between bites of their sandwiches. He wanted to ask her more about everything, not just about the sudden miracle that had sprung up between them but about her, about what she liked to do on weeknights and where she went to elementary school and how she ended up working at an office supply company that, some days, seemed to run purely on nepotism and scotch tape.

And it occurred to him, suddenly, as he watched Anna settle further back in her chair, letting the sleeves fall back down to cover her fingers, that he knew the answers, that they’d been gleaned one at a time over the fourteen months they’d worked together; that she liked to go hiking with her sister or read at home with her cat on her lap; that she’d grown up in Illinois and been homeschooled until high school; and that she’d gone to Auburn and followed her sister further east. 

And god, even just realizing that he’d already known it all, that he’d known it and known that he felt this way about her for so long, was enough for him to again feel that rising certainty that he was going to kiss her tonight-- well, certainty and panic.

Anna, for her part, appeared to be more focused on the night sky than on the way he was dying a slow and painful death right there on the balcony. “I wish we could see the stars like this closer to the city,” she said softly, the evening breeze fluttering through the ends of her hair. 

“You can,” Kristoff blurted out. “I can from my yard.” 

She turned to look at him, her eyes softer than she’d ever seen them. “Can I come see them sometime?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” he breathed, hoping she understood how earnestly he meant it, and that that went for anything she asked of him; it was hers, all she might want of all he had.

He thought for a minute that the moment might be then, from the way her lips parted slightly and the way she leaned forward, but then something lit up in her expression, and she was on her feet. “Oh! I forgot we have dessert!”

He raised his eyebrows at that; it was very unlike Anna to forget anything sweet. He listened to her rustling around through her bag for a moment as he drew in a deep breath, trying as best he could to steady his nerves. 

“Aha!” she said triumphantly, pulling out the bag of M&Ms he’d bought for her the day before and waving them in the air. 

“Well, how about that,” Kristoff said, trying to contain his amusement. 

She grinned, already tearing the bag open. “You want some? Hold out your hand.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” he said, and as she shrugged and popped a handful into her mouth, he added airily, “I got them for you.”

She froze, one hand halfway back down from her mouth, the other slowly losing its grip on the bag. He could have sworn he could pinpoint the moment it had clicked for her— something about the way her eyes were suddenly so bright it made his chest ache. 

“Well, don’t mind me, go on and eat them,” he said mischievously. “I spent good money on those.”

She set the bag down with a decisive tap and finally remembered to swallow. “It was you?” she whispered. “The whole time?”

If he was being honest, he suddenly felt a little off balance himself. He barely managed a nod as she drew closer to him; he let his knees pull further apart so that she could stand between them as she leaned down to set her fingertips against his jaw. They were trembling, just barely.

“I can’t believe it,” Anna said, her voice barely audible. 

“Can’t believe what?”

A soft smile crept over her features. “How something so obvious was right in front of my eyes, and I never even noticed.”

His heart was beginning to pound. “I— I think I missed a couple things, too,” he murmured as she leaned down, and then suddenly— finally— they were kissing, her lips earnest and still candy-sweet against his. He set his hands on her waist to try and pull her closer she went easily, settling herself on his lap. 

“Anna,” he whispered, and felt her smile against him, and god, it was even better than his dreams. 

---

It had been difficult, at first, to fall asleep when she’d kept giggling. “What?” Kristoff had asked, confused, as they faced each other across the mattress, still keeping their distance though they hadn’t bothered with setting up any semblance of a barrier.

“It’s just that a couple of days ago I thought you hated me, and then we just kissed for the first time tonight, and now we’re sharing a bed and it’s just-- it’s just sort of crazy, isn’t it?”

“That’s one word for it.”

She’d raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What word would you choose?”

He’d thought for a moment before saying, “Lucky,” his voice so serious it made something in her chest flutter.

And she’d bitten her lip and scooted across the midpoint of the mattress and shyly settled a hand on his chest like she had the night before, and he’d gone a step further and slid an arm around her shoulders to pull her even closer, and then they’d kissed again until Anna pulled back and whispered, “Is it okay if we just do this?”

“What do you mean just this?”

“Just-- kissing. Even though we’re sharing a bed? I just-- I don’t want to…”

“Rush things?” he’d finished for her, and she’d nodded, too shy to meet his gaze.

“Me either,” he had whispered then as she nestled her face against his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart calm her nerves until she slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At some point in the night, though, a sudden sense of loss dragged her from slumber, leaving her blinking, disoriented, in the pitch dark room.

“Kristoff?” she asked, reaching blindly for him before her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, slumping forward with his head in his hands. Anna sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Kris, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand, squinting at the red digits in the darkness. “It’s after two.”

“Believe me, I know.”

He sounded so dejected that she didn’t even have to think it through before her mind was made up. She pushed the covers back and crawled over to sit behind him. After taking a moment to steel herself, she slid her arms around his waist and buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the warm, woodsy smell of his shower gel that still lingered on his skin.

“Hey,” he murmured, lowering a hand to press it over hers where it rested on his stomach.

“Hey, yourself,” she replied, nuzzling her nose just above the collar of his t-shirt. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“No.”

“Will you anyway? Please?”

“Nosy.”

“Grumpy.”

“Hey, I was pretty cheerful today,” he contended, and a soft laugh escaped her.

“You were. It was really nice.”

He squeezed her hand at that, and she smiled, wondering if he could feel it against his skin. For several long moments neither of them moved, not daring to speak a word that might brush up too harshly against this tenuous, newborn tranquility between them, and then Kristoff sighed. “You’re not going to go back to bed, are you?”

“Nope. Not til I know you’re okay.”

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“Too late for that.”

Kristoff chuckled. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. By you, mostly.”

He lowered both of his hands now, settling them in his lap, before turning as best he could to look at her over his shoulder, his dark eyes glossed with moonlight. “I’ve never told anyone this.”

“You can trust me,” Anna replied. “But you don’t have to.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “I know. It’s just...it’s kind of a long story.”

She shifted to sit behind him, turning so she could lean against his broad back and rest her cheek against the soft fabric of his worn shirt. “I’ve got all night.”

He sighed heavily enough that she rose and fell with him. “I just...if this changes how you think about me--”

“It won’t,” she said decisively. 

“It might,” he pressed on. “So I just...I’m sorry if it does.”

“Kristoff, quit worrying and just tell me.”

He sighed again. “I just...I really need this presentation to go well tomorrow. I can’t get fired.”

Anna frowned. “Why is that a big secret? I don’t want to get fired either.”

“No, it’s-- it’s different. I can’t get fired, Anna, I...I need this job to help take care of my family. And if I lose this one, I don’t think I could find another.”

“Of course you could! You’re super smart and good at all your-- your computery things, and--”

“I don’t have a degree. I barely even finished high school.”

She was glad he couldn’t see the shock she was sure was evident on her face. “But you’re the head of IT.”

“I know, believe me, and I-- I know there’s no way in hell I’d get a job like this again. Shit, I’d be lucky to get anything full time. But my mom and dad, they’re retired, and they don’t have a lot of savings because they spent it on all of us.”

“All of...who?”

Kristoff groaned; she felt his back shift as he raised a hand to run it through his hair. “I-- fuck. I guess I better tell you my whole shitty life story, huh?”

She turned and pressed a kiss against the nape of his neck. “Only if you want me to.”

He was quiet for a long moment then, but she waited patiently like she always did for him when it really mattered, knowing that, unlike her, he preferred to gather his thoughts in advance before diving in headfirst. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when at last he began to speak, his voice tight.

“I was a foster kid for a long time, til I was about to turn nine. And my folks took me in-- they took in, shit, I don’t even know how many of us over the years, but me and my sister were the only ones who stayed. And they were good to me like no one else had ever been, and when they finally adopted me-- shit, it was the best day of my life. But I...I was just so angry sometimes, not at them but just at the whole world, you know?”

She nodded, too overcome to speak, and after a moment he sighed and went on. “And so I just...I fucked around in school, spent more time in suspension than out, fell in with a bunch of other guys who did the same dumb shit. And then one day, I got arrested, and Pop told me that was it. He made me get back into therapy, made me sit at the kitchen table and do all my homework while he watched, wouldn’t let me leave the house unless he or Ma was with me. And I was furious, and then that burned out, and I was just bored as hell, and so I started messing around with computers, trying to figure out how they worked. At first it was so I could figure out how to fuck more shit up at school, but then I got serious about it.”

He paused then, shifting a little to look back at her. “I’m rambling, I know. You can tell me to shut up and go back to bed if you--”

“No,” Anna said fiercely. “I want to know. And I think you need to talk about it for your own sake.”

He was quiet for a moment, just taking stock of her expression, before nodding slowly. “Maybe I do.”

She settled against his back again. “So keep going.”

He chuckled at that, and she couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of his back rumbling against her. “Bossy.”

“Grumpy. Stop trying to distract me.”

“I...okay, okay, fine. Anyway, I graduated by the skin of my teeth, but I had no clue what to do with myself. Pop, uh, he was a handyman, and he got called up to the office building-- our office building, I mean-- and so I just went with him to kill time. And one day Mr. Westergaard-- as in the old dude-- he was there, and he was really pissed off about something with his laptop, and so I offered to fix it, and I did. And he just kinda looked at me and said, ‘well, shit, son, the IT guy I got now told me to just buy a new one’, and he hired me on the spot. And I just...I worked my way up from there, you know? And because he gave me a chance, I turned my life around, and now I can take care of my parents and my sister, and if I lose this…I don’t know if anyone else would hire me.”

Something dawned on Anna then, and she leaned around his shoulder to get a look at his face. “So Hans…”

“He knows, yeah. So does Harry. Nobody else, though. So that’s why he holds it all over my head, knows I can’t do shit about it.”

“Fucking rat bastard,” they said in unison, and after a moment of surprise they both laughed. 

Anna reached over to squeeze his hand. “Maybe...maybe now if people saw the experience you have…”

“Maybe’s not good enough, not when they need me. I gotta at least help them get through til Maggie graduates, and she’s got another year of high school after this one.”

She moved then to set beside him, tugging at his arm until he raised it and let her slip underneath it. He dropped it over her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I know that’s a lot to unload on you, Anna, I don’t blame you if--”

“Oh, shut up, Bjorgman, this doesn’t change jack shit. Except that now I think I like you even more.”

“What, really? Former fuckup, that’s your type?”

“No. But it means a lot to me that you told me all that.”

He was quiet then, his thumb rubbing slowly up and down against her shoulder. She was still wearing his sweatshirt-- he was crazy if he ever thought he was getting it back. She nestled closer against his side, wrapping her arms around his sturdy waist. “I’m here for you, Kristoff,” she said softly. “Anytime you need to talk about shit like this. It’s not gonna change how I-- how I feel about you. And tomorrow-- don’t even worry, okay? I’m gonna make sure the presentation is the best fucking presentation this company has ever seen.”

“I don’t know, last year’s presentation on solar panels is a tough one to beat…” he said half-heartedly.

“I mean it,” she said softly. “Fuck Hans. Tomorrow is going to be great. But first, we gotta get some sleep. You can’t just sit up all night worrying it’ll go badly, because then that’s exactly what will happen.”

“I know, I know, it’s just...I don’t know. I was just... I was thinking about all this shit, and then about you, and how I finally got to kiss you, and--”

“Finally?”

“Ah, shit, this is another one of those things you’re gonna want me to say, and you only know about it ‘cause I let it slip, and--”

“Finally for me too,” she interrupted. “But you kinda already gave it away when you confessed about the M&Ms. I got the first pack of those less than a month in.”

“...yeah.”

She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, but before she could, he turned and caught her lips with his own. She sighed against him, letting one hand rest on his chest as his arm tightened around her.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “How am I supposed to sleep when it means missing out on more of that, huh?”

“Cut you a deal, if you don’t get your ass back under the covers right now, I’ll never kiss you again.”

She didn’t think she’d ever seen him move so quickly.

[myakkoh]

reach past the surface

(Read on Ao3 here!)

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

The chandeliers hang over his head, bright and glittery as chatter fills the air, the nonsense weaving in his ears as Fox breathes. It’s not exactly his ideal mission, but he’s a soldier, one of the Coruscant Guard. He’s supposed to deal with diplomats and Senators, mostly the Chancellor, on almost a daily basis; he has to deal with them in a gala, too.

Except... he despises when he has to talk to them, and he’s still waiting for the one who’s supposed to be his partner.

They’re late, he thinks viciously as he stands next to the doors to the balcony, dressed in uncomfortable formal clothing. According to intelligence, there is a planned terrorist attack tonight during the gala. Not Separatist-related but- close enough. There is supposed to be a Jedi here, specifically Obi-Wan, except he’s been called away last minute for another mission.

And the new Jedi assigned to him is late. Not that Fox will say it to their face.

A hush of silence washes through the room, makes him frown before he silently slips through a couple of politicians to see what the fuss is. He squints at two faraway figures at the doorway, though... they do look familiar for some reason. One of the figures inclines their head, dark eyes meeting his own, and he swallows. They are steady, beautiful, and he has no idea what to do with that notion.

The other figure follows the first figure’s gaze, before blue eyes sharpen and a wide smile breaks across their face. They tug the first figure along, passing through the Senators and diplomats with polite greetings and- oh. That’s Obi-Wan, with that mischievous smile that Fox wants to kiss off of him.

“Commander Fox!” Obi-Wan says in delight when they reach him. Chatter fills up the air again, and Fox leads the way back to where he originally was. “It is so good to see you again.”

“Likewise, General,” Fox responds in kind, snaps into a quick salute, looks towards the other. A Zabrak, and by the looks of it, judging by the stony expression on his face, he’s not enjoying himself, either. “And you must be...?”

“I am Jedi Master Agen Kolar,” the Zabrak says stiffly, dark eyes glancing towards the windows. Tiny black dots catch the light, around his horns and over the bridge of his nose. The way Agen is holding himself is one of calm confidence, though the way his eyes are darting left and right shows he’s focusing on the task at hand, no matter what Fox wants to do first.

Namely, to internally swallow at how pretty Agen is, and– it’s slightly worse than when Obi-Wan flirted with him when he was on duty, which is several times, if he remembers correctly. Both of them look beautiful, though, and Fox has no idea what to do with that information.

Obi-Wan smiles, a sharp and vicious thing of glee. “Master Kolar is here to help us as backup,” the Jedi General explains quietly, offering a hand to Agen as he continues to smile. Agen stares at the hand for a moment before he snorts and takes it. “I must say, though, you look absolutely stunning, Commander, even more so than Master Kolar here.”

“I am not here to look pretty, Master Kenobi,” Agen says flatly, inclines his head as his eyes meet Fox’s. Fox desperately wants a bucket over his head so Obi-Wan or Agen can’t see his face burning, except he’s here as one of these Jedi’s partners... or both.

Oh kriff, it’s both of them, isn’t it?

“Thank you, General,” he says hoarsely instead, before trying to focus on the issue at hand. “Intelligence says that the terrorist attack would most likely happen during the middle of the gala, but there’s no telling what would happen if the said terrorist realizes there are two Jedi here. On top of that, there are still many Senators and politicians that might get caught up in this mess.”

“They may turn tail and run,” Obi-Wan says quietly, thoughtfully, strokes his beard. “Or proceed as planned. We may have to apply some rather... aggressive negotiations.”

“... aggressive negotiations,” Agen repeats, like he didn’t expect Obi-Wan to say those words. Then his lips curve into a dark, wicked smirk full of slyness. “I like that, Kenobi.”

“Why, thank you, Master Kolar, I do aim to please,” Obi-Wan says with a wink at Fox and a disarming smile, as if he knows what Fox is thinking. If anything, Fox feels like melting into a puddle and onto the ground, because he’s slightly ready to bolt for the closest barracks and hide there so both Jedi don’t see how close he is to combusting. “Would you both care to join me for a drink?”

Thire is going to laugh at him. 

“Yes, sir,” Fox says weakly, and desperately hopes Agen will knock some sense into Obi-Wan so he doesn’t have to feel himself beating up.

Agen doesn’t. Instead, he lifts his hand from Obi-Wan’s and gestures Fox to him. “I will stay here,” he says, and that is apparently the end of it. But, Agen takes his hand and places it within Obi-Wan’s hand, and his gaze is softer before he turns and disappears into the crowd.

Fox stares after him, before Obi-Wan tugs at his hand and he obeys, follows the other Jedi through the crowd to the refreshment table. Laughter and continuing chatter echoes in his ears as he tries to ignore the way Obi-Wan’s hand seems to be holding onto him tightly. It’s going to be a few awkward minutes, he can be certain of that.

“So, Commander,” Obi-Wan says when they reach the table, takes two cups of wine and hands it to him. Or not. Fox reluctantly takes one of the cups, allowing himself to take a sip before the taste of bitterness washes over his tongue, the aftertaste of what seems to be sweet honey following.

Grimaces, and places the cup back down, and Obi-Wan softly laughs. “Yes, General?” he asks after a few moments of trying to regain his taste buds back. It’s a momentary failure.

“Just call me Obi-Wan here,” the Jedi says in amusement, his eyes heading towards one side of the room. Fox follows his gaze, spots Agen swiftly moving across the room towards someone; one of the politicians, he supposes. “What do you think of Agen?” 

“General Kolar?” Fox says, raises his eyebrow as he keeps one eye on the other Jedi. Agen slightly turns his head, dark eyes briefly meeting his own before the Zabrak ducks under a tray, his robes slightly billowing in the quick steps. Did he already find the culprit? That’s startling faster than when the Coruscant Guard is trying to find someone. Shakes his head and tries to focus on answering Obi-Wan’s question.

“He seems to be...” Focused, pretty, someone he wants to get to know more about. “... interesting.”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Precisely what I think, Commander,” he says, and Fox wonders if the Jedi’s reading his thoughts and answering to both of his words in his mind and out of it. “However, you may find that Agen is a little... intense in his entrance.”

Fox stares at him. “Sir?” he manages, and–

An explosion erupts from the side of the room. Screams of horror immediately take to the air.

“Ah, just in time, too,” Obi-Wan says, pleased.

“Sir?”

Someone leaps over the refreshment table, one of the Mirialan politicians, if Fox remembers correctly, and makes a mad dash for the balcony. Fox immediately gets out one of his blasters, sets it to stun, and fires at the Mirialan. It misses, nearly hitting Chancellor Palpatine, and he grimaces.

At least he missed; Obi-Wan is already chasing after the politician, disappearing into the crowd just as fast.

Agen swings himself over the refreshment table next to him, dark eyes flickering towards him. The Zabrak grunts, jerks his head towards the balcony doors, and Fox follows him through the crowd. Something dark catches his eyes though, and Fox has to stop for a moment to stare at the offending object. A dark hilt of a lightsaber lies on the ground, a dark contrast to the white flooring. 

Fox picks it up, hurriedly clips it to his belt and runs after Agen. Do all Jedi drop their lightsabers when chasing after a criminal? Well. At least he can return the lightsaber to the Jedi later, after they arrest the politician. The crowd parts for him to easily catch up to the Zabrak, who’s standing outside on the balcony, seemingly calculating the distance between them and the garden below them. 

“Are your hands free, Fox?” Agen suddenly asks, glances towards him. He tries not to look at the Zabrak for saying his name.

“Yes, sir,” he answers quickly, peers down to see the faint outline of trees below them. It’s one of the most beautiful gardens, if he can remember the descriptions of it. Thorn had talked about visiting there with Senator Amidala once, when guarding her, joked that Fox could have a date there with someone after the war was over.

Fox had punched him. It was a warranted reaction.

Warm hands suddenly picks him up, and Fox yelps in alarm, scrambling for a hold as he’s resettled into arms. Agen looks down at him, his eyes flickering with faint amusement like a flame in the night as he holds Fox tightly to him. “We’re jumping down,” is all Agen says, as Fox tightly grasps Agen’s shoulders, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 

He feels his face grow hot. “General Kolar, what-”

The wind harshly blows against his face, cutting off his question as Agen leaps off the balcony and down to the garden. Swallows, shakes, and all Fox can do is bury his face against Agen’s shoulder and pray that they won’t get killed. He’s not used to Jedi (who are pretty) to suddenly grab him and jump off a balcony. Agen is warm, his arms secured around him as he tries not to scream.

Suddenly, a soft thud rings in his ears. Fox cautiously peers out, slightly relieved to see the ground. Looks up to see Agen tilting his head to the side, before the Zabrak gives a faint smile. “You look nice,” Agen says, almost casually, and–

“Nice?” Fox squeaks out pathetically, and maybe his voice cracks a little, and maybe he’s trying to fight off a blush.

“Yes,” Agen simply murmurs, letting him down to the ground. He can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he gawks at the way Agen is looking at him. Agen lifts his head, and he jolts back to reality, scrambling for his blaster as he checks if the lightsaber is still there. It is, much to his relief, and he checks if his blaster is still on the stun setting. “Obi-Wan?”

“Really, you missed the party, Agen,” Obi-Wan says cheerfully, dragging the unconscious Mirialan behind him. Fox bends down to grab his set of stun cuffs, before clicking them around the Mirialan's wrists. 

Agen snorts. “I had other business,” he answers after glancing towards Fox, and all Fox wants to do is hide somewhere so he doesn’t have to show his face. A breeze blows towards him, slightly chilly against his face, makes him duck his face and avoids looking towards the two Jedi.

“Did you now?” The interest in Obi-Wan’s low voice does not make him twitch and turn around.

Instead, he observes the Mirialan’s formal suit, kneeling down, reaching deep to pull out a flash-bang grenade. It’s not concerning, considering the Mirialan won’t be able to use it now. Fox hands the grenade to Agen, who takes it and places it elsewhere. Continues to search for other weapons on the said Mirialan as he feels eyes on his back.

Well. No more weapons at least.

He glances back, meeting Agen’s eyes as the Zabrak nonchalantly tucks his arms into sleeves as Obi-Wan inclines his head. Fox only places his hands on his knees, rises to his feet as he turns towards them. Obi-Wan seems curious to what they’re going to do next, the Jedi watches them with blue eyes that seem to shimmer gently under the moonlight.

“Anything else, sir?” Fox asks roughly, and Obi-Wan smiles sharply.

“I can think of a few things,” Obi-Wan says lightly, treads towards him slowly as Agen stands next to him, a dark hand reaching out to take his own. “But we should save it for later, don’t you agree? Preferably somewhere with a bed.”

“Yes, sir,” he answers weakly, hears Agen softly grunt before the Zabrak presses close to him.

His hand doesn’t let go, though Agen lifts a free hand to brush against his cheek. Feels his face grow warm from it as Obi-Wan laughs and takes his other hand, a wicked smile twisting on his lips. It’s surprisingly lovely, to be there with them, the way they’re standing together.

“Anything else before we go?” Agen asks, and Fox remembers the lightsaber, feels the weight of it on his belt.

“Yes, sir, there actually is.” Fox withdraws the lightsaber from his person and hands to Obi-Wan, who lifts the lightsaber from his hands with a small frown. He decides to move on, so they can have a clear picture of what happened. “I believe that one of you dropped it when we were chasing after the criminal, sir.”

A short moment of silence occurs, before Obi-Wan opens his mouth. “Commander,” the Jedi says slowly, “this isn’t one of our lightsabers.”

Agen’s hand tightens its hold on him as Fox stares. “Sir? Not one of your lightsabers?”

“The Force around this lightsaber is full of darkness. Strange,” Obi-Wan mutters, before he waves it away from them and clicks a button. A red blade springs from the hilt, humming loudly, crimson light radiating. They all stare at it before Obi-Wan clicks it off. “Well. This certainly explains why I have never seen this lightsaber before in my life. Or why it’s dark.”

“A Sith’s ‘saber,” Agen says quietly, before Fox glances up towards the Zabrak. “Where did you find this again, Fox?”

“In the gala,” Fox answers slowly, before it clicks in his mind. Both Jedi beside him grimaces, his mind suddenly racing with thoughts, theories. Impossible, but yet... if the lightsaber he just handed over was found in the gala, that means–

Agen is the one who speaks their thoughts out loud. “The Sith Lord is part of the Senate.”

[grim-faux]

8 - Twisted Warren

Too much had happened in this place, between the time Murkoff had lost control, and the MHS failed to regain control.  The patients had gotten free and had ample time on their hands to undertake all manner of hobbies.

I wasn’t certain what to make of the large hole chiseled through three feet of solid cement, and rebar.  Given there’s not a lot to do around this place but come up with creative ways to get around, I gave this one a seven out of ten.  I doubted that big ugly fucker would have been amused by a commission for big fuckin holes, he seemed dedicated to his current task of decapitating the former law.  I couldn’t envision the inmates having the tools for this sort of work, and then using them correctly to remove the cement, but they were just insane, not stupid.  There was a difference.

The problem was they were not stupid.

  To satisfy my lethal curiosity, I did return to the other side of where I had dropped down, to see if the egress guy was still lurking.  I didn’t want someone following me, I’d rather know at this point and try to lose them than get a nasty surprise in a dark cramped hole.

There was only a small room, and a door.  I tried the handle confirming it was locked, but perhaps earlier it was open and the patient decided to lock it.  Didn’t matter, my path was charted out.  It must’ve led into a lavatory, or female wash room, there were hand dryers on the wall, a mattress flung on its side, and the more important detail.  Sinks.

I tried the dial on one and received a fresh flow of water, its color I couldn’t tell due to the night vision but it looked clean and free of sediment.  After giving my perimeter a quick look I leaned under the tap and tasted it, first rinsing my mouth out of the reek and copper.  The water had a strong metallic quality, I wasn’t sure if I should drink it, much as I was advised not to drink the water when visiting another country, but I was dehydrated.  I reasoned with myself the lines couldn’t all be compromised, and drank just enough to quench my thirst.

There was also the issue of my bloody camera, and my backside, but I felt my jacket was a lost cause and it was cold.  In the dark I flushed water on my sleeve and used it to carefully dab the side of the camera until it felt like much of the stickiness was removed.  I didn’t expect to do a perfect job in the solid black.  I also took the time to rinse the blood from my scalp and the back of my leg, then flushed my tender brow.

I felt renewed, not meeting ready but stable enough on my feet to carry me onward.  I returned to the other side, squelching over the sticky puddle of blood back to the warrens entrance.

Below looked like an access space, for repairs or maintenance on broken pipes that might be reached through the basement.  It might’ve been installed in the past century if this place was as old as I suspected.

The hole wasn’t deep, but there was a passage dug out in the softer earth beneath the crawl space.  A small draft crept over my ankles, warmer air spilling into the cool shower.  The thick reek of natural gas coupled with moist earth reached my nose as I crouched down and used the night vision to navigate, I really didn’t need to get lost under this place. 

Though the path seemed straightforward, I was fully aware of how easy it was to get turned around in a short section of black crawlspace.  A few of the Outdoor Adventurer columns warned of how inexperienced cavers could get lost in less than twenty feet of cave.  One story mentioned a specific case in which a cavern had only a few extending tunnels, but the individuals involved thought only to bring one light source plus their cell phones.  As with any adventure destined to fail, the torch had a mishap and the cavers with their cell phones couldn’t distinguish between the details of the cave through the poor light source, nor could they call for help.  Many would scratch their heads or joke towards their expense, how can you get lost in such a small cave?  Few have ever experienced the total silence, the oppressive dark, and the disorientation that comes with confusion, then panic.  How easy doubt sets in and turns your instincts against you.

This is why they, like many, didn’t live to learn from their error.

Even a few feet into this passage, I could no longer see the light.  Not at all.  Thick pipes ran in orderly groups into the dark depths, railways of electrical input.  My path was carved around a cement pillar, going deeper.  My heart thudded harder against my ribs filling my head with a dull pulse of pain.  How deep did this go?  Would I be able to turn back if I lost my way?  I paused to listen in the crushing black, the total silence but for the thunder of my heart and my heavy breath.  I had my reservations for traveling deeper, I was terribly fucking lost running everywhere through the Asylums endless maze of halls, but this was fifteen times worse.  This was my grave.

I pressed on with no where else to look back on, I fortified my resolve to keep calm and find a way out.  There was nothing that could hurt me here, I could hear nothing, no shrieking, no pleas for mercy.  Dead silence.

The warmer air would’ve been a nice change of pace compared to the chilly asylum, but the reek of sludge and compost did not set me to ease.  Blood was, as always, my guide through this twisting nightmare.  Across the upper portion of the tunnel was a set of pipes, I had to stretch out and slip under them to get through.  It opened up a bit and I could stand, more pipes, for gas or water.

As I moved forward it looked like my path came to an end, but the earth shifted under my feet.  Looking down, I found a deep hole which I had nearly stumbled into.  I dropped down, making sure to evade the bricks on the one side.  The stench and heat was in full force at this point and I turned, locating where the bricks had been torn out of a wall.

The sewers beneath the asylum were huge, possibly to redirect the flow of water and alleviate erosion.  It wasn’t called Mount Massive for the jollies of it.  I glanced beyond the ruptured wall, crinkling my nose at the odor.  To my right was a light source, but my left was difficult to make out even with the NV.  Moisture in the air interfered with the feed.

Satisfied that the path was free of wavering figures, I sloshed into the filthy water of the drainage flow trying not to think about what might be floating in it.  The dark tunnel twisted around and after a few feet I could make out the collection of fallen boulders and earth.  A cave in, a weakness of some sort in the foundation.  This made me uneasy, the tunnels could be subjected to collapse while I was down here, especially with the heavy rainstorm currently hammering the mountain.  I didn’t bother to get closer should there be an opening I could squeeze through, it wasn’t worth it.

The lit tunnel offered two paths, I proceeded through the light, and presumably the path the patients had taken when they came down here.  At least I knew there must be a way out, unless they came down here and backtracked out.  I doubted that.  This was where the blood led me.

No matter how many times I repeated that phrase in my head, it always sounded wrong and insane.

A barricade for flotsam shed some perception on the water levels of these tunnels, if there was a good flood it could reach my hip.  I imagined the water was lower but even now the flow rolled over my ankles, I could only be thankful the water temper was tolerable or I’d succumb to hypothermia.  The barrier offered little trouble, but a sharp pain in my side.  Nice thing, I was growing accustomed to the jolts of pain.  Just had to avoid getting thrown out of windows, or kicked in the chest.

An intersecting tunnel came into view, but it was easy to decide which way from here with no detours.  My right was completely packed by another cave in, giving me some mild grief if that was my way out.  The ruble didn’t look fresh but I was no expert on collapses.

The right looked like another dead end from a distance, but as I moved closer I could see the small drainage tunnel in the shallow ditch was open.  A strong source of light soaked through a large grate overhead, offered by the upper floors perhaps, I couldn’t tell.  I stood off to the side of the gaping drain to look up, but the light from above was too bright to view past and make out its origins.  I thought I heard someone screaming, it could’ve been my imagination.  The echoing chatter of water spilled along the cobblestone bricks into the ditch below at a high frequency.

As I looked down, I thought I saw a body slumped by a grated drain.  It was a body, I crept in close to examine him through the NV feed.  He didn’t look like one of the patients that had come down earlier, a small relief.  He had been dead for some time, his pants and the lower area of his body had absorbed so much water he almost looked fluffy, but it was only skin dissolved and flaking away.  I didn’t need that thought on my mind, though I had already presumed I would find more bodies in the sewer, I didn’t need to see them immediately.  What a naïve hope that was.

Returning to my task at hand, I grimaced as I couched low and scooted along the water into the small tunnel.  The humid stench was overpowering and the cramped space of the drain had me nearly knelt in the foul water, but I managed to only submerge one knee as I felt along.  I tried to bury my face in my collar and hold the camera up so I could see where I was going and not put my knee into something unpleasant.  Blood was one thing, it was tolerable.

I tried to keep my hand along the ‘dryer’ side of the wall, where the tunnel sloped down but wasn’t in the water.  The cuts along the back of my leg stung like hell and I tried not to envision what sort of bacterial infections I’d come away with.  A piece of paper from something got caught on my foot, but I wouldn’t mess with that until I could stand.  The tunnel ended and I assured myself there was nothing here with me poised just beside the opening to lop my head off, before I shuffled out and stood.

Much of the same met me, no light and pipes suspended along the roof of the tunnel.  As I stared through the quivering visor I realized for the first time, I was shaken all over.  Not just mild tremors, I could literally not hold myself still as I inspected the open channel over.  I wasn’t cold, in fact a thin layer of sweat had spread under my coat causing it to stick against my shirt.

I was terrified.

Despite my small reprieve of isolation I was frightened, my nerves frayed.  Where was I going?  How did I get out of here?  What if there was no way out?  What if this was where I was meant to die?

Get ahold of yourself.  I stepped back and leaned beside the wall and touched the cool brick, feeling the vibrations of the Asylum against my palm.  Not gonna die here.  I would get out.  I would get out with the evidence and reveal this heinous mess to everyone.

I took a small breath through my mouth and stared at the long corridor ahead.  I wanted to believe that.  I wanted to make that the truth so bad.

The water sloshed over my shoes, and I flipped off the remains of that sheet of paper–

Something flittered into sight ahead.  I barely turned my camera up, night vision and everything I could see perfectly, and something glided by in the intersecting tunnel.  Looked black, like a shadow, but it was in direct light.  Was something there?

I took a few steps back to the tunnel and perched down, checking on my camera.  Features, playback, last five minutes.  I realized in reviewing the footage that I was breathing hard, I still was.  Didn’t care.

I paused the feed and stared at what was caught, it wasn’t very clear.  Just a black shape, it had passed in barely a second and looked almost transparent.  It wasn’t in the light as I had imagined, the NV had caught it in the dark of the intersecting tunnel.  Maybe it was a residual image, the camera had color mishaps since I flew out that window.  But…it looked suspended, a good six feet above the ground.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and exhaled.  Later I would review the evidence with better equipment, image quality enhancements.  And I’d make copies of everything.

First, I had to get out of here.  And the only route open to me was ahead, where that shadow was.

I exercised extreme caution as I proceeded forward, listening every few steps for sounds or stopping when I thought I heard something.  Carefully I picked my way along the tunnel with my eyes fixed ahead, the camera never picked up another image.

To my right where it must have gone, was a barricade or gap for high water levels.  I decided to avoid that path and check elsewhere, give whatever was there now a chance to clear out.

The left side extended a distance, all manner of trash was down here from dissolving files to cardboard boxes.  The path took a right path followed brick and on the left a drainage tunnel, grated up.  The path took a right and around the corner a light source, and possibly a way out.

I was disappointed to discover it wasn’t to be.  This was an exit, perhaps some time before, but the ladder set here was completely destroyed.  On the floor beneath lay the remains of a human, entrails, rotted limbs, and the ladder.  I attempted to lift it up but it was too short.  Even pushing some cardboard boxes over helped in no way, they were too soggy from sitting in the wet air.  The upper one cracked and folders scattered, patient letters.  I’m guessing Murkoff never sent these to the families, and probably forged return notes.  A few were stuffed into a file, which I took interest in

“"(Found scrawled in pencil on the back of an admittance form. Handwritting matches samples from patient “Father” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD.)

This God is real. What we’ve mistaken so long for ghosts, spirits, madness. We were only willfully ignorant. The scales on Saul’s eyes were fear, and when you see beyond it, you truly see. This is the gift of the Walrider. The Gospel of Sand. The greatest sin in the world is willful ignorance of God. To receive a revelation and not spread it to the waiting flock. This place… To stand in the way of salvation is a sin for which there is no punishment too great’.”

For some reason this note caused goosebumps to crawl up my skin.  My mind brought back images of the MHS team, throttled and dragged away.  What had I seen?  What did Father Martin ask?  “Will you see?  Can you?”  I still didn’t understand, but I felt closer to understanding these mysteries through these sloppy scribbles.  Something about these words felt more than deranged delusions.  There was a truth.

I left the file and moved around the opposite side of the tunnel, lowering the camera where the lamps overhead still functioned casting deep yellow globs of light to spread over the moist stone.  Save batteries, live longer.

A soft tinkling…turned into an aggressive rattle as I passed under a large pipe.  I tried to find the source, but it sounded as though it were coming from within the pipe itself.  I raised my camera though there was nothing to record, but that sound was eerie, I could see nothing to generate that sort of sound.  Like pouring pellets into a bebe rifle.

I left that place and quickly returned to what must have been my route, where the shape had gone?  I don’t know at this point.  Peering through the tight gap I could make note of nothing threatening or otherwise, despite the distance I could tell there were areas where danger could lurk.  My progress so far had been quiet.

The barricade was tight, difficult even for me to get through.  I grunted as it rubbed on my bad side but I made it.  I’m sure there were hundreds of those down here.

The sewer opened up into another tunnel, a huge drainage gutter sat a few feet ahead with a grate over it.  To the right was a ladder swallowed up in a flood of murky water with a plaque reading Lower Junction

Fuck that.  I’m trying to get out of this place. 

A large pipe directed down into the lower area was clearly labeled ‘Female ward,’ and across from it an identical pipe with the faded words ‘Prison ward.’  More the reason not to go THAT way.  I continued to where some crates had been abandoned, probably filled with replacement parts or materials for the plumbing.  The asylum was nearly a city all in itself and required routine maintenance.

This made sense, they had a lot of people here on residence doing the experiments.  Probably the higher security clearance guys never went out on a sunny day, couldn’t risk them getting hurt or lost.

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel, I stopped near the crates and watched as a shape dropped down at the other end.  I stepped back and knelt behind them as he marched forward, struggling to breathe as he always did after the heavy exercise of killing.

The big ugly fucker just wouldn’t give it a rest!  What was his obsession?  Did he just follow me wherever he thought I was, or was it just chance?  Maybe he was following the patients, and somehow I was shepherd in with the flock.  Didn’t change matters, he was here now for whatever reason.  Damnit.

He moved towards the middle of the corridor and paused, glanced around as his breathing calmed.  Now that I saw him clearly in the light, I could make out details I hadn’t been able to pick out on when he threw me out a window.

No.  I will never let that go.

His face was indeed mutilated, by himself reports said.  I doubt he had sharp items while institutionalized.  Was it from the treatment he became so large?  Or just bad cardio, the guy ran like a horse.  The report also stated he had modified restraints to conform his massive size, and by modified they meant huge chains which he dragged around on his legs and arms.  The ones wrapped about his wrists appeared to have restricted his blood flow, I couldn’t tell from the distance if his hands still worked, they looked pale and skeletal.

Chris turned and began down a path on my right.  I listened to the sound of his chains as they grew soft and distant, with his heavy huffing.  At this point I wasn’t sure where to go, if I used my camera and zoomed, I could see to the end where he plopped down was grated.  One of the tunnels might lead somewhere, someplace where I could climb out of this sewer.  This option was more favorably than sitting here waiting for him to find me while I was indecisive about where to go.

I took hesitant steps forward, listening.  The sounds bounced around the walls, but I only heard the soft swish of water around my shoes.  He entered a tunnel further away on the left, as I moved it I could make out a dark entrance not far from my position on the right.

The tunnel was well lit, it set my nerves to ease but a coil of anxiousness knotted in my throat as I felt exposed.  I gave a small whimper unintentionally as I sprang over a flotsam guard when I twisted the wrong way, and I stopped to listen for a few seconds to assure the bug fucker hadn’t heard that.  As I resumed, the tunnel took a right into shadows and a cool draft, at the end I found a few planks of plywood and another grate drain.  And an open door brimming with light.

The room had little to offer.  Some shelves stacked with paints and boxes, a few batteries that I could use, lockers, and a large pipe with a valve labeled Prison drain

Apparently I was going into the Lower Junction. 

I shut the door behind me and griped the valve tightly and turned.  Or tried.  My arm ached and my ribs just couldn’t take it, a hot streak of pain pulsed in my side.  I stepped back and frowned at the valve.  Maybe I could trick Chris into turning it, or rig him up to it in some elaborate way.

Or I could stop being a pussy and turn that valve?

I took a few shallow breaths and steeled myself.  I was not halfway done with this place, and it wasn’t done with me.  If I was going to survive this, I would endure a lot more than some cheap shots and…

Crashing out a few windows.

I gripped the valve and braced myself, ignoring the throbbing or the red in my vision.  It would turn or so help me.

The valve gave in and wrenched.  I turned until it was all the way open, or what I presumed to be open.  I panted a bit as I turned and left the room.

Nothing.  That was nothing.  I could turn valves all day.  The pain would subside soon, and I could forget it in favor of more compelling matters.

In the dark tunnel I heard chains drag, and a voice mutter.  Two ways to spell dead.  Without a thought I pivoted and returned to the room, shutting the door behind me.  I stood waiting for a short while before I saw the knob twist.  My immediate instinct told me hide in the lockers, but the door was already opening and I was too far to get one open and stuff myself within.  I had already moved to the other side, where there was a large space behind the shelves where the light fell short.  I squatted in the furthest corner and watched as Chris entered.

He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside checking on the lockers.  Yes, they were very lovely.  He must not have known I was here, he didn’t bother opening a one.  Then, he turned looking at the shelves where I was hiding.  I held my breath and stared at him, directly at him.  I thought we made eye contact and my heart stopped, but the big fucker turned smoothly and left the room.

Even when I was certain he was well gone, I couldn’t move.  It felt like my body was frozen.  It took some effort but I managed to adjust my grip on the camera, then raise my arms and took a breath, then another.  I felt my mind begin to clear and the images replayed in my mind, Chris turning and his murky eyes dead on me.  In reflex I shut my own eyes and listened to the sounds of the sewer, soft hissing in pipes, water trickling down ancient mortar.  The tremors were back in full force, but I doubt they ever truly left me.  I only forgot they were there.

In some time I had coaxed myself enough to stand and move towards the open door, I wobbled on my feet and caught the frame before I could go charging out to make a thunderous descent on the slick plywood.

The dark was my only ally. 

I pushed myself off the doorframe and ventured into the tunnel, jumping at every little sound.  The drip of water was incessant, nerve wrecking.  I couldn’t see where he had gone from the opening of the tunnel, I stood waiting for some sign.  The idea that he might’ve left this area by some way was on my thoughts, but I knew better.  If he found a way out, I’d have a way out.  But he would exhaust his search first and that could take hours.

There were two large pipes leading into the lower junction, I already drained one.  The female drain was located on the left side of the tunnel, the pipe must’ve run that way.

While the coast was clear, I went ahead to the backside of the tunnel where the big fucker had initially entered from.  Maybe there was a way out I missed, a break in the grate.

Another dead end.  A dead guard, crumpled and broken, it looked like his legs had been twisted off and the only thing keeping them attached were his blood drenched pants.  I spun about when I picked up on the big fuckers approach, and ducked down behind the crates pressing myself into the edge where they met with the curved wall of the tunnel.  He was getting closer.

For a tense moment it sounded like he was right on the other side of the crate.  My only option was to hold still and pretend I wasn’t there.  The chains clinked as he moved and sniffed the air, I imagine this smell didn’t faze him a whole lot.  I was focused on the sleeve over my arm as I held perfectly still, studying the different colors and stains it had acquired.

“Scout the perimeter, then isolate the target.”

Eventually he continued on his way, his footfalls and muttering getting faint.  I waited a moment certain he took the left tunnel, towards the prison ward.  Of any tunnel, I just wanted to relocate and find a better vantage point.  Slowly I stood up, and there he was no more than fifteen feet away.

Chris bellowed something unintelligible and charged, sounded like “There you argh!”  I bolted, hitting the edge of the wall with my arm and skimmed off heading to the other side of the tunnel.  Had to find a place to hide, needed somewhere I can duck into.  He was screaming something after me, it was hard to tell between the splashing water and his dragging chains.

I vaulted over a drain guard and took a sharp left, into the dark.  No place to duck into, only a few alcoves that heightened my hopes only to crush them.  I slowed to toggle the NV and not drop the camera, he was nearly at my back when I picked up pace.  I nearly missed the sharp turn to the right, I stumbled when I stepped on a greasy cardboard box but managed to stay upright.  Ahead was light, revealing another cave in, but it looked like there was an opening I could squeeze through.  I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but standing around debating wouldn’t improve my health either.

The boulders and brick felt sturdy enough as I crammed myself between them, had to get deeper or the big fucker would drag me out.  Or rip my arm off in the process.

“Get out ‘ere!”  Chris was trying to dig me out as I crammed my body deeper.  He could topple the mound onto himself for all I cared.

As it was, I was nearly trapped in this alcove.  But with a firm shove I dislodged some rock at my feet and was able to slip down and crawl out.  It looked like the tunnel did continue down this way, but the cave in extended to that area and effectively blocked this path.

A bent door was lodged in the brick wall a few feet ahead, ripped off the lock by a force of science I didn’t wish to meet.  The plaque beside it read ‘Female drain.’  I pushed the door in and peered inside.  There wasn’t much to note, the room was small and there was no place to hide.  A shelf held a few of the paints, and a few boxes had been abandoned here.

I stepped across to the valve and braced myself before attempting to turn it.  I coughed a bit as my side tingled, but managed to get the handle to turn on my first try.  Small achievements were possible, now if I was able to get out of here.

I couldn’t hear him working to dig me out from the other side, or his heavy breathing.  He knew I was here and had no place else to go, it was likely he was camped on the other side waiting for me to emerge.  He was former military, he could afford to wait hours if necessary without losing focus.  If it came down to it, I could dodge him.  Or try, it worked but I had a sick feeling he’d remember that trick.

The rocks hadn’t shifted at all, I was able to get through with little effort.  I listened when nearly clear but picked up on nothing, only the constant drum of water running from the upper grates, and my own breathing.  The tunnel was large enough I could get around him if I timed it just right, but I didn’t care to test my reflexes against the big fuckers.  He was capable of nasty surprises, and the drain gutter was slick and unreliable.

I moved from the narrow space and took in a deep breath, then began to walk along the side of the drainage gutter where the water rolled down.  It was impossible to eliminate my movement completely, but I would hear him before he heard me.  I raised the camera for the night vision, but the power was getting low.  I paused on the corner checking for the clear before I pulled out the dead battery and put in a fresh one.

The sound of churning water caught up to me.  I didn’t pause as I quickly felt for the slot, and put in the battery before I turned to make a slow retreat.  There wouldn’t be time to crawl in the gap, especially once I hit the light.  I’d need to fake him out.  For a moment I thought I had gained some distance, the sound of his steps quieted.

Then I heard the rapid approach of chains.  “Little pig….”

I sprint the last stretch to my safety, but never made it.  A strangled yelp slipped from me as the back of my collar was snared, I clutched the camera to my stomach as he lifted me off my feet and flung me to the side of the channels drain. 

“Just lay there.”  He stepped over me as I was trying to recover.  Had to keep the camera out of the water, without it I was as good as dead!  I kicked at the slick bricks, I was dead anyway if he got his hands around my throat.  When I twisted my head to see where I was going, I spotted a missed tunnel that had a shattered grate.  A space Chris couldn’t fit.

I kicked at his ankles, throwing myself through the open passage.  Chris was still struggling to grip my shoes as I clambered inside thrashing in the shallow water until I was nearly soaked, but always making sure I was holding the camera away from the water.  I didn’t stop there, I flipped over and kept going when I saw that the other side was open as well.

With a roar of outrage, Chris stalked off, to head me off.  He had speed, I was severely limited as I struggled to move without knocking myself unconscious.

I cleared the other side and lunged to my feet, as I heard the water torn apart by his strides not far from my right.  I hurtled over the dam and ran, relying completely on the effectiveness of the pipes and the factor that they had finished draining.

“Outer perimeter breached!”  A crate flew by my head and shattered on the wall, I didn’t hesitate in my race.  Couldn’t dwell on the effectiveness of his aim either, I just needed to reach that ladder.  I shoved the camera into its hoister and practically dove down the ladder as the big fucker caught up to me.  “Don’t you hear it?”

I glanced up at his fuck grated face, in time to cringe against the ladder when he dropped a crate.  It crashed against the sides splinting in two, a piece hitting my shoulder but I barely felt it.  I continued down the ladder two and three steps, until I hit the bottom and stumbled away blindly in the dark.

Another crate fell smashing against the floor, the reverberation so close and sudden I felt my head spin.  I couldn’t see it until I had the NV active and took the time to give the soggy corridor a quick glance.  From the ladder I could still hear Chris, snarling at my escape.  I’m not sure why he didn’t pursue me, it didn’t seem impossible.  I gave up and accept these matters, and struggled to understand where I was now.

I took a few breathes, wincing at the stale sewage and raw metallic scent.  Not far from where I stood was another body of a patient, grotesquely bloated from being in the water for so long.  My stomach turned at the soured reek disturbed by the drainage.  This place just got better and better.

The heavy sounds of fresh drainage and falling water was tripled here.  In the pipes hung algae or liquefied rubbish, I couldn’t discern.  I only avoided it as I renewed my search, though it didn’t matter at this point, I was thoroughly soaked from my fall.  I suppose the red stains in my coat had either diluted or washed out completely, and yet I was more of a mess than before.  No surprise.

My path was literally straight forward, but I took it slow.  I could easily get turned around or something might’ve crawled down here.  I doubted it, as everything in here seemed to be in the advance stages of rot from the recent flood, but this place was full of unpleasant surprises that made you regret letting your guard down.

Much of them didn’t make any sense either.  I mulled over the thought of what this place might’ve been like if they didn’t use an asylum and crazy people for the experiments.

I took note of a thick pipe overhead which followed the same route open to me.  It didn’t have access through walls that had the small grated tunnels, but it gave me a direction.  I followed it around a sharp corner, and above was another bloated body, the skin around his bare arms slipping off his skeleton, without the water to cushion the buoyancy.  I made sure not to step directly under him, as I continued through the sewer.  A few crates bobbed in the water as I moved by, a few were marked with Murkoff’s faded logo.

More left over plywood, maybe used to board up areas down here where the scientist made their last stand.  Maybe a few of them came down here to shelter from the patients, but as of yet I had seen no evidence of this.  The wood gave me little trouble, stiff but soggy from its prolonged aquatic existence.  Above the pipe made a sharp turn and ended its path at a connecting pipe parallel with the wall.  I retreated as a sharp blast of hot steam shot out.  Damn pipes were now against me.

I skipped over another broken barrier of wood and boxes scattered in the drainage gutter, before finally coming to a ladder, and my escape.  Given, the big fucker hadn’t beaten me here somehow and was waiting above for me to poke my head out of the warren.  At least there was light above.

As I made my gradual progress up the tall ladder, I occasionally glanced up to my destination.  I tried to keep my steps soft, but someone had heard me.  They popped their head over the opening from above, curious to who was coming up.

I stopped debating what that might’ve been.  Too normal to be Chris Walker, but all patients were insane murders at this point.  A little slower I renewed my climb, unable to hear what the variant above might be planning.  It was likely he couldn’t see anyone down in the dark depths, but he did hear me.  He knew someone was coming.

I tightened my grip on the bars when I peered just over the edge, checking around as much as I could for the person.  I was relieved to find myself alone, but I thought I heard voices echoing in the distance.  Set to ease but still wary I climbed up onto the grate and kept low, I was certain they coming from somewhere….

“No.  I can hear it!”  There was a large grate in a tunnel to my left, that the voices echoed down.  Did they mean me? 

“Somebody—” 

“The Walrider!”  Guess not.  I pulled myself up a little more as shrieks splint the calm, I hung back as a sound came to me similar to crashing water, and a low rumbling.  Not rumbling, was it trickling?  Or a hissing, as something caught in the air and lashed out.  I winced as the howls began.

The voices intensified, as people somewhere shrieked with wild release.  I couldn’t place what I was hearing, a lifting swell of agony and terror as the multitude came to a crescendo, cracks and tears of bone and flesh and crushed windpipes catching voices midway through their final throes.  Somewhere, not far from where I was, people were slaughtered by something they had warned me about.

It couldn’t be.  The Walrider was a myth, it couldn’t exist.

Eventually the anguished cries fell silent, as did the sounds of what had enacted its punishment.

[theashofwkm]

Newlywedded Dinner

Summary: In which maybe they’re too young to be married, but they’re in love and happy, so what does it matter?

Prompt: Goretober, Smile

Warnings: wedding doubts, fear of future, Mark loving his wife, this isn’t entirely angst, but still really angsty so don’t get your hopes up.

Note: Something that isn’t entirely angst?? What happened? Also day four and we’re still going! Hope you enjoy this one!!

———

Celine sits at the dinner table, taking small bites as she cuts her gaze between her new husband and his brother. She smiles tightly, the meaning of their conversation flying over her head as she thinks.

She thinks she’s made a mistake.

She thinks that they’d gotten engaged too soon, hadn’t dated long enough to be confident in the forever they’d promised each other.

Damien nudges her with his elbow and she turns her face, smiles and nods, and hopes it’s the right move. Mark’s smile widens, bright and blinding and oh-so-happy and Celine’s own smile wavers.

Mark places his hand on hers and she squeezes it reflexively, wondering if this is the right thing to do, if her mistake can be rectified, or if it’s already too late.

Looking at Mark, his over-brimming joy and infectious grin, she knows the answer. She’d said yes when he proposed and she’d said I do when the preacher had prompted her and she’d said I love you, too when he said it first. She’d said her wedding vows, had looked him in the eyes as she promised forever.

She’s promised him so many things. Forever, her love, her acceptance, her support. She’s promised him everything, holds those shackles in the form of a tiny, simple ring wrapped around her finger. She promised and she wasn’t one to break promises.

Even if she’s meant every word she’s told him, feels every bit of love she’s expressed. She doesn’t regret their marriage, doesn’t regret saying yes to him, but she feels like she regrets something, sensing a missing piece.

Smiling at Mark, smiling at Damien, smiling at William, she knows that her mistake could have been worse. Mark was a nice man, was in love with her. He adored her and spoiled her and she loved that at least, if not him.

She loves him, but she doesn’t know if it’s the all-consuming, ever-lasting kind of love a wife should hold for her husband. Those words seem bigger then her, bigger then the both of them, serious and binding in a way she’s not sure they were ready for. Captivating and challenging in a way they might not be old and experienced enough to commit to for the rest of their lives.

Forever was a long time, in the end. How could one promise that with such unwavering certainty?

Sometimes she wishes that they’d waited a little, but she’d been just as eager as him when he slipped the band of silver onto her finger and she’d said nothing to delay the big day. She’d been excited and in love and it had felt right.

That’s why she’s sitting at a table with her new husband and smiling.

There’s no doubt of his love for her. He loves her sweetly, with honey kisses and starry eyes and warm palms. He loves her like she’s air, the oxygen he lives off of, and she loves him like she loves the outdoors. From a little farther of a distance, softer, but not any less.

It’s still love. Hers just isn’t big grandiose displays like his. She wishes that she loved someone — him — like she’d die if she didn’t, she wishes that she craved his touch and his gaze and his smile like she craved a warm bath after a stressful day, unneeded, technically, but very, very welcome. She wishes she loved someone with absolute certainty that she’d die with him at her side.

And she does. Sometimes. But other times, she just craves a little space. Time without his constant need for touch, or for his chatter to fill her ears. She loves him, but sometimes she wishes he was just a little less clingy.

Wishes are futile, however, and she doesn’t crave him at all hours and she places him beside herself, but not above. Equals. She loves him, but sometimes she needs her space and she loves herself, too. She doesn’t think he’s any better then her.

But at the time, when he was on his knee and grinning up at her hopefully, nerves present in his trembling hands, saying no to marriage felt like saying no to him. She’d never say no to him.

So here she was. Wedded and happy with a tiny, seed of fear, anxiety for their future and if they’d be able to hold this up for the rest of their lives.

She may not love him in exactly the way she’s always dreamed, but she does still love him. Her heart still skips a beat when she sees him, jumping happily when she’s the reason for his smile. She still enjoys the feeling of their fingers entwined and his lips on hers.

She still loves him. Adores him, even. And maybe it’s not her that’s the problem, maybe her loving him less isn’t the issue, but him loving her more. He tells her big words, promises anything and everything and... she thinks he means it.

Smiling at dinner, pecking at her food and smiling fondly at the man who’s learned how to eat one handed just so he can hold hers for a few more minutes out of the day, she thinks she’s right.

He loves her in spoils, with gifts and fancy dinners. A hand in contact with her at all times, a brazen kiss in public, him grinning and her red-cheeked. She loves him a little quieter. A hand slipped in his jacket pocket cradling his, a warm imprint of her lipstick to his cheek, a note hidden in his bag when he leaves for work.

Soft, gentle, hidden.

Her love is different from his and she worries that one day, her little shows of affection won’t be enough for him. That one day, he’ll realize that he craves more and she won’t be able to provide it.

I love you. Those are his favorite words, his new catchphrase that he tacks on to the end of his sentences and they’re practically tattooed to her ears with the frequency in which they’re said.

She’d melted, the first time he said them. Had sighed and smiled shyly, her joy biting at her to spread it wider. She’d whispered it back, adrenaline racing in her blood, pounding her heart as she leaned up to kiss him. He’d kissed back, cradling her face like she was precious and important. Because she was, is. To him, she is everything.

She lifts her hand, dragging the tangle of fingers up to press a kiss onto his knuckles. She tugs on his arm, interrupting whatever he saying to William, and presses her lips against the stubble dusting his cheek.

It’s short and sweet, and she’s smiling as she pulls away, murmuring a soft “I love you” as she returns to her food and pretends not to notice the way he’s watching her.

She’s surprised him, interrupting dinner and conversation with a show of gentle affection. His heart had stopped, throbbing in a sickeningly sweet way as he stumbled over his words to William. God, he loved her.

Smiling coyly, she untangles their hands, patting his knee as she resumes eating.

He’s slow to return to normal, as he always is. He melts anytime she initiates, his brain malfunctioning like it’s the first time she’s kissing him and it’s a shock that she returns his feelings. He mindlessly, robotically, continues his conversation with William, Damien occasionally chipping in, but his eyes don’t leave her.

He’s infatuated with everything she does and that’s why he was able to promise the entirety of his future to her so easily. He loves her with everything, would literally do anything for her and that’s his problem. It is possible to love someone too much and he straddles that line.

Loving her is the best thing he’s ever done. The only thing he wants to do. Giving her his name had been an honor and a pleasure and a dream come true.

He smiles at her as he thinks of their future and she smiles back. They’re in love. Happily married and happily together.

If only their love story ended with happily ever after.

———

Masterlist

TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open)

[m-rphy]

We can text if you can’t talk

Summary:            When Matteo sees David dance with and kiss Leonie at Sara's party, his world begins to crumble, and it's like he's plunged into darkness. This is the aftermath. TW: This fic deals with slight themes of transphobia and self-harm/depression.

Notes:    I apologize in advance if I handled any trans issues in an insensitive matter in this fic. Please let me know if that's the case and I'd be happy to change those parts.

Matteo had stopped caring about which day it was. He woke up when it was already light out and went back to sleep long after the sun had set. His curtains were drawn closed pretty much 24/7 anyway, so it wasn't like it mattered if it was day or night.

First, he had been able to excuse his behavior to Hans and Linn and his boys with just wanting to relax a few days after his first couple of exams. Then he had lied that he got sick and needed to rest. But at this point, he had run out of excuses. He basically only left his bed to take a piss or get something to eat (which all tasted the same anyway so it was frozen pizza after frozen pizza) and he knew he worried Hans and Jonas especially, but he couldn't help it. It just... got overwhelming. Matteo wished nothing more than to be able to... take out his brain and replace it with a new, normally-functioning one, or to just disappear, or to never being born at all.

He had put on some comedy on Netflix in hopes of it cheering him up, but he couldn't even begin to concentrate on the movie so instead, he was playing games on his phone at the same time. Just as the leading lady in the movie fell into a pool, his phone buzzed with a message.

Jonas, 20:17 Hey bro what are you doing?

Matteo inhaled deeply. He had been ignoring Jonas for two days already and he knew it was unfair but the thought alone of trying to string together words for an answer drained what little energy he had left. He plopped his head down on his arm again, dropping his phone back onto his mattress.

Man, this movie was shit.

Matteo blinked awake. Deep pink light fell through his windows, half-swallowed and muted by his curtains, but still tinting his room a warm hue. His laptop still stood on the edge of his bed, the led light that indicated it was in standby mode blinking. Matteo closed it and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

His mind wandered to all the times this has happened before. Most days, it was just an underlying feeling of sadness mixed with apathy, something people around him tended to call a “laid-back” or “I don't give a fuck” attitude. But some days and weeks, it got bad. Like, bad bad. Sleeping-for-15-hours bad. Not-showering-in-four-days bad. Banging-his-head-against-a-wall-to-numb-the-inside-pain-with-outside-pain bad.

His phone buzzed again, but he didn't even bother to look at it. His stomach rumbled. Matteo inhaled deeply, debating how much longer he could put off making some food since he had been hungry already before his nap. His stomach grumbled again, contracting painfully.

Matteo sighed and rolled over to get up, not bothering to change the sweater he had been living in for the past three days, or to put on proper pants. The WG had seen him in his boxers plenty of times already so whatever.

He padded over into the kitchen, painfully aware of the disheveled state of his hair and how easy it would be for any of the others to tell something wasn't alright. He didn't care. He simply took a pizza from the freezer, put it on the oven rack without backing parchment and closed the oven door, setting the temperature to 200°C.

“Hey my little butterfly,” Hans greeted him as he entered to kitchen and went over to the fridge.

“He,” Matteo replied, and God, now he even failed at forming full words? And sure enough, Hans turned around to look at him, the fridge door hanging open behind him. Matteo avoided his eyes and looked down at his feet.

“Pizza again?” Hans asked, obviously trying to make conversation, but Matteo didn't see the point in replying. Obviously pizza again. He just did a half-shrug-head-shake instead. Hans didn't say anything else for a few seconds, and then, “How about we cook something together tomorrow evening? A nice potato gratin with loads of cheese. Hm? What about that?”

Matteo looked up at Hans for a moment and said “Whatever” with another shrug before he looked at his feet again. Hans made a small noise of discontent.

“You need a pick-me-up,” he concluded before he shut the fridge and left the kitchen again, leaving Matteo to stare at the spot where he just stood.

*

A soft knock on his door caused Matteo to look up.

“Matteo,” an even softer voice came muffled through the door and Matteo's heart skipped a beat. He felt paralyzed. “Can I come in?”

Matteo just stared at the door, a thousand emotions swelling up inside him and constricting his throat, making it impossible to reply anything. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't even sure if he wanted him to come in or not.

A soft thud against the door made Matteo think that he leaned against it on the other side and some of the tension left Matteo's body, only to come back tenfold when his phone buzzed with a message from him.

David, 21:09  Can I please come inside?

Matteo blinked and felt a tear fall from his eyes. Fuck. Why were emotions a thing? He stared at the message through the tears blurring his vision and his fingers hovered over the screen.

Matteo, 21:10  Ok

There was some rustling on the other side of the door and after a moment of silence, the door creaked open. Matteo held his breath.

David entered his room hesitantly, half-hiding behind the door, and looked over at Matteo who realized that David would totally be able to tell he had been crying, even from where he stood. Quickly, he wiped his cheeks dry with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Hi,” David said quietly, not moving, waiting, giving Matteo room. For some reason, this made everything worse.

“Hi,” Matteo finally replied and David took this as a sign that he could close the door. Afterwards, he came over to the bed, but stopped at the end of it, biting his lip. This close, Matteo – who couldn't help but study David's face – saw that he didn't seem to be doing so well either. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked a lot messier than usual.

The silence filled the room when neither of them knew what to say next. Matteo was glad he didn't need to talk because the lump in his throat was still there and he was afraid that his voice would break if he had to say more than one word. As the silence went on he watched as David pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing, before his own phone buzzed. David looked over at him expectantly. Matteo unlocked his phone.

David, 21:12  We can text if you can't talk

And, a second later...

David, 21:12  It's what I do when everything gets too much

Matteo stared at the messages as a feeling, so very different from everything he had experienced in the past days, started to spread through him. The closest he had ever come to feeling like this was when he spent time alone with Jonas, but it was different still. His phone buzzed again.

David, 21:13  I will just stay here a bit okay? And when you're ready you can tell me whats wrong

With this, he sat down at the end of the bed and took of his jacket, revealing a soft black hoodie, his headphones still looped around his neck, like always. Matteo knew David was looking over at him, but he just continued to stare at his phone, at the message David had just sent.

The clattering of pots and pans carried over from the kitchen, and somehow it felt like an invasion of privacy, even though Matteo was perfectly aware that all of his flat mates were decent enough not to listen in on others' conversations. Well, except maybe Hans.

Matteo tried to breathe through the lump in his throat as he started typing a reply to David. He didn't know where to start, a thousand thoughts flooding his brain. After a moment of hesitation, he started with the one he was surest about.

Matteo, 21:15  I like you. I cant explain it but i do and i think ive never felt the same for anyone else and its terrifying. Because life is horrible and shit like at saras party happens and it rips ur fucking heart out nd theres nothing u can do abut it

The tears were back and he hated hated hated it. He hated himself so much in moments like this. Matteo screwed his eyes shut and dropped his head against the wall he was leaning on with a bit more force than he had planned and suddenly he found himself in David's arms who pulled him away from the wall and held him tight.

“Stop,” he whispered in Matteo's ear, no heat behind it, so very different to how his Dad had reacted when Matteo had first shown signs of self-destructive behavior as a child. And when David's fingers brushed gingerly across the back of his head to soothe the pain, instead of grabbing his wrists in an iron grip like his Dad telling him to snap out of it, Matteo realized was true concern looked like. Since his Dad had left, he had begun to realize that his father's actions had always come from a place of annoyance, but it hadn't been until just now that he knew what difference a reaction could make.

And with this realization, Matteo slumped against David and hugged him back, held him so close that he thought he'd crush him, but David just let it happen. And like this they sat until the clatter and chatter from the kitchen fell silent, the others back in their rooms, and his room dark save for the lamp on his bedside table. The tears had stopped, though his nose was still runny, and finally he felt ready to pull back.

He met David's eyes, the other boy's eyebrows knitted together sadly.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, dropping his gaze for a moment. “About Sara's party. I don't know what came over me. It's just...” He inhaled deeply. “You remember that joke you made about Hans's friend, the trans girl from that one party who you said “Still totally looks like a dude”?”

Matteo blinked at him in confusion before he nodded.

“Well, it's just that...” David hesitated again, taking another shaky breath. “I'm trans, Matteo.”

Matteo felt his face fall. Fuck.

“David, I –” he started but David cut him off.

“My parents decided to move since I was bullied at my last school because of it, so I never told anyone here because I didn't wanna go through the same stuff again. And then you came along and I fell head over heels and then... well... then you said that.” He looked down at his lap where he picked on his thumb's cuticle with his fingernail. “And it made me doubt everything that happened between us. And then Leonie was at the party, and I know she has a crush on me, so I just said to myself, why the fuck not? I just wanted to feel good for one night.”

Matteo stared at him, his thoughts a mess.

“David, I'm sorry,” he finally said, because what he had just heard put everything else into perspective. “I never meant to hurt you, I'm sorry.”

“Well, shit happens,” David said with a sad chuckle and looked at Matteo again. “After you said that, my thoughts just spiraled and I... well... I ended up convincing myself that you'd never want to be together with me because I'm trans.”

“No!” The word broke out of Matteo with such force that he was a bit surprised himself. “It's... well I'd be lying if I said it's not a bit weird right now, but... it doesn't change anything for me, David. I like you because you're you. Because you get me.” And when he saw the look on David's face, he added, “I meant it's weird because I'm a stupid bastard and I don't know shit, and I don't want to hurt you ever again with something I say.”

“Don't call yourself that,” David said in a small voice.

“It's true though. I hurt you, so that makes me a bastard.”

“You were just joking around,” David tried to trivialize it. “You didn't know any better.”

But Matteo was having none of it. “That's not an excuse. It was still shitty.”

He thought David would continue to protest, but he said something else instead. “Do you know why I'm here?” Matteo shook his head no. “Because Sara texted me. Apparently she had the suspicion you're gay and have a crush on me after you dumped her, and then Hanna texted her earlier about how you've been down the whole holidays and she remembered what happened at the party and put two and two together.”

Matteo couldn't help but be amazed. He knew he had hurt her deeply, but that she still found it in her heart to care about him like that... he hadn't expected it. At the mention of the party, Matteo couldn't keep himself any longer from asking a question that had been on his mind since David had arrived.

“So you're not interested in Leonie?”

The question hung in the air for a moment before David laughed, and Matteo's heart tugged warmly at the sight of it.

“Matteo. I'm gay. I'm in love with you.”

Whoop, there it was. David's mouth fell open when he noticed what he had said and Matteo was aware that he looked just as thunderstruck.

“You what?” he asked, not able to stop the smile from spreading across his face. It took David a second longer before a similar smile lifted the corners of his mouth as well.

“I'm in love with you.”

“God, stop being cheesy!” Matteo laughed and shoved David so that he almost fell backwards. For a moment, they jostled around until both of them needed to catch their breath and Matteo noticed that their fingers were entwined. Suddenly, the air in his room felt heavier again.

“So, you still like me?” David asked, the uncertainty still audible in his voice.

“Yes,” Matteo answered without missing a beat. “I still like you, dumbass.”

And God, the smile that lit up David's face just then, it could've blinded the whole world.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Please please please could you please write more Hisame drabbles ?? Preferably HisaKiki, but any scenario with him would be wonderful as sin, really ꒰♡⌯́ॢ³⌯̀ॢ꒱ I love your writing style (it’s beautifully vivid and somewhat lyrical at times, but not overly descriptive), and you come up with the most witty dialogue — which makes your fics swoon-worthy, especially when it comes to a certain sarcastic, snarky, irresistible, charming noble! So pLeAsE

This day was writtenin the stars before Kiki Seiran even took her first step.

The court, hergoverness, her distant cousins, and spurred suitors alike - all of them hadbent their heads towards hers at some point these last twenty and two years,murmuring words in her ears that unfurled like magic, like prophecy: It will come to pass.

She always knew that she would be the earth inwhich the Seiran line must be sown. It was a sacred trust; a duty; a contractbetween her blood and the world that was as inevitable as the rising of the sunand the setting of the moon. It gave a certainty to her future in the way sofew things could be anymore. The only thing that was not was the identity of who wouldplant the seed.

She knew that.Accepted that. Hated that.

And yet there is a certain art to meetingslike this that she has come to appreciate, a grace that she has come to expectof those who sat at the other end of the table. For years, when it was all butwritten in gold embossed letterhead, Kiki danced words around His Majesty Izanaand, before him, Queen Regent Haruto. 

How she longs for those simpler days. The daysbefore she had touched the fringes of independence. Before she had known the weave and warp of softer emotions and how both might have been wrapped around her for alifetime.

Because now, the solicitor looks between hercarefully bored expression and the… gentleman her opposite, happily chatteringaway between bites of canapé – crustless cucumber sandwiches and curls of curedsalmon, little bites of goat cheese whipped atop crackers and sides of pureedfruit – with an ever increasing sense of bewilderment and-

Adoption. Why had no one considered adoption?

“Of course, if you are going to take lovers, please do me the courtesy of choosing those that looks like me,darling.”

Kiki’s left eye twitches, and she resists theurge to press it down, to close it, to do something that he wouldn’t notice.For each time Hisame spots it, his expression grows more fond, his voice moregrating, and his… terms of endearment gain a degree of obnoxiousness that Obiwould only seek to recreate.

“I won’t begrudge you. I am a reasonable man,after all, my pet,” he croons, hand pressed to chest - precisely the pointshe would like to run her sword through. Pity the solicitor insisted that sheleave it outside during this initial round of negotiations; Mr. Bartley was thesensitive sort, apparently. “For example, that rogue knight that follows thePrince’s mistress around would be acceptable. A bit too foreign, ofcourse, but we can always-”

Surely as the Lord ofSeiran, father would know somebody with a suitable head on their shoulders.Perhaps a lesser lord with one too many children. Someone bright. Someoneskilled. Someone who had not tried to force her hand in matrimony.

“-unless the rumors are true and the second Prince has taken you to bed. In which case, a royal bastard would be aboon for us. The more like a winter painting the babe appears, the better!”

Maybe she should speak to the King. With howlong he has delayed his own marriage, perhaps he would be compassionate to herplight. Between his backing and the leverage her father had surely gained overdecades at court, she could argue for an alternative.

“-but do bear in mind my pride, my love. Andkeep me in good comfort. An allowance, coupled with a townhouse in Wistal aswell as a country home would be ideal for once you are ready to put me out topasture.”

Kiki sighs somewhere deep in her chest.Doubtful. But there is no harm in trying. Even if Hisame discovered herattempts at freedom, he wouldn’t be too terribly shocked. Affronted, maybe, butmostly for show. He was always good at that.

“-by the by, do you think that you could ask His Highness if we could use the family’s summer house for a engagement soiree? I am certain thatthey would be amicable to a dear friend of the crown such as yourself.”

They’ve only known each other since they werechildren after all, and she had bruised his ego worse than a simple brokenengagement ever could. This time should be no different-

“Lady Seiran?”Mr. Bartley prods delicately andKiki blinks, glancing at the aging man with his glossy crown, thick darkmustache, and eyebrows seeking to overtake the edges of his glasses. 

She is confused, theprolonged silence of the room deafening with no sign that it will soon befilled, and- Oh.

Hisame stopped talking.

Those eyes, just a shade deeper than hersglints from across the table, eyebrows raised while his lips press to the edgeof a goblet and-

A question. He must have. Asked her aquestion.

“I’ll, ah-” She clears her throat. “I’llsee what I can do about that.”

“Excellent!” Hisame’s lips smack against the edgeof glass with a sigh and he slowly, deliberately, places it down on the table. “Youlooked piqued, my love. It’s been such a long day. Perhaps we should end allthis lawyering for now.”

Kiki stares. To the solicitor, she says, “If it is no trouble?”

Mr. Bartley is already gathering up his pens, sweepingpapers and bottles of ink into his gladstone. “Not at all, not at all. Weshall resume tomorrow then?”

“Naturally.” She sits up straighter. It wouldbe easier to deal with Hisame’s prattle in the morning than the late afternoonwhen her energy has waned. “Could you be here after breakfast?”

“Ah, my love. So eager.” Hisame sweeps to herside, hand already resting on her shoulder, and Kiki starts. She hadn’t even seen him get up. “Onecannot rush these things too quickly in the day. So many… fine details to workout. Best to let the morning meal settle a little.”

Kiki’s lips draw in a thin line, but Mr.Bartley smiles and nods most amicably. “Yes, yes. Of course, Lord Lugis. I’llarrive at the same hour as today.”

She swears she sees the fork of Hisame’s tonguewhen he replies, “Marvelous.”

Kiki’s jaw twitches, the only sign of herdiscomfort as the elderly man stands up, cracks his back with a, and graces her with a nod before extending his hand to her fiance.

Hisame clasps it with a serpents smile, hisother hand pressing down just enough uponher shoulder to keep her seated. “Safe travels, Mr. Bartley.”

~ ~ ~

The silence is deep after he leaves, cutting along the samegrooves that the late afternoon sun casts across the parlor. Kiki watches condensation gather on the surface of the ice bucket. A single drop slices through the fog when ice collapses in on itself within its core.

“Are you quite done with your little performance?” she asks, quiet, staring at nothing but the remains of the day scattered on the table before her.

Hisame wouldn’t be Hisame without an scandalized gasp. “Why, my darling-”

“Don’t.” She grits her teeth. “Don’t call methat.”

“What would you prefer?” he grins. “My love?My sweetling? My buttercup? I quite like that last one. It suits-”

“None of them,” she sighs, forehead fallinguntil it finds her palms. “Just… would it be so hard for you to call me thesame you’ve always called me before?”

“Ah, so impersonal!” Hisame chirps, reachingover her shoulder to scoop up another cucumber bite. “Everyone else has anickname for you. As your husband-”

“You are not my husband,” she corrects. Whenhe stares down at her, lips twitching in amusement around the snack he poppedinto his mouth all in one go, and she corrects, “…yet.”

He tilts his head, staring at her thoughtfullyas he chews. Something sticky and cold slithers down her spine the longer helooks upon her. “Kiki,” he says, swallowing. “If I didn’t know any better, Iwould think that you didn’t want to marry me.”

“Whatever would give you that impression?” shebites, pushing back against her chair. It comes up short, jarring where Hisame’sfoot blocks the leg and her escape.

“We’ve certainly had our disagreements in thepast-” he begins.

Kiki snorts.

“-but we were children then. We’ve bothgrown. Made our own names for ourselves, free from our family. You as a Knight to the Prince and myself as the Captain of the Guard.” He sucks his teeth once, looking past her. “I had thought that we might have both come to understand the reality of our positions in society. The situation with the Bergatts simply… rushed the issue. Surely, youcannot think of a better match than me?”

Kiki glares, searching desperately for fault in hislogic. And it pains her to admit that there is no one in the Kingdom of Clarines that would be better suited for her.

Save one. 

Ignoring the sting in her chest, she replies, “There is always the Prince.”

A laugh starts out of him. “Be reasonable,” he exclaims, eyes glittering. Kiki’s hand again itches for her sword. “As if you would subject yourself to the title of royalty. You wouldhave even fewer freedoms than you do now!”

“As if you would permit me any freedoms uponmarriage, contract or no,” she states, pushing back against her chair again. Hismouth parts in surprise, and this time he pulls it back for her, letting her gracefullyrise from her chair.

“As much as you would like to think it of me,I am not simple minded,” he says, his voice lowering to something approachinggentle. “I would be your consort. A voice to amplify your own in courtshould the council prefer a cock, but you hold the blood, and therefore thereins. I am simply… looking out for my long term interests. Which might as well as yours.”

She appraises him slowly, and in the soft glowof the afternoon, she might find him sincere. Even charming. And yet-

She knows better.

“You have only ever looked out for yourself,Hisame.”

His grin becomes so broad that it wrinkles hiseyes. “Ah, you caught me!” he gasps, throwing himself back as if struck. “Fiendthat I am. How ever would I gained a position as captain or, lo, such a lovely fiancé in a fair way?”

She tugs her hand back sharply when he reaches for it,stepping away. “I tire of your voice,” she declares, never taking her eyes off of him. He’s gone far too still, far too intent to turn her back to him. “I wish to retire forthe day. Allow one of the servants to show you the door.”

“But my love,” he says, his voice droppingin a sibilant hiss that freezes the blood in her veins. “I was hoping todiscuss one other thing before our next meeting.”

Kiki swallows. Inclines her chin. “We can discuss it in front of Mr. Bartley.”

“Ah, but it is a rather morbid subject. Mr. Bartley might find it quite gauche to discuss in front of a lady such as yourself. Women have, as he says, such a delicate constitution.”

He’s baiting her. Like he always has. Like he always will. And she refuses to fall for it. “Go ahead, then. If you are so concerned.”

Hisame takes a step closer to her and it takes every inch of her willpower to not give ground. “The matter of inheritance.” His voice is low, so very low. She almost leans forward to catch it. “Should one of us…meet an untimely end.”

Sweat prickles her hairline. “This is a bunch of nonsense,” she replies, but there is something there. Something beneath her skin that turns at the potential of reality, at the knowledge that Hisame rarely speaks so seriously out of turn. “You’vewitnessed Seiran security first hand. We would not be so easily taken fromwithout.”

He laughs, flipping his bangs from his face. “That is not what I am concerned about!”

“Then what are you?”

“Kiki. Darling.” His voice is a hiss against her ear, fingers lightly, delicately wrapping around her elbow. “You’ve never been one for doe eyed ignorance. And neither of us are idiots.”

Breathe, her brain hisses, steadying her when pins and needles prick upon her skin. Steady. “The people of this land would never stage a coup.”

“You haven’t been home in a long, long time,” he raises one eyebrow, thumb brushing the crease of her arm. She shivers in response, stomach clenching, but it’s not entirely… unpleasant. “Things have changed while you were out gallivanting the country with your Knight and his little Prince.Things that your father would never be so stupid to write in his correspondenceto you.”

The ice in her blood reaches her heart. “Everyone knows I had no choice but go.”

“Do they?” He steps in closer, so close that she can feel the brush of his hair against the side of her face, can feel the shape of his lips on the shell of her ear. “And how might they view theonly person who might rule Seiran- a helpless daughter- was at the beck and call of the throne?”

Eyelashes fluttering open (she doesn’t even remember them closing), she schools her face.Freezes it. Preserves it forever in stillness. And pulls away, out of Hisame’s grasp. “I believe in my people. They would never turn against me.”

Hisame drops his eyes, the ghost of a smirk still present on his lips. Sweeping his topper upon his crown, he nods once. “We’ll see, my dove. We’ll see.”

She never even hears him close the door.

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Heroes & Heroines, Supernatural Elements Series: Part 2 of Hero and Villain Verse Summary:

Something dark is taking hold of him.

A companion piece - and sequel to - Spark.

Click the link or continue below to read!

Their rutting was more wild, frantic, violent than any of their previous couplings.

They had done this countless times before, meeting in the abandoned buildings at the edge of town, fucking out the adrenaline and frustration against the crumbling walls and creaking floors. Darkness their only witness, the air filled with unabated moans and the sounds of flesh on flesh.

The last several months, however, their dances had been softer, less sharp at the edges, more low gasping and soft caresses and whispered affections. Each night found them more and more reluctant to let go, holding on to the lie that was their masks.

There was none of that now.

The wood beam supporting Hurricane’s weight groaned in protest at the snapping hips, Hellfire all teeth and bright-hot fury, Hurricane all desperate pleas and shaking, fingers like claws raking against his lover’s back as he shouts his release.

Even still, desperate and raging as he was, Hellfire found it nearly impossible to let him go, gripping him in the aftermath, shielding him from the world.

He had nearly lost him today. Nearly watched Hurricane die in front of him, shot down by lightning by a filthy weed of a monster, a nothing, a no one - a disgusting bug that had almost killed his lover, his Hurricane, from him for good.

It took hours to bear the idea of leaving, fighting back the urge to fold his lover in his arms and never let him go. Longer still before he could force himself home, slinking in the shadows lest someone spot and recognize him.

By the time he crawled into bed, dawn was peeking up over the horizon. A chill ran up his spin despite the warmth of his house, eyes flickering wary towards the dark corners of his room.

The shadow was closer.

Hellfire had always been able to see the spirits. They used to play with him when he was younger, much to the concern of his older sibling who could not see them. Kodama would lure him into the woods for hours, the little devils high in the treetops dropping acorns down on him - though the nicer ones would bring him flowers in apology, riding on his shoulders and hiding things in his hair for later. Animal spirits brought him food, throwing hissy fits when he would curl his nose up at the carcasses of fish and rabbits, even going as far as to strip the kills to try and tempt him.

Lately, however, he had been seeing them less and less.

The one that he could never quite make out, never quite bring into focus, was the only constant now, coming ever closer - ever since that day Hurricane had nearly died, ever since Hellfire had called out to the shadow entity for help for the first time.

The power he’d used had not come naturally to him - it took time to realize it was not his own, not some new development as he’d thought. In order to use it, he had to ask for it, though he only needed to do so in his thoughts. Having a massive skeletal arm at his disposal was useful, to say the least, and the more he called upon it the stronger it became, no longer shattering into ember fragments at the slightest blow. Lifting heavy objects might have never been an issue for him, his body able to withstand more strain than most others, but the new limb made it so much easier.

The entity he called upon came closer still, always present in his periphery, always just out of his physical reach but easing into his mind at a moment’s notice.

At first, it grated on him to know the power was not his own. He knew his greatest sin was pride, and knowing that it was not his made him hate using it. But the appendages made fights easier, kept his own arms free, and lifting larger objects more manageable. Their self-appointed jobs were too dangerous not to take any and all advantages at their disposal.

He had always been rather resilient, able to survive attacks that would crush a normal person. It lead to what most would call self-destructive habits, jumping head first into danger, more willing to sacrifice his own safety than those of others. Lately, it had become instinctual to call upon the entity for help, relying more on its strength than his own, letting it do more of the work for him.

It made everything easier in battle. The blue fire, the white bone, intimidated and startled opponents. The extra reach meant he no longer relied on close-combat, despite his love for exchanging physical blows. He could also protect his companions from afar, making it easier to focus on his own battles.

But part of him knew those weren’t the main reasons. He enjoyed the rush of thick power through his veins, the absolute force at his disposal. The raw energy he could command. He craved it, his body a little more empty every time it left, a little more willing to use it the next time his mask was set in place.

And the shadow loomed ever closer.

Living near a fault line at least meant constant employment, though Hellfire would have certainly been happier if he were actually getting paid for his help. Evacuating part of the city had certainly not been high on his weekend to-do list, no matter how necessary it was. At least moving rubble took less concentration than battling giant slugs like the ones from a week before - he shuddered at the thought, shoving a large chunk of concrete out of his way, trying to not think of the globs of slime he was still having to clean out of his hair.

Sweat stung his eyes, and he took a moment to breathe, looking around to assess the situation. He could see Mokudai in all his too-tight suit glory doing his best to support the collapsing apartment building, tone high-pitched as he begged for help from the spirits he couldn’t actually see. A small sprite had attached itself to the back of his cloak, blinking lazily at the two nymphs seated and chatting just off to the side. They sent dark looks his way, not once lifting a finger to aid him even as they grew strong roots to help his friend.

He didn’t bother trying to make sense of the garbled chattering of the nymphs. Seeing them had never made it easy for him to communicate with such creatures, though their relationships had never been tinted with hostility before.

A loud crack, groaning of concrete and wood, pieces falling around them - and the building starts to fall.

And Mokudai was right in its path.

He couldn’t reach him in time. Dust clouded the area even as he jolted forward, the ground shaking, shouts echoed but sounded far too distant. The damned fool was strong, but his thick skull wouldn’t save him here.

A shadow in his vision, desperation shooting through him - he had to get close enough, had to save him, couldn’t lose someone else, reaching even as falling glass tore at his clothes and skin, even as he saw the rubble about to crush his companion, his friend, he had to save him-

Agony. Searing pain in his blood. His vision white, and then blue flaming energy around him. Breathing labored, body shaking. When he finally could see again, he’s on his knees, nails scrapping into the ground, bloody. Mokudai was at his side, voice distant and panicked. A hissing sound just at the edge of the energy, the small sprite spitting at the white structure in the flames.

He rolled his eyes towards the bones connected to the usual arm, the effort leaving him dizzy. It resembled a rib cage - half of one, at least. A hand found his face, found the oozing liquid leaking out of his left eye, but the words still made no sense to the swirling weight of his empty mind.

Another person rushed towards them, white hair dyed grey from the dust, red eyes wide and searching. Hurricane shouted something at them, vaulting over what looked like the remains of a dresser - and was flung backwards as he touched smoking blue energy, sliding against the ground until he hit another piece of unrecognizable and broken furniture.

He saw him try again. Felt the moment he stepped too close, something in his head screaming at the contact. He fought against the need to push, eyes shut and sweat dripping off his face.

The next hand that cupped his face was more familiar. A soothing voice, calm pushing through the storm, white noise fading into the sounds of Hurricane speaking to him, talking him down.

Bones disappeared in ember and ash. The pain became unbearable, his head pounding, unwelcome sounds tearing out of his throat. Blood leaked profusely from his eye, his vision blurred and eyes burning.

On some level, he recognized Mokudai mother henning about him, flailing here and there, spewing high-pitched nonsense. His head was soon rested against his lover’s chest, one arm holding him while the other hand checks for wounds. Some words made more sense than others, his low voice easing the ache of his thoughts until he can actually understand what is being said about him.

“...don’t know yet what caused it, your healing might make it worse.”

“M’fine.” He wasn’t fine. His head hurt, his arms hurt, breathing hurt, existing hurt. But he hated the thought of the two of them fretting over him like some useless child. Supporting his own weight took more effort than he would ever admit, but he leaned back anyway, cradling his head in one hand when it felt like it might fall off.

“You are not fine, and don’t bother trying to hide it.” The tone should have been sharper. He shook his head at the worry, doing his best to push himself back to his feet.

“I’ll be fine. Just. Need to rest my eyes a bit. Happens.”

“What do you mean, it happens? What happens?” Hellfire glared over at the obnoxious idiot, gesturing towards the blood streaming down his cheek in response.

Much to his displeasure, that only made the fretting worse, a flood of questions barreling over him at a volume that was near ear-splitting with his head hurting as it was.

“Are you talking about your eye? What’s wrong with your eyes? Have they bled like that before? Why have you never brought this up? And what about the whole collapsing in pain thing? Do you do that often too? What about-”

“Would you just-” His own voice had him flinching, and he had to take a moment to calm down, not wanting to hurt himself further. “No, they don’t usually bleed. They just hurt. And my head. Migraines. It’s not a big deal.”

A hand on his shoulder had him turning, only to sigh as it brushed through his hair, stopping to scratch at his scalp. Normally, he wouldn’t lean so heavily on Hurricane in public, but he knew his weaknesses too well, and his body ached with the effort of standing. And the fingers felt nice in his hair.

“Your eyes don’t normally bleed?” Talking seemed too difficult at the moment, so he shook his head, letting Hurricane support his weight. “Hellfire, do you think it might have been the new addition to the bone structure that caused the bleeding?”

Something twitched in him at the question, but he ignored it, shrugging instead. He didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted was to sleep, and maybe drag Hurricane with him to pet his hair some more, soothing as the motion was.

“You shouldn’t use it for a while, just in case. There’s no telling what sort of damage it’s done.”

The statement tasted of poison. He jerked away, every piece of him feeling betrayed by the suggestion.

Why it felt like that, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what came over him, what caused him to react so strongly, to spit fire and venom at his companions. It was like something tore his body open and forcibly poured sun-hot fury into his veins, his conscious fogged by blinding rage.

He didn’t remember what he said to them. Didn’t remember leaving, didn’t know when or how he made it home, what happened after that.

He only remember the look of pained confusion on Mokudai’s face, the poorly concealed concern and fear on Hurricane’s.

It was the first time in nearly two years that they didn’t meet in the abandoned buildings, his only company that night the looming shadow now at his side.