#like watching ants running around on pavement

[eggwishing]

posture: VILE

[sparkly-sediment]

are u have any speesbullet headcanin please?

yes kitten I sure do

Tf2 speedingbullet headcanons

Scout has the biggest, lumpiest, most unfathomably school girl crush you’ve ever see

Brother is skipping to and fro the camper

He acts all cool. Suave. Big dick, if you will. But deep down he is just a fast little boy running in circles on a treadmill. The proverbial carrot to his stick is Sniper

Scout thinks Sniper is like 40 for at least 18 months and only allows himself to realize his desire after

“well like since you’re 50 or whatever”

“?? mate I’m 27” and then the floodgates open

Sniper enjoys watching Scout dart around the battlefield from his sniper’s nest. At first it’s funny, like an ant writhing on the pavement, but then the ant gets cute. And then hot

Sniper would never spy on someone from above to jack off but he does think about it once. But like, cmon man he wouldn’t *really* do it

Not unless Scout brings it up first

They hang out a lot. So much so the team thinks they are legitimate friends- which they are!- but in all the time they spend together they started to open up and all that

Suddenly Sniper is invite to Christmas in Boston and Scout’s mom is ENTHRALLED with this! Sniper gets a shake down tho

Scout craves validation, especially from men (thanks for that spy), and it creates this crossroads for Sniper

Snipes can either acknowledge his issues with affection and vulnerability and you know, actually work to better himself, or he could simply Not and let the little romance crumble

He finds out Scout doesn’t know what a kangaroo is and starts reading self help books

Scout flirts obnoxiously but the second Sniper even makes eye contact it’s over. Neither of them can handle rizz but at least Sniper can keep functioning

He will tip his hat to cover his face on occasion. Scout sees this as an ultimate victory

They date for five months hefore they realize they’re dating and have a conversation that really didn’t need to be so scary

Intimacy is uncharted waters in the beginning! They’ve both slept with people, but nothing quite as electric as this, so they start a bit slow

Does not last long Scout thinks Sniper is SO HOT and Sniper looks at Scout and feels his stomach flip

Play fighting and then they legit start brawling then they make out and then ❤️

[tinycoded360]

Brobdingnag on our Shores

Author Note: This is inspired by gulliver travels and a small request from a reader. Please enjoy!

Theo's feet pounded against the pavement as he raced towards the shoreline. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline and anticipation coursing through his veins. A giant! A real-life giant here on their coastline. He had to see it for himself.

Rounding the corner, Theo skidded to a halt, mouth agape. The slumbering behemoth was on the beach, rising from the sand like a small mountain. A crowd of people clambered over the giant's body, tiny ants against the vast expanse of its skin. They posed for selfies atop its mountainous belly or simply gaped in disbelief.

"My god," Theo murmured. He had studied legends of giants his whole career, but to see one in the flesh... defied comprehension. Cautiously, he approached, craning his neck to take in the entire colossal form. The giant's chest rose and fell with rumbling breaths. Remnants of a life vest clung to its torso, while swim trunks adorned its waist. Theo crept closer to gaze up at the mountain of a man.

The crowd around him started to panic as the giant started to stir. The people on top of the man scrambled to get down as the giant awoke. Theo stood frozen as he watched the creature from a fairy tale wake.

Theo watched as the giant woke. The giant man looks around in confusion and bewilderment. He watched as the giant carefully rolled to his side, glancing at the tiny human running away from him. Theo was still frozen in awe and fear. He was very close to the giant.

With an abruptness that sent a shockwave through the air, the giant’s gaze locked onto the tiny figure of Theo. A giant hand, each finger thick as tree trunks, swept across the distance between them. Theo gasped, his lungs seizing, as he found himself ensnared within the giant's fist. The grip was firm, undeniable—a cage of flesh and bone encasing him. Panic fluttered within Theo like a caged bird.

Theo felt relief at the sound of sirens. Military vehicles raced along the coastal road, and soldiers spilled out to form a barricade around the beach perimeter.

Still imprisoned within the titan’s grasp, Theo felt the world lurch as the giant rose. The rush of movement blurred the edges of his vision, turning soldiers and scientists into streaks of color.

“Control the beast!" someone shouted, the command slicing through the charged atmosphere.

In an instant, the giant's fingers curled protectively, enclosing Theo within the giant hand. The shift was swift, the darkness absolute. A tight cocoon formed by flesh and bone replaced the world.

The heat of the colossal hand was like an oppressive blanket around his body. His stomach lurched in protest, bile rising up his throat as vertigo seized him with unrelenting force.

General Armstrong's voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Fire upon the giant!"

The air tensed as soldiers leveled their weapons, the metallic clicks of safety catches releasing a chilling prelude to potential carnage. But before the order could manifest into action, Dr. Hartley, a consultant working with the military on this case, raised her arms in a plea for restraint.

"Stop! You have a man in that creature's grasp. We risk killing our own!" She shouted.

The general's eyes narrowed, but he held up his hand, signaling the men to hold their fire. It never looked good to kill a civilian in the crossfire. The general watched, trying to gauge if they would have to sacrifice one life to save everyone else.

Meanwhile, sensing the tension around him, the giant turned his massive form toward the beach's edge and headed towards the outcrop of cave systems. Each step was a deliberate act of mercy, his feet planting softly on the earth, avoiding the scurrying figures below.

The giant ducked into the cave, the stone walls closing around him as he squeezed inside. He hunched down, folding his massive legs to fit in the cramped space.

Theo stuck in the giant’s fist, dizzy and disoriented. But at least he was still alive.

As the giant settled in, he unfurled his fist and examined Theo. He prodded at Theo's limbs, stretching and bending them as if assessing their movement. Then he stroked Theo's hair; the sensation felt strange.

Zaldrin rolled the tiny human between his fingers, fascinated by how fragile yet dexterous the creature was.

Hunger rumbled in the giant's stomach. He hadn't eaten in days, adrift on a lifeboat before it turned over in the sea. The little human would make a mere morsel, barely enough to satisfy him, but it would keep him alive.

Still, he hesitated. This creature was intelligent; it had language and reasoning. It seemed almost cruel to gobble it up without a second thought. But what were a few human lives compared to his own? They were just animals, however clever. Weren't they?

He had only heard of humans through fairy tales. They were described as good luck and smart enough to talk, but they were always depicted as lowly animals, not as people capable of reasoning.

Zaldrin peered closer at the human in his palm. Its eyes were bright with curiosity and wonder, not the dull stare of a beast. And there, in its trembling limbs and rapid breaths, was a spark of something familiar: fear. The human knew it was in danger. It understood, on some level. But still, it was brave enough to look him in the eye.

Just like that, Zaldrin's hunger faded. He couldn't eat this creature, no matter how hungry he grew. It was a thinking, feeling being. To swallow it whole would go against everything he believed in.

He sighed, breath ruffling the human's hair, and curled his fingers protectively around it.

He had no idea how to survive in this strange land without food.

Deep in thought, Zaldrin continued to pet the tiny human.

Zaldrin startled in surprise as the human reached up and grabbed his thumb. The tiny creature stood up in the palm of his hand, clutching his enormous thumb to his chest.

"My name is Theo. Theodor Langdon. I'm a professor of ancient history." The tiny man said as he looked up at Zaldrin.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Theo the Professor," Zaldrin rumbled. "I am called Zaldrin, and I hail from the kingdom of Brobdingnag."

Theo's eyes lit up behind those round spectacles. "Brobdingnag? As in Gulliver's Travels?"

Zaldrin blinked in surprise. "You have heard of my homeland?"

"Of course! Brobdingnag was one of the lands Gulliver visited on his travels. He described your people as noble giants. Is that where you're from, truly?"

Zaldrin paused in thought. "Gulliver, you say? We have tales of a tiny human named Gulliver, although I don’t think those tales did you justice. But yes. Brobdingnag is my home. I fear some strange magic has transported me to this unfamiliar world."

"Extraordinary," Theo breathed. He shuffled to the edge of Zaldrin's palm, peering over the side, then looking back up at the giant. "You must tell me everything about it. What was daily life like for your people? Did you have a family or a profession? Were there many cities, or did you live a more rural existence?"

Questions tumbled from Theo's lips, his curiosity insatiable. Zaldrin hesitated, unused to sharing details of his personal life, but he found Theo's enthusiasm infectious.

Zaldrin smiled a deep rumble of contentment in his chest and began to tell Theo of his homeland.

Meanwhile, in the military command center, Dr. Hartley studied the footage of the giant emerging from the sea. Dazed and disoriented, the giant had stumbled upon their shore and promptly collapsed into a deep slumber.

Now, he crouched in a cave in the cliffs, having retreated there once the military arrived. But rather than showing signs of aggression, the giant seemed more wary and confused than hostile. Plus, from the footage of the military drone, the giant had not eaten the civilian it had grabbed. From what they could tell, the giant seemed curious about its captive.

Hartley sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We can't simply attack him. He hasn't actually done anything to warrant that level of force."

General Armstrong frowned, arms crossed over his chest. "Yes, we can; he’s an intruder in our lands. You want us to just let him wander around?”

"We need to establish contact," Dr. Hartly said. "This could be an unprecedented opportunity for study, a chance to learn about life beyond our world."

Mayor Everett stepped into the conversation. "You scientists are always so eager to throw caution to the wind. What if he ravages our cities, stomping on buildings and military alike?”

"What if he doesn't?" Hartly countered. "We have weapons that could injure him, yes, but not without potential loss of life. I propose we take a diplomatic approach instead."

The men scoffed, but Hartly stood firm. "We establish a line of communication. Learn why he's here and what he needs to return home. Perhaps there's a way we can help each other."

After several minutes of debate, Dr. Hartly emerged victorious. They would send an envoy to speak with the giant, with the military on standby in case negotiations were soured. And hopefully, convince the giant to let its hostage go as well.  

[fandom-gt]

COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page +1 addon

PRICE: 65

FANDOM:  MCU

CHARACTERS:  Steve Rogers

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”I'd love a continuation of the growing Steve Rogers quick fill! He's a few kilometers tall and is just getting off on his new power and size, Avengers try to stop him but are absolutely powerless. And when he's done he ends up tripling in size again. Please keep me anonymous when you post this!”

WARNINGS: Violence and implied tiny death, mass destruction, nsfw

——

Steve Rogers has been a large man for a number of years now. Ever since they slipped his small, skinny body into that machine and let him come out the other side feet taller, a hundred pounds heavier, muscular and strong, he’s known that he was always supposed to be big. It felt good at first, but after a while, a secret part of him had kind of wished for just a little bit more. 

Finally, here smack-dab in the center of New York City, Steve’s finally got his wish. He stares down at the roaming little dots that make up people, the slightly larger little squares that must be cars, and a thrill of absolute satisfaction runs through him. 

Everything below him, every building, every structure, every person, is tiny. The ruined tatters of his uniform are all but invisible to his naked eye now, and it’s only because of the serum enhancing his eyesight that he can even make out vague details of those ant-sized people.

He kneels, naked, knees crushing pavement and concrete and roads and sidewalks and anything that happened to be in their way as he grew, massive craters beneath his muscular thighs and calves, with barely even the hint of resistance despite being made of reinforced steel beams and the finest construction the human species is capable of. It all crumples like paper under him.

What really gets him going, once he notices it, though… is the tiny cracked crater underneath the place his cock gently dipped and smacked onto the road. Even it, even just the engorged head of his member, is enough to devastate what must be most of a city block. It brings a surge of heat through him, has his balls tightening, and he can’t keep himself from reaching down to wrap a hand around it.

Down below him, the world is in chaos. He cannot hear the screams, he doesn’t know the sight that he makes to the regular-sized humans trapped underneath his crotch. Tony stares up from his place on the cracked and broken sidewalk, mouth agape in utter disbelief even as he engages the nanite of his Iron Man suit. 

Steve’s too large for him to take in all at once. All he can see at first is the shadow of his cock filling Tony’s skyline bigger than any skyscraper, the size of an entire mountain, with every vein and every ridge and every wrinkle of it in hyper-vivid super-high definition detail. 

Before him, he watches in horror as a new monumental event enters the chaotic landscape — Steve’s massive hand descending from the heavens to wrap around his titanic dick. The rush of wind blows back signs and people’s hair as his hand moves forward in one stroke so big it almost seems slow-motion thanks to the scale. The sound of it, skin on skin, is deafening. People too close to him feel their eardrums splitting under the immense pressure of Steve’s low grumble.

That’s not what scares Tony. What scares him is the glistening pearl of precum that buds at the volcanic crater of Steve’s slit. It builds in size, in volume, an avalanche of sticky fluid, and he knows with a great, mounting horror that the second it drops, it’s going to wipe out an entire apartment building. 

One single drop of precum will devastate dozens of people, will wipe out entire households, and Steve doesn’t even seem to notice — let alone care.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He has to do something -— and so he kicks off, the rockets at his feet carrying him up, up, up a full kilometer in the air. Even with all that upward thrust, he still barely manages to make it to Steve’s waist. 

One sharp jerk of Steve’s wrist sends a gust of air that throws him out of balance, sending him careening head over foot and slamming into a wall of flesh.

With his back against something sticky, he realizes in horror what he’s stuck to right as he sees the barreling momentum of Steve’s hand in his next jerk. He’s swallowed in an avalanche of skin, and lost on Steve’s body.

Steve did not even see him. Steve didn’t even notice the little speck lost in his lazy masturbation. He’s too busy staring down at the ground beneath him as another growth spurt ripples through him, carrying him outward, carrying him upward. He must be miles tall now, he can’t even imagine the math, he can’t even compare it.

What he does know is, all those little grid lines beneath him are city blocks, and his dick spans a dozen of them. He also knows, with a rippling jolt of pure arousal, that if he were to come… if he were to just jack off and finish, it would flood an entire city.

And god, that thought gets him harder than anything ever has in his entire life. His hand works harder, works faster, jacking his cock with a renewed frenzy that sends the population between his thighs into despair. They know what’s going to happen, and it’s all they can do to run — knowing that even if they move as fast as they physically can, even if they hop into cars and somehow escape the gridlock of traffic, even if they manage to put literal miles between themselves and the place Steve’s testicles crush their city, they won’t make it far enough in time.

And they’re right.

Another groan rumbles, and this time every single person in the state of New York can hear it. Windows shatter under the sound of it. Earthquakes shake tremors in the ground through voice alone, to say nothing of the untold devastation as Steve shifts on his haunches to dip forward and press the head of his dick into the ground, rutting through entire counties and leveling them in one aimless, heated hump.

As he rolls his hips, as his enormous glutes tighten in fervor, as he drags himself along irreverent to the thousands of crushed people beneath him, Steve Rogers wipes Queens off the map entirely with one earnest rut. 

It’s too much. He shifts again, one elbow planting on the ground, his knees and thighs comfortably stretched out beneath him, and he works himself hard, mounting, building, wide blue eyes forced open so he can watch it when it finally hits, when it finally happens.

His orgasm tears through him in a torrent of semen bigger than any tidal wave. His release washes through city streets, drowning everything, sticky and unstoppable. A flood, a thousand rivers, the best god damn thing he’s ever felt. Every person in its wake is consumed by it. And all he did was just let himself come.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Home Sweet Home AU: █████████

Anathema.

TW: Blood and death implied.

Notes: ███ ████ ██████ ██████████

Failure.

A word I’ve grown to despise. The sheer concept of it alone is sickening to me. Everything has gone the way it was planned from the start, though I appear to have been wrong to think those things could always follow their orders. How dare those cretins fail me? Do they not have but one thought in their primitive minds? They were made for a single purpose, yet they cannot even seem to follow through with it. Hideous. Disappointing. Maddening.

Oh, how I wish I could simply do everything myself. However, due to the horridly limiting laws of this plane I cannot be in more than one place at once. If I could, I would have no need of these animals. These creatures that become too caught up in their own volition to realize just how idiotic their thirst for blood is. Or rather, how fascinated they are by how weak minded the beings that rule this world are. I suppose I do not blame them; watching these beings scramble like ants on a hill, attempting to stop the inevitable, is…entertaining, to say the least.

But you.

You.

YOU.

Oh, how much of a disappointment you are.

Watching you bleed on the pavement was euphoria to me. Watching you try to scream with nothing to scream with. Watching you claw at your throat with gurgled breaths. Though I only wish it lasted longer. I suppose you were dying already, weren’t you? Running around like a scared animal, barely able to think past pure instinct and your own cruel urges. Or perhaps you were hunting. I cannot be sure, considering everything was…unusual for one like you. Watching you blindly attack those of your own kind, or anything that moved, was fascinating, yet I can’t help but wonder what you were thinking, if you were even thinking at all. Curious.

You will rot, I know. Nothing more but rotting skin and crumbling bones, with your blood staining the ground. How idiotic for you to think you even had a chance. Pitiful, if I had to be honest. Perhaps death was merciful for you, if you were even able to live at all.

My creations.

My plan.

This world.

Becoming warped and led astray.

How odd.

How odd indeed.

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

incompete drabble from the we're all dead here au that will probably never be finished. I was going to add a lot more but lost motivation and my wip list is kinda full right now so :/

~

Lloyd was a strange child. That was a fact of life. Nobody was quite sure how exactly he was strange, but he simply was. The sky was blue, the ocean was salty, Lloyd was a strange child. 

Lloyd himself knew this as well. He did not enjoy talking to his peers at school, instead wandering around on his own during recess and looking at things that caught his interest, such as a particularly large beetle, or a bright red maple leaf, or the little ants that marched along the pavement. The teachers would look at him and tell him to go make some friends, to which he would say “no thanks,”and walk away.

On this day, a lovely August afternoon, Lloyd was running through the park away from his cousin Morro, who had been given the task of watching him for a few hours.

“You’ll never catch me!” Lloyd yelled. He ran past an old lady walking her dog, nearly knocking her over in the process, and slammed into a bench.

“Whoah, kid, you okay?” A voice asked. Oops, Lloyd thought. He must have bumped into some innocent person who’d been sitting on the bench. 

“Sorry, sir,” Lloyd said. His head was still spinning from his fall.

Silence, and then some strangled noises. “You can see me?” 

“Huh?” Lloyd looked up at the person. He was older than Lloyd, at least high school age, with spiky brown hair and freckled skin. There were large, angry red marks on his face that resembled burns. And he was transparent and glowing. That was strange.

“Why are you glowing?” Lloyd blurted. Then he regretted it. It was probably rude to ask that sort of question — what if it was a sensitive topic?

The boy laughed. “Because I do,” he said mischievously.

“Are you a ghost?” 

“Yes.”

Lloyd’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“What else would be bright green and glowy?”

“A glow stick?”

The boy hummed. “I’m not sure what a glow stick is, but sure.”

“They’re sticks,” Lloyd told him seriously. “You crack them and then they glow. They come in lots of different colours too.”

“Sounds interesting,” the boy said.

“What’s your name?” Lloyd extended a hand. “Mine is Lloyd.”

The boy smirked. “Kai,” he said.

“Your name is Kai?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a cool name,” Lloyd declared. He had never heard that name before, but it suited this boy.

“LLOYD!” Morro came barrelling up to the two. It had taken him a surprisingly long amount of time to catch up. “You can’t just run off like that.”

“But I wanted to play tag,” Lloyd pouted. “And I made a friend! This is Kai,” he gestured to the older boy.

Morro frowned and looked at Lloyd. “There’s no one there.”

“No, he’s right there!” 

Morro looked over at the bench again. He could not see anything there. But children were known for having active imaginations, so he nodded and said, “well, say goodbye to Kai, then. We have to go home.”

“But I don’t wanna!” Lloyd exclaimed. When else was he going to meet another real, live ghost? Well, perhaps not live, exactly, but still a ghost.

“Listen to your brother, kid,” Kai said.

“He’s not my brother, he’s my cousin,” Lloyd told him.

“Cousin, then. Listen to your cousin, okay?”

“Can I see you again, though?” Lloyd looked at Kai hopefully.

“Sure.”

“Okay,” Lloyd said defeatedly. He grabbed Morro’s hand. “We can go, but only if we come back tomorrow.”

Morro sighed. “Fine.”

“Bye! See you tomorrow!” Lloyd waved at Kai. 

Kai waved back, and the next time Lloyd turned around he was gone.

[lexosaurus]

The Illusionist

Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion

My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover  Word Count: 5262 Read on: [ao3]

---

“A kid?” Shouta asked. 

The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.

“He can’t be older than sixteen.” Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”

Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.

That must have been them.

“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear. 

So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.

And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.

The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close. 

And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.

The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.

So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.

Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.

Such as, apparently, this one.

Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.

Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move. 

Wonderful.

Just then, his phone lit up.

Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”

“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”

“Understood. Any injuries?”

“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”

“Good.”

Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet. 

If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good. 

Which meant that he needed to end this. Now. 

But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.

On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.

Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.

Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.

“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.

Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.

The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.

“Eraserhead!”

Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.

“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!” 

“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”

“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”

“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.

“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.

“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”

Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”

“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.

The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.

“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.

Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”

“Got it!”

The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.

“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.

Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.

What the hell is that kid? 

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk. 

And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.

So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?

Unless he was homeless himself.

The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?” 

Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”

“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.

“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sending a location now.”

Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS. 

His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.

There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.

There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.

Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!

“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”

Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?” 

The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”

“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.

But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.

“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”

Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.

Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.

He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”

The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”

“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”

“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”

Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.

He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.

Aizawa felt sick.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.

“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?” 

“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”

Aizawa rose slowly. 

This wasn’t looking good.

Hurry up, Shinsho. 

The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.

“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.

“I’m not going quietly.”

Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.

“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.

Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.

Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask. 

“Go to sleep.”

The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy. 

“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.

Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt. 

He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.

Whatever he was, he was asleep.

“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.

Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.

“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily. 

Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”

“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.

“Good.” 

Shouta gave the kid one last glance. 

What happened to him?

---

It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.

Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.

When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.

Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.

Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.

Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.

Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.

“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”

Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”

The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”

“No matches?” Shouta asked. 

“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”

The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.

“It’s showtime.”

The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”

The teen didn’t respond.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.

“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”

But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”

“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”

The teen shifted. “Maybe.”

“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”

A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”

“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”

He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”

“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”

“I want to leave.”

Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”

As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.

Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.

“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”

“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”

“You here on vacation?”

The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”

“American?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been visiting?”

The teen shrugged.

Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”

“What happened to it?”

The teen shrugged.

Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”

“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”

The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”

Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”

Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”

“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”

The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.

Who was he scared of?

He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”

Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed. 

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”

“Even though he’s American.”

“Exactly.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.

“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.

The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”

“Uh…The United States.”

“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”

“I—yeah.”

“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”

Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”

“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”

If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon. 

It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes. 

“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”

Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”

“He will,” Shouta agreed.

“I wish we could help him.”

Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”

“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”

Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.

Just who was Danny Fenton? 

“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”

Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.

And he meant it.

---

“So…” Shouta started. 

Danny just looked tired. 

It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?

The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.

And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.

So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.

But he wouldn’t say what.

Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.

It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.

He seemed smaller up close. Too small.

“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.

“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”

Shouta raised his brows.

Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.

“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.

Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”

Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”

Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I…” Danny looked lost. 

“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”

“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”

He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified. 

Bingo.

Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.

“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”

That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.

Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.

Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”

“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”

“What changed?” Danny asked.

“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”

Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.

“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”

“I...I can’t…”

Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”

Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”

The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.

Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”

“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks. 

“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, Danny.”

At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.

Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?

Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.

When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”

Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.

“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”

“Yeah?”

“The other option is you can stay with me.”

Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.

“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”

Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.

“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”

The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”

The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.

And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.

“Of course. I’d love to have you.”

---

Thanks for reading!

[check out some of my other fics]

[quindolyn]

Midnight Walks || James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 4363

Note: Dedicated to 🦎anon from @/randomoutsiders blog. Where I live it’s already 84℉ so this completely feasible but if you don’t live in hell and it's still cold and wintery outside just push it back a few months.

Warnings: Insecure reader, like 2 sexual comments because I’m filthy, talk of men being pigs and not keeping their hands to themselves, lots of fluff, modern muggle au, monkey bars, public nonsexual stripping,

Masterlist

Part 2

There were ants in your bones, there must’ve been. Either that or someone was trying to feather dust their way out of them. Your entire body itched with the urge to move, to run, to scream and jump in the middle of the street. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what drove this overwhelming desire, perhaps it was some sort of primal reason coded into your DNA, alternatively maybe it was the sitting at your computer all day. One could only attend so many online classes before they went insane, and a decent way into your second semester and still no sign of going back in person anytime before the next school year. You were like a purebred who desperately needed exercise. It would’ve been a simple enough fix if it wasn’t already 10:17, the sun having set four or so hours ago, even though you lived in a pretty nice area you didn’t feel comfortable going out. Men were disgusting, and going out this late alone meant risking life and limb because too many men thought it was okay to touch what wasn’t theirs. Fucking toddlers. So instead you were forced to open your windows in attempts to replicate the natural breeze and try to find another outlet for your energy. You tried. You really did. Jumping jacks, planks, the few yoga poses you could recall off the top of your head, dancing around your house to your favorite songs, but the music didn’t feel like it usually did, even it couldn’t soothe the itching in your bones. You were fucked, simply and truly. Too energetic without the proper outlet. After none of those things worked you sat down to attempt to get some of your weekend homework done, but somewhere between ionization energy and confidence intervals you found yourself picking at your nail polish instead of paying attention to your work. Groaning you threw your head down onto your desk, wincing as the pain from the impact spread through your skull. Closing your eyes you tried to imagine it, the cool night air in your face, blowing through your mangled tresses, the thud of your feet against the pavement of the sidewalk, the feeling of the grass at the park tickling your exposed skin as you stared up at the cloudy sky, looking for stars. You swore you could almost feel it all, almost pulled into bliss when you were yanked from your reprieve by the buzzing of your phone. Groaning, you pulled your head up, it wobbled on your neck, as though it was loose and needed to be tightened. Had you wanted to you couldn’t have stopped the smile that broke across your phone when you saw the notification on your lock screen, a text from James. Can I call you? Sure. You typed out waiting anxiously for your ringtone to blare through your room. Instead you were met with another brief buzz. One second, Sirius is being an idiot. Another smile, smaller than the last, bloomed across your face, Sirius was often an idiot. Picking up your phone you pressed it to your ear just in time to hear James greet you. “Hey baby.” Loving James was potentially one of the easiest things you’d ever done, if asked you would've said it would be easier to stop breathing before you stopped loving him. There was just so much to love and as his voice tickled your ear you remembered one of the things you so loved about him, the sound of his voice. With two simple words he was able to soothe you, if only a little bit. But still the ache to be outside lessened a little. “Hi Jamsie.” You crooned into the phone as you shut down your laptop coming to the conclusion you were going to get jack shit done tonight. You distantly heard Sirius in the background but couldn’t make out any words, “Pads says hi.” James conveyed. “Hi Siri!” You yelled into the phone, you waited until the bickering and laughing on their side of the phone quieted before continuing, “Whatcha callin’ about bub?” “Missed you is all, was wondering what you were doing?” “Nothing much, tried to get some homework done.” James chuckled knowing how distracted you could get if someone wasn’t there to help you stay on track, “How’d that go?” “Not well,” You grumbled, “S’not my fault either, can’t focus. I just need some fresh air, I need to go on a walk but I can’t.” Flinging your body onto your bed and landing on your back you pulled the phone from your ear, turning it onto speaker and setting it on your belly, liking the vibrations against your body as James spoke. It was almost like he was there with you. “I’m sorry darling,” James knew exactly what you were talking about. Unlike a lot of men he wasn’t afraid to broach topics like these, he would sit and kiss your head if some guy at the grocery store had been a prick and couldn't keep his eyes or his hands off of your ass, or if one of the boys in your class had made an objectifying comment. He’d listen to you lament and apologize, on behalf of all men, for the disgusting things you were forced to deal with. He had learned a lot since you started dating, he’d always been a feminist but before you hadn’t really understood what that meant. His mother and father always made sure he was aware of gender biases and he’d heard stories of women being assaulted, harassed, discriminated against and perhaps it made him a bad person but when it happened to you, when you told him about these things it was different, it was worse, he couldn’t control the rage that bubbled up inside of him. You were (Y/N) (L/N), you were his, you deserved to be treated like royalty. No one got to disrespect you. He felt the pang in his heart when he pictured you holed up in your house, like a caged animal, desperate to get out. “I know, and I love you.” You responded, knowing he hated how you had to be afraid and cautious all the time. “I love you too.” “What were you doing before you called?” You asked after a beat. “Watching a movie with mom and Sirius.” A twinge of guilt twisted in your stomach, “Oh, you should go back to them Jamsie, I don’t want to keep you from your family.” James stopped himself before he could tell you that they’d already finished the movie as an idea hit him like most of his ideas hit him, suddenly and fleetingly. Remus once compared them to a freight train. “Okay angel, talk to you later.” “Bye, Jamsie.” He hung up immediately as the last syllable left your lips causing a frown to tug downwards at those aforementioned lips. Sure, you felt a bit guilty that he’d bailed on his mom and Sirius for you but you couldn’t help feeling a little sad that he was so ready to get rid of you the second he had a chance. Feeling all too familiar insecurity simmer from under your sternum questions popped into your head one after another. Did he really want to be with you? Was this all because he just pitied you? Were you just a substitute for Lily? Did his heart still belong to her? What did he even see in you? You couldn’t help but feel like nothing compared to her, she’s Lily Evans. And you’re, well you’re just not. Time had slipped away from you, you hadn’t realised how much until you felt your phone buzz against your stomach and saw that almost 15 minutes had passed since James had hung up on you. You only briefly noted the time before your eyes flashed down to the banner displayed across your screen, another text. Look out your window. Lifting your torso, propping yourself up on your forearms and twisted your head to see James’ smiling face plastered against your window, a huge, beautiful grin, stretching across his face. You could feel a matching one fan out across your face as you skipped to the window, pulling it open relishing in the cool breeze that let itself into your room. “Hey there handsome.” You joked. “Hey beautiful.” “What are you doing outside my window?” You were befuddled, wasn’t he supposed to be watching some Quentin Tarantino or equally violent movies that he and Siri liked? “I was thinking we could go on a walk,” He explained unabashedly. “A walk?” You asked, a blush blossoming on your face, creeping its way down your neck. “You wanted to go on one, yeah?” “I love you.” Was all you said in response, he caught you as you threw yourself into his arms, the middle of your thighs biting into the sill of your window, but you didn’t care. How could you? All you could focus on was the way his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close to him so he could bury his nose into your hair. “Love you too darling.” There was a part of you, an admittedly large part, that wanted to stay standing there forever but the cool evening air reminded you about how much you wanted that walk. Peeling yourself away from him you placed your chin on his pectoral, not considerably comfortable for either of you, but you were close to each other, and that’s all that mattered. “Come in.” “I was waiting for you to ask.” He winked, slinging one leg over the windowsill giving him room to maneuver his rather large body through the small opening, but James had experience fitting his body into tiny things (namely your cunt). “Are your parents home?” “No, everyone’s gone for the night.” “Why didn’t you tell me baby, I would’ve come over and kept you company.” You felt heat creep back up your neck to your face, embarrassed by the answer. Though your insecurities could swallow you whole when you were alone, they seemed trivial when James was actually there, staring down at you with so much love in his eyes. “Don’t want to be clingy.” The confession bringing even more heat to your cheeks. “Never, (Y/N), absolutely never. If anyone here is clingy it's me not you.” You corrected him, “You’re wonderful.” “So are you bub.” Reassuring you he brushed a piece of hair out of your face. “Now come on! Let’s get some shoes on you and we can go out.”

James was filling up an old water bottle he found in one of the cupboards in case either of you got thirsty when you entered the kitchen, shoes and socks in hand. Your boy smiled at you, twisting the cap of the water bottle on all of the way before setting it on the countertop and moving towards you. “Want me to put your shoes on for you?” “Yes please.” You nodded, grinning cheekily. His large hands found your waist, lifting you up and setting your bum onto the cool counter. Slipping the socks from your hand he knelt down to roll them over your feet, leaving a kiss on the inside of each of your ankles. “You wanna walk to anywhere in particular?” “The park?” You offered, handing him one of your tennis shoes which were a little beat up, but still a long way from needing to be replaced. “The one with the fountain?” “Do you know of any other parks within walking distance?” You snarked, swinging your legs, feeling the need to be outside return, faster and more powerful than before. “Guess not,” He grumbled, looking up at you with a playful smile so you would know he didn’t really take your sarcasm to heart. “Hey watch it!” He chuckled when you accidentally swung your leg a little too hard and knocked his left shoulder with your socked foot. “Sorry.” You apologized looking about as sorry as Sirius usually did when he was apologizing, which honestly wasn’t much. “There you go Cinderella.” He said, as he pat your thigh once he finished tying your laces, rising from his kneeling position. “You think you’re funny do you Potter?” “In fact I do (L/N).” He grinned, sliding you off the counter, onto your feet. “Shall we?” You offered your hand to him which he accepted like a true gentleman. “We shall.”

You were right, but then again, when were you ever wrong? Fresh air was exactly what you needed, the feeling of the wind in your hair, the twigs snapping beneath your weight, the solidness of the ground. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this alive. That was probably stupid but it was liberating to be out of your house, and on top of it it was nighttime too. You weren’t often able to be out this late because you usually didn’t have someone to go out with. You had almost forgotten how beautiful it was when there was no glass separating you from the moon and the stars. Despite the fact that his legs were far longer than yours James still had to speed walk to keep up with you. His heart swelled seeing you so happy and carefree as you strode unapologetically down the sidewalk. “Stop walking so fast.” He complained, finally matching your stride as he loosely looped his left arm around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible while still keeping the two of you moving forward. “Not my fault you’re a slowpoke.” You retaliated but nevertheless still resting your head on his broad shoulder. “It’s nice out isn’t it?” He pondered aloud. “It’s wonderful,” You agreed, closing your eyes and turning your face up towards the sky, trusting James to guide you safely down the sidewalk, “I’m sorry you had to ditch your mom and Siri to come be with me.” You apologized as another wave of guilt from earlier hit you. “I didn’t bubba, we’d already finished the movie when I called you.” “Really?” Your head perked up. “Mhm.” James hummed. “Why didn’t you tell me that?’ “Wanted to surprise you.” He explained and your heart soared, he really was indescribably sweet. “Well I was surprised.” “Good.” “What movie did you watch?” Wondering if your suspicions had been correct. “Forrest Gump.” He responded by popping his “p”. You laughed squeezing two of James’ fingers on the hand splayed across your stomach. “What?” “Nothin’, just thought you and Pads would’ve made your mom watch Reservoir Dogs or something.” “Come on, you know me and Padfoot (Y/N), nothin’ but a couple of softies the two of us.” “Yes, yes you are.” You responded completely seriously. “You were supposed to disagree, he whispered into your ear. “I cannot tell a lie.” “Hey!” He exclaimed in mock offense. “Come on I found the two fo you cuddling when I came over Wednesday, he was literally spooning you Jamsie. It was rather cute really.” James let you have the last word and the two of you were silent for a minute as you passed a house with a line of cars in front of it, stupid fucking people and their stupid fucking parties. You thought, thinking they’re more important than the rest of us, that it’s okay to throw a party during the middle of a pandemic. “There’s a pandemic going on people,” James muttered as you crossed in front of the driveway, as though he was reading your thoughts. You just nestled into him more. Once you cleared the super spreader house it was only a few feet before you turned the corner and your desired destination came into view causing a ginormous smile to practically crack your face in half. “Come on Jamie!” You giggled, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the street towards the park, not even looking both ways as you bolted across the street to the park. You’d always thought that parks and playgrounds and such looked a bit creepy after dark and while today was no exception you still didn’t think twice before bounding up the steps of the play structure. Laughing, you turned your face back up towards the sky as you reached down to slip your shoes and socks off, tossing them off the play structure onto the wood chips scattered across the ground. “You look beautiful up there.” You hadn’t noticed James approach you, but he was now standing at the foot of the play structure, looking up at you. “Come up here with me Jamie, please?” You pleaded, tugging on his arm. “How could I deny you anything?” “Simple,” You responded, “You can’t.” Pushing himself up onto the structure he tried to envelop you in his arms but you squirmed away, giggling. As you ran toward the slide at the opposite end of the playground he broke out into a run after you, purposefully keeping his strides short to give you the upper hand. Breaking out into a sprint as soon as your feet touched the ground you raced towards the open field, James hot on your heels. He chased you around the perimeter of the grassy clearing, the two of you yelling at each other and laughing until your lungs hurt when he finally caught you in his arms, trying to get you as close to him as possible. He loved the feeling of your body against his more than he loved life itself. Or even Sirius. “What should I do with you now that I’ve captured you?” He mused tauntingly, tightening his grip on you. “Well I know one thing you could do to me.” You murmured. “(Y/N) (M/N) (L/N), get your mind out of the gutter Miss,” “Make me.” You teased, wiggling in his grasp. “I know what’ll fix your attitude.” James declared, adjusting his so his arms were around your waist instead of one there and one wrapped around your shoulders. “And what’s that?” “A nice February swim!” He roared jovially, hefting you over his shoulder as he bounded towards the fountain located on the east side of the park. “Jamie!” You shrieked as you bounced against him, “Slow down.” “Sorry Princess,” He huffed once you reached the fountain, he carefully lifted you off his shoulder and sat you down on the ledge of the water feature as he kneeled before you, hands pressing against your thighs. “Come on baby, go swimming with me?” “Course.” You smiled as you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, throwing it somewhere over Jamie’s shoulder. You didn’t bother watching where it landed, too enraptured with the gorgeous boy on his knees in front of you. “You look gorgeous (Y/N).” He murmured, taking it the sight of your bare stomach and chest clad in a lacy lavender bra. “I let you see mine, now get your shirt off Potter!” You commanded impatiently, you loved James all the time, but you especially loved James shirtless. “Okay, okay woman, calm down, I'm moving.” He playfully chastised shrugging off his jacket which you just now realised was his varsity jacket, his last name emblazoned across the back of it. When he caught you staring at him he teasingly played with the hem of his shirt, rolling it in the tips of his fingers until you lightly kicked his bent knee. He then discarded his pants, throwing them and his shirt somewhere to his right, carefully laying his jacket on a bench a few feet away he was left only in his boxers and you took this time to appreciate how his skin shown in the moonlight, his darker complexion brilliant in the darkness of the park. “You wanna keep your shorts on? He lilted, moving towards where you sat on the bench encircling the fountain. You nodded in response, not wanting to be so vulnerable in such a public space. “Okay baby sounds good.” James leaned in towards you pressing his lips to yours before he scooped you into his arms before stepping into the fountain, even though it was warm ish outside the water of the fountain hadn’t had enough time to truly heat up because the water that lapped at his midcalf almost had him feeling bad for what he did next. Which was dropping you into the freezing cold water, keeping you upright by his hold on your shoulders before you were able to ground yourself on the floor of the fountain. With water sprouting up from the top and cascading down 4 smaller tiers reminiscent of bird baths, getting larger and larger in radius as they went down, cold water nipped at your skin. “Agh!” You shrieked, “It’s freezing!” “Calm down drama queen!” James snorted, “Little cold water never hurt anybody.” “Speak for yourself!” Screaming as James bent down to splash you with water you tried to run away resulting in you falling backwards onto your bum. “You okay baby?” James asked nervously bending down next to you, surveying your near naked body for any cuts or bruises. Your response came as you looped your arms around his neck and pulled him down, submerging the entirety of his body in the chilly water. He quickly pulled you down with him so that your head was submerged, your hair billowing out around you in the water. When you pulled back up to the surface your wet hair was plastered to your face. And though you were cold, wet, and maybe a little banged up your heart was aflame, this had been exactly what you needed, to run around like a little kid and lose yourself, if only for a little while. Glancing back down your jaw dropped, the light coming from the fountain walls made the shadows of the water reflect on James’ dark skin making him look even more beautiful, like something out of a book. He took your temporary lapse as an opportunity to flip you around so that he was on top of you, he thought you were always stunning but something about you beneath him made you shine like nothing else he’d ever seen. Taking good care to make sure your head didn’t bump against the fountain, and that your head was above water, he trailed kisses from your temple to your jaw. When he reached your chin the second freight train of the night hit him head on and he stuck out his tongue licking from the point of your chin, up your lips, the bridge of your nose, and up your forehead until he reached your hair line where he left one more gentle kiss. “James Potter!” You shrieked, a giggling mess, “What the hell?” He lifted himself off you so he could once again scoop you into his arms, “Come on my little water nymph, let’s get you dry, don’t need you getting sick on me.” “Think you should’ve thought about that before you dunked me into the fountain in nothing but my bra and shorts.” You retaliated to which he only rolled his eyes, before shaking his head like a wet dog. “I swear to God Potter, you’re a Golden Retriever.” “Hmh?” He asked, stepping out of the fountain. “Playful, loyal, energetic, smart.” You explained, planting a kiss on his nose. “Shaking off to dry like a fucking dog.” “You love me.” He grinned, like the thought was just now hitting him, like you hadn’t said it already multiple times that night. “That I do Potter.” You agreed as he set you down on the bench where he had laid his jacket, taking care to slip your arms into it one at a time he pulled it close to your body to keep you warm before coming up behind you, tipping your head back so he could wring the excess water out of it, taking this as an opportunity to kiss the hollow of your throat to which you hummed. Upon slipping on his previously discarded pants and shirt, an endeavor you watched very closely, not wanting to miss a second of how his muscles shifted underneath his smooth, taut skin, he sat down next to you. “It’s a beautiful night.” “That it is.” You agreed. The two of you sat there for a moment before James carefully stood up, “Where are you going Jamie? Too tired now, m’done playing.” “I know angel, come on, not gonna play, just get more comfortable.” He soothed, taking you by the hand and walking you over to a set of fairly new monkey bars. Picking you up from the bottom of your thighs he pushed you up and above his shoulders to sit on top of the monkey bars and you were reminded why it sometimes came in handy to be dating the captain of the football team. Swinging up next to you on the monkey bars he slid his arm around your shoulders, both of your legs meeting the edge of the cold metal at the bend of your knees, your bodies there down hanging off leaving the both of you on your backs staring up at the unusually starry night sky. “There’s Orion.” You lifted your arm to point out the constellation, “ Surprised we can see so many.” You marvelled. “It is rather pretty.” “‘Rather pretty’?” You gasped exasperated with the boy next to you, “It’s not just ‘rather pretty’, it's gorgeous!” You corrected with a huff, turning your visage back up towards the heavens. “Eh,” He shrugged, “I’ve seen better.” “I swear to God, James Fleamont Potter if you say ‘You’re prettier than any constellation’ I’m going to push you off these monkey bars.” A chuckle pushed its way past his lips as he brushed his lips along the part of your hair, “You know me too well don’t you (L/N).” “Yeah, I’ve got your number Mister.” James pulled out his phone to check the time, “Hey baby, it’s midnight.” He whispered in your ear, turning his phone screen so you could read the time. “Happy Saturday my darling boy.” “Happy Saturday Princess, let’s get you home.”

Note: I know in my initial ask on @/randomoutsiders you guys went home and more fluff ensued. Maybe a part two?

tagging: @randomoutsiders​ 

[insomnia-productions]

"All I've ever wanted is for you to see me." and/or “I thought I’d never see you again.” for damien angst prompts 👀

Thank you for the prompt!

.

In the end, it was underwhelming. No fireworks, or rain crashing around them. No running away, no punches thrown. No indication that they were, that they had ever been, anything more than two strangers existing briefly in the same space at the same time. Damien would wonder, later, if this was forgiveness. Or if he just mattered that little.

It was a normal day, by all accounts. Sunny. Warm. A little quiet. The bus was late. The bus was always late. Damien got there early anyway, and sat on the red bench and watched the ants that wandered in and out of the cracks in the pavement. They moved in lines, in little groups of three or more. Each one never too far from the others.

He kept his mouth shut. That was something he had gotten better at, these past years. Not by choice, of course, but change driven by necessity of survival was change all the same. Funny, all it had taken for him to become the person everyone wanted him to be was to lose that most fundamental part of him. To become someone, anyone, other than himself. It was a kind of defeat, he thought. It was a kind of surrender. So he kept his mouth shut. Kept the silence between them growing, thick, uncomfortable. Prickly. Kept them both drowning in it. Had to take the victories where he could, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the only one drowning here. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

A shift in the air. The rustle of fabric, the soft scrape of rubber soles against concrete.

“136?” Mark said.

Damien blinked. Stirred. Cast a glance at the timetable, as if he didn’t take this bus every day, as if his life hadn’t settled into this drudgery of routine, the same bus, the same job, the same black chasm in the space behind his ribs, where he thought something important used to be. His power, maybe. Or something else.

“112,” he said.

Mark nodded. “Chloe told me you were coming back to see me. After - the thing with Sam.”

He was leaning back against the glass, gaze jumping between the passing cars on the other side of the street. Hands in his pockets. As if he hadn’t just turned the world on its axis. As if he didn’t have a habit of it.

Damien found his voice. “…Yeah.” Then, feeling the need to defend himself, “But I didn’t.”

“No,” Mark agreed. “Why not?”

“Because.” Damien grit his teeth. “You asked me not to.”

“Hm. You’re… learning.”

Heat flushed through him. Irritation, Damien thought, at the condescension, but then why did he feel so light? Mark looked at him, eyes dark and sharp and searching. Just like his sister’s, although Dr B had never really seen him. Not really. Damien’s head spun. He looked away. Fuck.

He could still feel Mark watching him. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“We don’t always get what we want.” It came out more bitter, more emotional, than he wanted it to.

Mark made a sound that could almost have been a laugh. “I didn’t say that.”

“What the fuck,” Damien said, and this time Mark did laugh, short and rough.

“I went on tour with a friend’s band, after everything.” He gestured to the camera around his neck. “Taking photos, y’know? I kept imagining places I might run into you. Gas stations, hotels… I’d be waiting in line and imagine that you would appear, suddenly, just behind me, or on the other side of the counter, being as insufferable as ever, and I would—” He stopped. Laughed. Not an entirely happy sound. “Well. I never really figured that part out.”

And, fuck, what was Damien supposed to say to that? What did he want Damien to say to that?

Mark looked away. “But the tour ended, and I went home, so I figured… yeah, that’s probably it. Never seeing you again. Guess nothing really turns out how we expect.”

Damien looked at him. Thought of a hundred things he wanted to say. I miss you and I hate you and I love you and please can we try just one more time and—

Instead he asked, sounding the words out slowly, “Are you happy?”

“Seeing you?”

“No.” Yes. “Are you happy in… general. In life.”

“Oh.” Mark glanced at him. Shrugged. Fingers lacing together in his lap. “I… yes? Maybe? Things haven’t been easy, you know, considering… everything. But. I’m getting there. I’ll get there.”

“Good,” Damien said, and then, again, because he could think of nothing else, “Good.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you happy?”

Oh. Oh, but why did that - hurt?

“I’m—” Damien cut off. Cleared his throat. Tried again. “I’m fine.”

He expected Mark to push, to prod, to pry, as he always had before. But Mark only shrugged.

“Alright. Good.”

Silence fell between them again. Seconds ticked into minutes. The ants on the pavement disappeared, so Damien looked at his shoes instead. Waiting for the hammer to fall. Waiting for the contempt, the blame, the shouting. Waiting for anything other than this - this stagnance, this nothing, this grey. Waiting.

A hiss of air. Damien looked up. The orange ticker on the side of the bus read: 136.

“Oh,” Mark said. “That’s mine.”

He stood. Climbed onto the bus. The doors slid shut behind him. The bus pulled away.

Damien watched it go.

.

[suoyou]

[wip] 凤凰涅槃; phoenix rising

incomplete wip. 9034 words, rated t.

wangxian court intrigue + wuxia + wingfic au, in which wwx is the lost phoenix and lwj is royal scholar. this is actually a collection of scattered scenes through the first act of the fic!

dwell too long in the fire and even the phoenix will burn.

Wei Wuxian holds a rotting mango in his hand. 

Pungent, slippery as an oiled wok and twice as dangerous, it’s just a few days too old for optimal flavor—but he does not plan to eat it. No, he’s going to throw it. 

A well-aimed piece of fruit and the right audience and a stomach just empty enough that the metallic edge of hunger has begun to bite makes for a good show. Wei Wuxian teeters like a gargoyle on the upturn of a roof, all his weight balanced in a crouch, waiting for the fishmonger to pass by beneath him. The market teems with citizens who have come early to buy the freshest kills and produce that the morning has to offer, the smell of frying jianbing wafts in thick curls up to Wei Wuxian’s perch. His belly rumbles. His last meal had been during sunrise the day before. 

“Fresh fish!” shouts the fishmonger. His mule’s head bobs dark and feisty as it tugs his cart along. Behind them, their wagon is crammed with quivering tubs full of water and writhing fish. “Fresh from the docks this morning! Fresh caught! Carp and eel and shrimp! Killed and scaled and gutted if you ask! Fresh fish!”

Wei Wuxian rocks up onto the knobs of his knees. The tiled roof digs into his skin--what are you doing here, flightless bird? His weapon of choice bleeds a thin, honeyed line of juice from his wrist to his elbow. He takes aim. 

A little commotion in a crowded market goes a long way. One spooked mule, one fishmonger, and a wagon full of uncovered tubs of live catches? What could go wrong? The sun hammers on his back, asking him what he’s waiting for. The mule’s flanks are exposed around its saddle and harness. Wei Wuxian screws one eye shut and sticks the tip of his tongue between his lips as he raises his mango, and--

“I’ll bet my daughter!”

A disturbance rises above the cheerful twang of the market below. It comes from the gambler’s stall, tucked away by the liquor stand. What a smart, slimy placement. 

“Is this man crazy?”

“What kind of father are you?”

“How disgusting, to gamble with your daughter’s life!”

Wei Wuxian frowns. Below him, the fishmonger passes, and the crowd molds around his wagon like ants around a snail. A pustule of a man hunches over the gambler’s stall with a girl of no more than nine or ten in his grip as he snarls in the proprietor’s face. His clothes are stained and dirty, and his eyes are yellow with jaundice. Anger flares hot as a kicked hornet’s nest in Wei Wuxian’s belly, muting the hunger, when the drunkard yanks on his daughter so hard that she trips into the table. 

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian shouts, “Hey, you, ugly dog at the gambler’s table!”

Dozens of heads turn to stare. 

Wei Wuxian lobs the mango with all his might. 

It whistles over the street like a lumpy, bulbous pigeon, dripping as it goes. The man is too drunk, or too hungover to move out of the way--he simply watches, jaw slack, not seeming to realize that he’s in the way until it splatters him square in the face and explodes in a shower of golden muck. He howls, clawing at his skin, and in the process lets his daughter go. She falls because she’d been unbalanced, hard into the street on her elbows. Some of the mango carnage had splattered onto her. Orange-brown bits drip off her chin like fat, gummy tears. 

The drunkard points a trembling, furious finger at Wei Wuxian. “You--!” 

“Me? What about me? Worry about yourself first. Worry about your daughter!”

A small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle--this man, covered in sticky mango goo and attracting flies, and this vagrant shaking with laughter on the roof. He is so close to the edge, yet balances in place without any unsteadiness, with the surety of someone who is always in high places. 

“You are a coward, staying on the roof! Get down here and fight me with your fists, like a man!” shouts the drunk. His daughter tugs on his sleeve behind him as the crowd thickens.

“A-die, A-die, let’s go--”

“Let go of me, you useless girl.” He shakes her off. “Good for nothing, waste of space. Not even good enough for gambling money.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. A hushed gasp races through the bodies below as he stands and tips from his perch on the roof, tumbling once before alighting in the street. His shoes stick to the pavement from the tack of juice. The man barely makes it up to his chin, and his skin is splotchy from alcoholism; his clothes are patches which means he had family members whose kindness he did not deserve at home. 

“What,” says Wei Wuxian, tucking his hands behind his back. He’s not above mango-throwing, but he’s not going to fight a man in front of his young daughter. Now that’s just bad manners. “You really want to fight me? Just take my advice, sir. Go home. Take your daughter and your money and buy some food, and go home. Don’t make me throw another mango at you. That was going to be my lunch.”

“I’m not scared of men like you. Arrogant and scornful, just looking for a fight! I ought to break your--”

Wei Wuxian intercepts the man’s fist before it can connect with his face.

He fights like a commoner would, crude and unpolished, with his thumb tucked inside his fingers. Rookie mistake. His eyes bulge like a frog stepped on as he tries to force his way through Wei Wuxian’s grip, face turning the color of puce as he fails comically. Wei Wuxian digs his nails into the back of the man’s hand, trembling with the effort of holding him in place, and then he shoves him back. 

The man goes sprawling in the street, and the crowd shuffles back, as if to avoid a particularly filthy swine. 

“A-die,” says his daughter, trying to help him up, but he swats at her. “A-die.”

“Go.”

Not without spitting at Wei Wuxian’s feet. He simply laughs, because it’s such a silly, juvenile thing, and then, like an infection clearing, the citizens around him scatter back into the day. 

Wei Wuxian claps his hands together, then wipes his palms on the seat of his robes. “You really ought not to entertain patrons who have clearly started to lose their control,” he says to the proprietor of the gambling stall. They wipe down the edges of their table with a dusty rag where the carnage of fruit clings. “Soon he will trade his whole family away for nothing but a nugget of gold.”

The proprietor scoffs. “And who are you?”

“Someone nice enough to clean his mess up. Sorry for this, by the way,” says Wei Wuxian. He starts straightening sacks full of supplies--coin bags, a set of rings, vases clinking fluted and musical against each other. They must run a games stall elsewhere in the city; Wei Wuxian has seen these prizes before. 

“Who asked you to be a vigilante, anyway.” The proprietor shakes his head. “You look for trouble, boy.”

“The only thing sweeter than trouble is justice,” says Wei Wuxian, laughing at the distaste the proprietor levels at him. He chases a few escaped scrolls that have tumbled from their sack.  “Ah, don’t be like that. I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere with business, okay? I just don’t like to see--”

One of the scrolls has unfurled enough for Wei Wuxian to catch a glimpse of the ink painting. Beneath the glimmer of midday sun the paper is so buttery that Wei Wuxian expects for his fingers to come away slick when he picks it up, letting the scroll’s weight pull the painting the rest of the way open. 

The brushwork is unfamiliar. Mountains studded with frosted clouds, a lake, a tiny figure of a man at the silver waterline. A spray of peonies cradles the scene in its petals, done with a brush so fine that the artist could have drawn it with a single human hair. Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize it--not the art. He hadn’t opened it for the art. 

A red seal dots the corner of the painting like a button of blood. Wei Wuxian would recognize it anywhere--anyone should recognize it anywhere. Being in possession of something with a seal like this, without explanation, could earn an axe to the neck. 

“Sir,” he asks, staring at the painting, “how did you come across a painting done by the imperial family?”

The proprietor’s eyes widen, and they make a wild lunge for it. Wei Wuxian is taller, though, and jerks it out of reach, rolling the scroll back up so the paper won’t tear. “Give it back!”

“Aha! What is it? Tell me. How did you come across a treasure like this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. So if I simply walk away with it, you will also simply shrug, and let me be on my way?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows when the proprietor glowers. “Ah, so it mustn’t be nothing. Not with a look like that. Do tell.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip, smiles. His stomach rumbles, already two cartwheels ahead, but he needs to slow down and think. “Can I pawn it from you?”

“I’d like to see you try, boy. Give it here!”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I would not try. I would give it back to you, if you asked nicely, but oh--oh, the danger of another person knowing that you have a painting with an imperial stamp on it, with no way to explain how. Unless you’d like to tell me. But you’ve made it clear as day that you’re not interested in letting me know, so you’ll just have to let a stranger go, knowing he carries this secret, not knowing who he is, not knowing what he’ll do.” He holds the scroll out now. “But of course, I cannot take what’s mine. Shame. Here you are.”

The proprietor had listened to him speak with a vague, mounting fear in his eyes, and when Wei Wuxian shakes the scroll at them, they shrink back as if he’s shaking a dismembered arm at them.

“What, don’t want it now? Didn’t you want me to hand it over?”

“What are you playing at,” the proprietor asks. “Are you a palace spy? What do you want?”

Laughter leaps from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Me, a palace spy? Oh, no, no, no. I’m afraid not. Palace spies have much more important things to do than to sniff out thieving proprietors. Tell you what. I take this off your hands and you don’t have to worry about your neck, or your family’s necks, and in return, I won’t tell them where I found it. Hm?”

“You plan to give it back to the imperial family?”

“Of course,” says Wei Wuxian. “All things return to where they belong in the end.”

So as it goes, Wei Wuxian is one mango poorer, but one imperial painting richer, and he cannot tell if he is better off for it. He tucks the scroll into his knapsack and the key that hangs around his neck back into his collars and scans the market for weak spots, opportunities to win more food than he has money for. The rotten mango had been stupid luck, and luck is a finite resource which Wei Wuxian does not have much of to begin with, so he’s going to have to work for the rest of his food today. 

A surreptitious scrap of pink peeks out from behind the liquor stall and Wei Wuxian only catches a glimpse of the girl before she tucks herself behind the wooden beams again. Oh--the drunk’s daughter. She’s alone now. Irritation bubbles in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s stomach when he pictures the man shaking her off, lumbering towards another gambling stall that will entertain his time, and he has half a mind to--

“Fresh meat buns! Made this morning. Pork and chicken and mushroom!”

Wei Wuxian catches up to the bun cart, falling into step with the vendor. “Shifu, how much for one?”

“One bronze piece for three.”

“Can I get five for one bronze piece?”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? No. Get lost.”

“Please, shifu,” Wei Wuxian says, he gestures behind himself in the direction he’d seen the little girl, “my daughter, she hasn’t eaten in days, and we’re here to see the doctor and he turned her away on account of the fact that we have no money, and she’ll only get sicker if she doesn’t have any food in her system, our family is still waiting at home, please have mercy--”

“Heavens! Good heavens, fine, here! Take these misshapen ones, they’re an eyesore, anyway.”

“Thank you!” Wei Wuxian fishes the bronze piece out of his money pouch, fingertips poking through the holes in the bottom like eyes, and collects his spoils. “Thank you, Shifu!”

“Get outta my sight.”

Wei Wuxian holds his armful of buns to his chest, and their heat warms him through his clothes down to his bones. It’s a relatively cool day, even for autumn. When he turns around again, the girl scrunches herself back into the safety of the shadows, and he chuckles to himself. The liquorist eyes Wei Wuxin warily when he approaches, but he simply seats himself on the other end of the stall and opens his carrying cloth full of lopsided buns. Ugly, unwhole, but still good for hunger. Still good. 

“Could I interest you in a bottle of rice wine?” 

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Wei Wuxian flaps his hand. “I am not wont for liquor, but perhaps some company to share these buns with. I have far too many to finish on my own. But I don’t know who’d want these ugly buns. Certainly not you, Shifu, I’m sure?”

The girl peeks out from behind the stall, and Wei Wuxian smiles. “Want one?”

She scampers to sit down in front of him, reaching out with sooty hands for a bun at the top of the bile. The skin of it is pearly in the noon sun, giving under touch, the way only fresh steamed buns are. Then she hesitates, looking into Wei Wuxian’s face as if expecting to be struck.

“Go ahead,” he says, holds the bun out. “Eat.”

She snatches it and crams half of it into her mouth, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again. He knows hunger like this, and takes his own portion to tear into. The sweet smell of pork and mushroom and oil floats up into his eyes, and for a moment the meat sears on his tongue before it settles into a taste. 

“Is it good?” he asks.

She nods. 

So it’s good.

“Where have you been? Wei Wuxian, I ought to cut you off at the kneecaps! A-Jie’s been worried sick, you were supposed to be back over a shichen ago.”

“I ran into a friend, Jiang Cheng. Lighten up, will you? Here, I got buns.”

“Keep your stupid buns. Where’s the fish you were going to get?”

Wei Wuxian scratches at the back of his neck. “Ha. Well, about that.”

“Seriously? I can’t believe you. If it weren’t your birthday, I really would cut you off at the legs.”

“But it is, so instead, you need to be nice!” Wei Wuxian crows triumphantly. 

Jiang Cheng sighs, a gust of hot summer wind that picks up stinging sands. A wisp of his hair flits with his breath. He’s wearing his nice clothes, no doubt because A-Jie made him, with a polished belt tucked around his waist like the coil of a sleeping snake. It’s a formality that they hardly ever bother with anymore, not in such a provincial town as this, leading a life as threadbare as theirs. The shine of the buckle comes off of him in bright flashes. 

“Whatever. Come on, A-jie made noodles. Where’d you get buns?”

“Oh, so you do want one. Here, I know you like chicken.”

“Don’t tell me you managed to snatch all of these,” Jiang Cheng asks, but he takes the one Wei Wuxian offers anyway. “Who likes chicken,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“I just harnessed a talent that you have never quite mastered, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “Charm.”

“I ought to smack you.”

“There was a hungry kid. I didn’t want her to go hungry.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet. “We all are, why go help a stranger?”

“Wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us back then?”

At this, a grunt. Which, coming from Jiang Cheng, is as enthusiastic a yes he’ll give, so Wei Wuxian smiles to himself and slings his sack of food over his shoulder. He’s down to two now, and he figures he’ll just give both of them to A-Jie who deserves much more than two pork buns, but it’s the best he has. One day he’ll get her expensive candied mangoes and hawthorn berries that the baker makes in the market in the next city over--the one that glitters.

“A-Cheng, A-Xian! You’re back!”

“Found him scaling the wall back into the hutong,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “Punk.”

Jiang Yanli, too, is wearing her nicest set of robes today, with a hair ornament that Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen her with since the new year. Her face clears of worry when she sees them, and she reaches up, straightens a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair where it’s caught over his ear. “A-Xian, you’re not--you know that you shouldn’t--” 

“Scale walls, climb to great heights, jump off roofs, I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian says, vividly recalling that he has done all of the above and then some today. “Sorry to make you worry, A-Jie, I’m fine! I got you buns. You can have them both.”

“But what about the fish? A-xian, we were going to make one for dinner for you.”

“Ah, fish or no fish, it’s no matter. Noodles are good enough. As long as I can live a long life, luck will always come back around.” 

“What if your whole life is plagued with bad luck?” asks Jiang Cheng as they duck back into their hut of clay and brick. The curtains are open, a rare moment of Jiang Yanli letting daylight peek inside, and it lights up their matchbox home in a wash of sunset. Bowls of steaming noodles are set out on the rickety slice of table, with the biggest in front of the seat where Wei Wuxian always sits. His heart swells. He’ll be forcing mouthfuls of noodles into his siblings’ bowls when they sit down, he’s sure, but for now his heart is the pulse of afternoon sun in the window. 

“Then my next life,” says Wei Wuxian. “My next one won’t be nearly as bad.”

The Lost Phoenix is lost. I think that’s the point. No one will ever find them. You will die looking for them.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things. 

He sees rubble and thinks, that is a home. He sees blood and thinks, that is a heart. He sees himself reflected in the slow meanders of swamp-green lakes lazy with dragonflies and skeeters and tries to remember, that is a human, that is a human, that is a human.

“You may not be human, but that is what makes you worth loving,” is what A-Jie says. 

“You? A human? With an appetite like that? It’s like trying to feed a void with you,” is what Jiang Cheng says, which is basically the same thing. 

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things, but the uglier, eyesore-pork-bun truth is that he is born from destruction. He is born from the fire of things, and the ashes of himself; his body waits for the wither. 

The Lost Phoenix is dead. His ashes were scattered in mountain, sea, and sky.

The Lost Phoenix is alive! Everyone knows that leaving behind but a single ember can spark a wildfire. Fire has wings.

No human, ghost, or demon has ever seen the Lost Phoenix. If they had, wouldn’t we have heard by now? They are only a legend.

There are scars on his back to prove what he once was and never will be again, and Jiang Yanli tells him, The world was not ready for you. The world, perhaps, will not be ready for the Lost Phoenix to return for as long as we still walk upon it, A-Xian, but maybe when one day when everyone is gone, when A-Cheng and I are gone, you’ll--

He always cuts her off there. Usually he can’t see her face, because she’ll be sitting behind him and rubbing oil into the muscles that can never seem to loosen around his shoulder blades, the ones that line the edges of the scars like mottled mountain peaks. Just two of them, in straight lines as long as a hand, glaring at each other over the expanse of his back, the winding groove of his spine. Phantom pains. Human or not, the body will miss limbs when they are gone. 

Tonight, Jiang Yanli does not tell him the world isn’t ready for him. It hurts to listen to her say it, because it’s not a pain that Wei Wuxian can beat away with his fists or even his words. There’s a quiet noise of the bottle being unstoppered, then the cloying scent of liniment oil wreathing around him as he sits with his back bared to her, hair swept over his shoulder. 

“A-jie,” he says. 

“Hmm?” Her hands are small and warm against his back, and he hisses in pain when her finger catches on a tight knot immediately. “Sorry, Xianxian.”

“It’s okay. Uhm, I have a stupid question.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Ask.”

“Which birthday did we celebrate tonight?” he asks quietly. 

The inside of their hut is a dark, uneven indigo now, the fires of the village filtering in through their window. Jiang Cheng has gone to bathe, so the only answering noise above the sound of a city settling in evening is Jiang Yanli’s soft laughter. 

“Your thirty-first, A-xian.”

“How many years have passed in this life?”

Her hands disappear as she dabs more liniment oil onto her fingers. “Since your reincarnation?”

“Yeah.”

“Thirteen.” 

“Thirteen,” Wei Wuxian repeats. “Thirteen.” He rolls it over his tongue, trying to figure out how it tastes. Bitter, a little. like medicine. Maybe it’s the liniment. Jiang Yanli runs her thumb down the edge of one of the scars, massaging out a few particularly gnarly knots there. 

“Is there something wrong?” she asks. 

“Not wrong, exactly.” Wei Wuxian pushes his fingers into his folded robes in his lap, pretends the fabric is sand and silt at the bottom of a lake. He almost expects handfuls of snails when he pulls them back out. “It’s just that, with every passing year, I think maybe this is it--this is the year I’ll remember. This is the year I’ll remember the things about my life before this one. Remember when I tried to teach you and Jiang Cheng how to catch fish with your hands, in the river, A-Jie? You said you could see them beneath the surface, but when you’d reach in to grab it, it was like the fish were never even there.” 

“I remember,” says Jiang Yanli. She is quiet, waits for him to go on. 

“Trying to recall my first life is like that. I know it happened. I can see it right there, flickering under the water, but. But each year comes and goes, and not only do I not remember anything, it feels like more and more of what I thought I could remember slips away,” says Wei Wuxian. “I was excited in the eighth year of this life. Then I was excited in the twelfth. Thirteen is no good, is it, A-Jie? I’ve run out of lucky numbers to count on.”

“Would it make you happy to remember, Xianxian?”

“I think so. When I think about it--it’s funny, you know. Maybe you know. I can’t recall memories from it, exactly, but when I think about my first life, I think I remember being happy. Like when you roll over and the sun is already up. You can feel the warmth on you even if you don’t see the light.” Then Wei Wuxian snorts. “That doesn’t make any sense. Sorry, ignore me, A-jie.”

“It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. Is that all you remember, a feeling?”

They’ve been over this before. A hazy, murky image of something from Before, dredged up from packed soil. Jiang Cheng will always say, “Who knows? Why do you think I would remember?” waspish, and Jiang Yanli would always give him a soft, “Perhaps it was, A-xian.”

“I remember,” he says, “that we were in a noble family, once.”

This is an easy one. She always says yes to this one. “We were.”

“I remember that the palace walls were lined with bronze, not gold like a lot of the common folk think.”

“Yes, they are.”

“The accident.” The one that has turned him into this. 

“I wish you did not,” says Jiang Yanli.

“I don’t--not really. I just remember the pain. My body does, anyway.”

“Muscle has memory,” she says. “But because you are who you are, so does your blood and bones.”

Wei Wuxian fiddles with the gap-toothed key that swings from his neck. It thunks hollowly against his bare chest without the robes to hold it in place, and he tugs the deerskin rope that loops around his neck so that the knot tying it together comes down, down, down, through the hole in the key, up, up, back up again, a miniature comet’s orbit. 

“You were a princess,” he says, quiet again.

“Princess is a strong word.”

“But you were.”

“In my own way.”

And then, the most solid memory he has—a figure in white, with hair that fell to their waist, holding a smudge of pink in their hand. Solid, but blurred, like Wei Wuxian is trying to see them through a sheeting waterfall. The lines of their body were straight and crisp, except for the pink. The pink was always soft, parting the mud of his memory. 

He doesn’t mention this one, usually. Wei Wuxian holds it close to his heart where it has roots. Year after year, no matter the rains, nothing has flowered. Seasons have passed. 

“A person,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. 

Jiang Yanli’s hands slow. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” says Wei Wuxian. “Just a person. Their back is to me, so I can’t see their face, but it’s too blurry for me to see them, even if they’d been right in front of me. And they were just standing there--just standing. Nothing else. I don’t even really know if they’re real, but it’s the best memory I have.” He digs his nail into an indent in the key’s teeth. “Do you think they were real, A-Jie?”

“As real as the Lost Phoenix is.”

Wei Wuxian laughs weakly. “The Lost Phoenix is as good as myth.”

A myth meant to scare people.

A cautionary tale.

“The Lost Phoenix needs to stop squirming, or I will poke the sensitive parts of his scar, and I know he hates it when I do,” Jiang Yanli says. 

A story about a monster.

“Maybe it’s better to forget some things, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I only want you to be happy, Xianxian. Whatever that means to you. Whether that means remembering or forgetting.”

“I want to remember, because your happiness is my happiness,” Wei Wuxian insists, turning around. Jiang Yanli lifts her hand away as he rearranges his legs in a half-lotus, one foot stretched out onto the floor. “I want to remember because I know this life isn’t one you and Jiang Cheng would have chosen if you both had a choice. You can’t say I’m wrong about that. No noble family member would choose to live in a rundown hutong if they had a choice.”

“A-Xian--”

“I know you won’t tell me what happened before my reincarnation,” says Wei Wuxian. “I know you want to forget. But if anything ever happens that means we can go back to it--you have to say so, okay? You both are the only family I have left. Let me do something for the people who have somehow kept me alive for thirty-one years. I can’t remember eighteen of them. As if I started reading in the middle of the story. There are things I know without knowing how I know them.”

Whether it be a story, a tale, legend, or myth, one thing was certain: the Lost Phoenix is the last known survivor of the Phoenix Rising, once the most revered noble family of the imperial city, the warrior family that protected the throne. 

Forged from the Sacred Fires of Scarlet Mountain, the Phoenix Rising once was so formidable that simply meeting one of them in their true form was a sign of luck and good fortune. They were, as their family name suggested, bewinged humans who lived and died and rose again from their own ashes. They were skilled in combat, nimble in war, with the ability of flight. They harnessed Taoist magic that was only spoken of in books. 

A secular world did not have room for magic.

“Our A-xian,” says Jiang Yanli, shaking her head, “always hurts himself trying to make us happy before he remembers he has a heart, too.”

“Ah, what good is a heart if I can’t deal it out in pieces for my didi and my jie?” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s not like anyone else has any use for it.”

“That’s not true,” Jiang Yanli murmurs. 

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Nothing, Xianxian.”

“You have my promise, A-Jie,” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s us three until the end. Never apart. If I can bring you and Jiang Cheng back to the glory days before this life, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She’s quiet, then dabs a light gauze over his skin to absorb the excess liniment oil. Both of them know it won’t be possible--even if they were a lower noble family, there wasn’t a ticket back into the royal city unless you saved the emperor from death or something equally as momentous. Save the empire, or something. Wei Wuxian dreams big, but he’s realistic. 

“Thank you, Xianxian,” she says, finally. 

“It smells like old people in here,” Jiang Cheng announces, as absurdly loud as new year firecrackers when he comes back inside. He smells of freshwater and sand, and he tracks an inky line of water where his wet shoes stamp footprints into the floors. “I know you’re another year older now, but you’re really getting started early.”

“If I’m so old, then you better talk to me with respect, punk,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng may be loud, may be messy, but he chases away the strange, yearning sadness that tugs like a deep saltwater current on Wei Wuxian every time his birthday comes and goes. He loves his stupid, loud brother for it. “Hey! Where’s my kowtow? Where’s my ‘ge,’ then? Where’s my ‘Wei qianbei,’ huh? I’m so old, Jiang Cheng, pay your respects!”

“Screw you, Wei Wuxian. I’d sooner call you Old Man Wei. You’d have to rip out my tongue first.”

“Okay, come here then, my hands are free.”

“Gross! What’s wrong with you?”

And so night falls on another day, another year, and Wei Wuxian feels a little empty and a lot full, like a planet is breathing inside him. Jiang Yanli tugs on Jiang Cheng’s hair, makes him sit down so she can wrestle the tangles out of his drying frizz, and Wei Wuxian holds the lantern for light.

It’s enough. 

So what happened to them, the Phoenix Rising? Why have they disappeared?

Because they had power. Because they were loved, feared, and respected, all things an emperor should be.  

In the beginning, it was an honor to be the emperor that controlled the Phoenix Rising, for it took an equally distinguished ruler to command such a family, and for generations, the Phoenix Rising served the throne with grace. For generations, the empire was a glowing, golden city upon which the sun glittered, and the common folk called it the City of Gods. 

But at the end of a weak dynasty, the throne was seized by a bloodthirsty family that feared the Phoenix Rising and the power they held. People, monsters, kings, or gods? Did the citizens respect the throne? Or did the loyalty of their hearts lie with the strange, winged family that had for centuries been revered as the beacon of luck and fortune?

 Humans fear what they do not understand. Humans seek to destroy what they fear. 

And so the Phoenix Rising paid the steepest price.

“Did he mention it to you at all yesterday?”

“No! He never brought it up. That punk. I’m gonna wring his sorry little neck.”

“A-Cheng.” A rustle of wind through paper. Then, “We need to ask him where he found this. He could’ve been caught. He could’ve been killed.”

Wei Wuxian wakes to his siblings whispering. Whispers always come through dreams like shouts, and he’s having a very strange dream about walking through wire, except instead of coals at his feet, there is ash, and in the ash there are hundreds and hundreds of keys glinting red as squirting cherries. His feet are burnt and blistering, but he can’t run, can’t turn back, can only walk forward. 

There are no secrets in a single-room shack. No matter how quietly Jiang Yanli whispers, Jiang Cheng speaks loud enough to wake the whole town. 

“Nicked it, probably,” says Jiang Cheng now. A grudging respect colors his voice. “That’s probably why he took so long to get back yesterday.”

The bamboo sleep mat crackles beneath him as Wei Wuxian rolls over, then sits up. For a moment the world is a spinning top. Jiang Yanli turns, lowering something, and smiles when she sees him awake. Jiang Cheng, of course, is already swinging. 

“You dumbass! Where did you get this? If someone comes looking for it and finds it with us, do you know how dead we are?”

Then Wei Wuxian sees it--the painting that he’d charmed out of the hands of the gambling proprietor at lunch yesterday. Jiang Yanli holds it like a broken bird in her lap, and Wei Wuxian ducks when Jiang Cheng aims another swat at him. Mostly half-hearted, but he leaps to his feet and skips out of reach. 

“I was going to surprise you!” he says. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you what I was planning. You don’t know how much money this could bring in the black market, Jiang Cheng, an imperial painting? Just think about it. I can just disguise myself, go at night--cover my face, you know--and we could stop living here. We could live in a real house, and we wouldn’t have to all share one sleeping mat.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli gets to her feet, too. Always graceful in a stark contrast to her two brothers, the lantern from which two wild tassels would dance in the wind. She lifts the painting up high so that she can point to the red seal in the corner. “Do you recognize this?”

“The imperial seal, right? Sure. Everyone does.”

“I’m going to puke blood,” says Jiang Cheng. 

Jiang Yanli ignores him. “You’re not wrong, A-Xian. But this is an imperial seal of a concubine.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Of the emperor?”

“Yes. Judging from the seal design, not just any concubine--she must be a consort, at least.” Jiang Yanli holds the paper closer to her face, trying to discern the characters. “Mo,” she mutters, unsure. 

“So we could sell it for even more money,” Wei Wuxian concludes.

“No, we are not going to sell it for money,” says Jiang Cheng. His face has darkened. 

“Are you crazy?” Wei Wuxian asks. “You said it yourself, if someone finds us in possession, it’ll be our heads. The faster we get rid of it, the less likely anyone is to know it ever passed through our hands at all.”

“Yeah, well, you probably should have considered that before you nicked it, genius,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “It doesn’t matter. Now that we have it, we’re going to use it.”

“Use it how, if not for money, then?” Wei Wuxian struggles to keep his voice low. Jiang Cheng is not making any gods damned sense--isn’t he the one who constantly talks about leaving this hutong under the guise of hating how cramped it is, when really, he and Wei Wuxian agree that they should move closer to the imperial city where there would be better houses and perhaps a respectable man for their sister to marry if she so wanted? 

“We’re going to use this to return to the imperial city.” 

A silence falls like a tree toppled in storm between them. 

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli begins. 

“We are?” asks Wei Wuxian. “How would that even work?”

“You’re the best at telling lies.”

“Well, yes, I’m glad you have seen the light.”

“Think about it,” says Jiang Cheng. “An emperor's consort. It means she must have been in favor with the sitting emperor, Jin Huangshang. A painting with her seal on it. How would a painting by a favored concubine of the emperor end up out here?”

“Wound up in a gambling stall, no less,” Wei Wuxian says. Now that Jiang Cheng puts it that way--it’s more than a little strange. “Fine, say that we could use it as our golden ticket back into the imperial city. We’ll be lucky if the consort is dead. She won’t be around to ask any questions if there are holes in our story. What if she’s alive? What if she’s not a consort? What if she was hated, what then?”

“A-Xian,” says Jiang Yanli, setting her hand on his shoulder, and the touch is firmer than he’s used to. “Stop. You too, A-Cheng. Returning would be dangerous for us.”

“Dangerous how?” asks Wei Wuxian. There it is--that gap of the first eighteen years of his life rearing its mangled head. Sometimes it’s like trying to read a page of text with half the words blacked out, the ones left behind still beautiful, but without meaning. “A-Jie, I thought we were…”

“We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian. But it does not mean that the court is a safe place for any of us.”

“Jie!” says Jiang Cheng. 

“No, A-Cheng. We’re not going back. It’s not just for A-Xian’s safety, it’s for all of us.”

“Would we really be in that much danger?” asks Wei Wuxian. “If no one knows I’m the Lost Phoenix but the three of us, nothing would happen.”

Right?

“Jiejie,” says Jiang Cheng, his voice quieter than Wei Wuxian has ever heard it, “the Crown Prince has never married.”

Jiang Yanli’s face, for a dizzying heartbeat, is stricken. Something like pain and longing flashes through her eyes quick as the swing of an axe in cloudy morning, but then it’s gone, and she sighs. 

“What does the Crown Prince have anything to do with A-Jie?” asks Wei Wuxian. 

“That isn’t any of our business. Not even yours, A-Cheng,” she says. Wei Wuxian has never seen his sister like this, drawn up tall with her chin held high, and for a moment he sees the princess that she must once have been. Jiang Cheng, who is easily a head taller than her and twice as broad, crumples under the weight of her gaze. “We left because we wanted to. We’ve lived by this choice and we will continue to live by it. Now, both of you listen--A-Xian will do as he planned, sell this painting for whatever sum that traders will offer, and we won’t speak of it again. Understand?”

The tension swells like a fever between them. 

Wei Wuxian should be happy that his sister is on his side for this--when is it that she ever picks sides whenever he and Jiang Cheng argue? Any other time, he’d be hooting with laughter, rubbing it in Jiang Cheng’s face, but there is a deeply strange, melancholy expression on his brother’s face that does not suit him at all. 

“Fine,” says Jiang Cheng. He takes the scroll from Jiang Yanli, rolling it up with care, then shoves it into Wei Wuxian’s chest with considerably less care. “Get this shit out of my sight. I’m going out.”

Wei Wuxian watches helplessly as Jiang Cheng moves around their hut with jerky movements, jaw set with the pulse of anger. He gathers his knapsack and what meager rations of buns left over from the day before, no doubt stale and hard by now, and loops it around his shoulder. 

Then he’s gone, without another word. 

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the soft inside of his cheek. “A-Jie--”

“Don’t think too much about what A-Cheng said, Xianxian,” says Jiang Yanli. “He won’t show it, but he worries. You needn’t take what he said to heart.”

Jiang Yanli will say no more, no matter how hard he presses. He’ll press anyone until they give, but not her. She ducks her head when Wei Wuxian turns to her with his confused, hurt silence, as if she is waiting for his anger. He’d never be angry with her. 

“I don’t understand, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I simply have different ideas of what it means to keep our family safe. He thinks it means returning. I think it means to stay.”

“But why would we be in danger?” he asks. “Does this have something to do with the Crown Prince? Did he know who I was? I guess so, or else why would Jiang Cheng bring him up? Did you know him? Could he help us?”

“No, he couldn’t.”

Wei Wuxian sets his mouth in a line. “Well, I should be off too,” he says. The sun has already started to burn back the clouds; he needs to find tonight’s dinner for the three of them. Maybe he should go after Jiang Cheng, press him for more details. Their sister, despite what anyone might think, gives far less easily than either of them. 

“Be careful, Xianxian,” she says. “Oh, are you taking the painting with you?”

“There’s no way I’m going to leave it here in case anyone finds it and you’re here by yourself. Worst case scenario, I throw it away, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” He takes Jiang Yanli’s hands in his, squeezes them ruefully. “I’m sorry, A-Jie. I just thought it would help. I didn’t want you to argue with Jiang Cheng.”

“It’s okay.” She tucks his stray hairs over his ear. “Go. Come back safe, A-xian.”

He waves at her once when he steps out, and once more when he makes it to the end of the hutong and she becomes little more than a quilted patch of terrycloth in the distance, as he does every morning when he leaves. Jiang Cheng can’t have gone far in the time that he’s gone, unless he took off at a sprint, so Wei Wuxian lets the scented chill of autumn fill his lungs.

The Crown Prince. What a strange person to bring up. Wei Wuxian rifles through what he remembers hearing in taverns and pubs, filtered through the thick veil of alcohol. The Jin family sits upon the throne now, after staging a coup against the Wens and seizing power just over a decade ago. The Crown Prince would have to be a Jin prince. The Jin Emperor was said to be quite the philanderer and had more than enough sons from too many concubines to choose from. The Crown Prince must be quite a favorite, for an emperor with so many sons would not pay any mind to choosing the Empress’s sons if he so liked one from his concubine better. 

And this Crown Prince, according to Jiang Cheng, has never married. 

The look on Jiang Yanli’s face--frozen, bruised, a bird shot from the sky before it begins to plummet--was not one Wei Wuxian expected to see when she heard this news. If they’d known this prince, then he must have been around even before Wei Wuxian’s reincarnation. Jiang Yanli must have spoken of him. 

But all his memories can offer him are vague smudges of color and a person with pink like a fire in their hands. 

It’s too early for the fishmongers just yet, but the market brims with life as it always does. Wei Wuxian narrowly dodges a cart full of fresh flowers, a toothless grandfather with a bamboo hat pulling it along weakly. One of the wheels is crooked, wood squeaking against the stone pavement. 

“Shifu, your wheel,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking the canteen of oil tucked low against the cart. It dribbles out in a black splash. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, young man,” says the grandfather, and Wei Wuxian waits for him to turn his back to the street before plucking a lotus from the back of his cart and tucking it into his knapsack. For A-Jie, as penance for upsetting her so early in the morning. 

Jiang Cheng is not hard to find. He is poor at concealing himself, both in body and in voice, and he really is very bad at haggling. Wei Wuxian sidles up to him at a fruit stall, arguing with the vendor over a particularly ugly dragonfruit that looks more like a leathery handful of meat left too long in the sun than any respectable fruit. 

 “Now I think,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking it out of Jiang Cheng’s hand and ignoring his indignant scoff, “shifu, if you let this fruit sit out in your display, it would ruin the look of all the rest of your fruits. ‘Ah, look at this lovely display of dragonfruit. But what do we have here? A misfit! A miscreant! A monstrosity, really!’ And then you lose business. So really, we’re doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” says the vendor with disbelief. “What gall.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, then tosses the fruit back and forth between his hands and gives a quick jerk of his chin. “What do you say? Half off?”

“I can’t believe you weaseled him into giving it to us for less than half off,” says Jiang Cheng five minutes later. “You could talk your way out of your own--”

Wei Wuxian tosses his dragonfruit from hand to hand. “My own what?” Jiang Cheng’s knapsack hangs flat and sad against his back, crumpled like a dead leaf, so Wei Wuxian holds it open and drops the fruit inside. 

“Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing out here with that--thing?”

“Do you think I was going to leave it with A-Jie? No way. Imagine if she were alone and someone found her with it.”

Jiang purses his lips, nods. He tucks his thumb into the strap of his knapsack, a deadknot slung over his shoulder. “Have you thought about any stories?”

“What stories?”

“About what we’d say, if we brought it back to the imperial city.”

Jiang Cheng resolutely does not meet Wei Wuxian’s stare. 

“You want to go?”

“I just think that if we have a plan, A-Jie might be more willing to go. To be honest with you, if it were just to the two of us, it wouldn’t matter as much. We could sell the stupid painting, use the money. We could eke out an existence. It would fucking suck, but we could, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

“Ah, Jiang Cheng. You’re finally talking sense!” Wei Wuxian claps him on the back. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t shake his hand off, his smile falters. He must actually be worried. “Okay. We have to consider multiple scenarios, then, if we want this to be foolproof. We don’t want to make up a story where the concubine is alive when she’s dead. Or vice versa. So the first order of business is to figure that out.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “And what kind of favor she’s in with the emperor. The better, the easier for us.”

So, like peddlers, they spin their stories. 

+

The night blooms blue and foggy, the moon dropping light in handfuls of glass through the forest, and Wei Wuxian straightens to see that he is not alone. 

Someone else is in the mist with him. It’s thick enough that he cannot see their feet, so they could be floating. A man--just a bit taller than Wei Wuxian himself. His sword is drawn, lowered, as if he’d been pointing it before Wei Wuxian sensed him and stopped. The folded steel blade flashes. 

Blood sheets heavily down Wei Wuxian’s leg where the muscle has torn around the arrowhead, and haze sloshes in his skull. His brain is an upended bowl of goldfish. He grasps for words, for his thoughts, but they slip through his fingers. The stranger stares at him a bit in shock, a bit in horror, mostly in surprise. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He is wearing so much white he could be glowing, a star abandoned by its galaxy, and Wei Wuxian is the only one to find him. 

They stare at each other in the gloom. 

Wei Wuxian’s scattered goldfish thoughts say, Pink.

“Are you here to kill me?” asks Wei Wuxian. His words come out slurred even to his own ears. He needs to find Jiang Cheng. They need to get back to A-Jie. He needs to get out of here. 

“No.” The stranger steps towards him. “We mistook you for a prey animal. Are you badly hurt?”

“This? No, no. I’m fine. I need to go.”

“Your leg is injured.”

“It’s fine. I need to get back to--my wards,” Wei Wuxian says, catching himself before he says anything too revealing, pats himself on the back for staying in line even as his thoughts unravel. He picks his favorite story and sticks with it, hopes to any god that is listening it won’t get any of them killed. “My wards. They were with me. I was looking for Jin Bixia.”

The stranger has come so close that Wei Wuxian can make out every stitch of his robe. “What business do you have with the emperor?”

“I have a painting,” he mumbles around the haze. It’s a dark one, now. “My mother’s painting.”

Then darkness kisses his eyelids, and the night pulls him under. 

+

The scroll unfurls with the quiet hush of paper that has gone undisturbed too long. Even mounted on fine silk, the edges of the hemp and mulberry fibers have begun to wither, time nibbling as cruel and hungry as moths. The paper stretches on forever, nearly as tall as him fully unfurled. The cherrywood stick clacks upon the floor. 

Wei Wuxian’s mouth goes dry. He stares with seeing, then without comprehending, then without believing. 

The ink color has faded, like the paper, with age. Once the red might have leapt off the page, the greens so bright that spring grew from the painting itself, but all of it has flattened. It’s a simple composition. Where Mo Fu Ren had let her human subject be lost among the trees and sweeping landscapes, this painting is only one person, draped in textured golds and silk brocade embroidered with dragons. 

Simple, perhaps, but done by the hand of someone who held them beloved. 

His fingers shake when he reaches out. They hang back, and he pulls away, afraid that touching it might make the entire painting dissolve in his hands. 

Smiling serenely back at him is his own face, thirteen years younger, thirteen years less hungry—but it is him. His eyes are downcast, with a rabbit cradled in the crook of his elbow and a bird perched upon his shoulder. Without a doubt it is him. Even if he could not recognize his own face, the characters that march in little terracotta soldiers down the paper leave no room for guessing. 

The black ink is fresh, as if someone has run a brush through the strokes every year so that they can never fade. 

Wei Wuxian, they say. 

This can’t be right. He must be misreading. He blinks hard. 

His thoughts trip over each other’s ankles. They come in a clamoring flood, each wanting to be heard first, pored over first. Wei Wuxian. Had there been another before him? It is not a common name. It is not a name that would show up twice in the royal city if every noble family had the names of their descendants planned out for generations, no matter if the Phoenix Rising had been slaughtered by order of the emperor. Why is there a painting of him rolled up and locked away in the private study of Hanguang Gexia, second head of the scholar house to Emperor Jin? 

Did they once know each other?

How could it be that a key that Jiang Yanli gave him would unlock this desk?

There are corpses sleeping under their feet. This earth has been burnt and salted. 

An old ache starts in his spine. 

We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian.

Fire without coals. 

There was a person. Just a person.

Do not exhume these bodies. 

We left because we wanted to.

Something terrible must have happened to him. 

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Spirit Masterpost (Ao3 link there)

Chapter 2: Find A Way In

Summary: This town's got quite the cast of characters

Spirit spends the next couple of months on reconnaissance.  They hop over rooftops and monitor the town where the supposed successor lives.  They hadn’t had the time to ask for a description after getting their orders from the Demon Bull Family, and they’re afraid to go back to the trio with their query.

Something about that home is broken. Spirit has spent enough time in a broken home to know it’s not a nice place to be in for long.  Best to stay away unless they’re needed.

The town that the successor lives in is pretty lively. They only assume this is where the successor lives, though, because the successor had arrived to fight Demon Bull King rather quickly and would likely need to be close by.

They watch the city from the rooftops.  Bright colors, people, loud noises—they would hate to be down there, lost in the madness, but from a far enough distance it’s tolerable.

The people are so...loud.  There’s so much stuff here.  So many things, sights, sounds.  It’s awful pretty, especially the glowing stuff.  Spirit tries touching it, but it’s really hot. Whatever it is, it burns.

They’re sitting on top of a skyscraper, taking a break with some cheese tea they got because they were curious about it, when the sky shifts.  The weather begins changing without reason.  That gets them to jump down, because it sounds like a storm is brewing and the higher up you are the more likely you are to be hit by lightning.  Getting hit by lightning does not sound appealing.

They duck down into an alleyway, shifting into human form just as Red comes onto the myriad screens all over the city.  

Spirit has to give him credit, it’s certainly a foreboding speech.  They don’t do well when giving speeches.  Often when they’re sent to intimidate or kill they either write up a script on their way there or stay silent.  Whichever is more effective, anyway.

They lean against the wall as mortals panic, pulling out their nifty little phone.  It’s sturdy, which is good, since they can be a bit clumsy with their things.

‘Red’ They type out.  They gave him their number when they got a phone, excited to have one.  He’d texted them a lot of boxes.  They don’t know what the boxes mean, but they hope they’re nice.

‘I heard your speech up on the screens!  It was very articulate and polite, and threatening!  I think your dad will be mighty impressed with you.

Do you need my assistance?  Please let me know.  I’m in the area, so I can come quickly!

From,

Spirit’

They rock back and forth on their feet, turning their head to the side and watching as the mortals all vanish into their buildings, the streets becoming empty in minutes.  Spirit has to admire the speed of it.  Maybe they got more vigilant after the attack by Demon Bull King.  It’s only been a few months since the attack, long enough to set in some sense of safety but short enough that they would still be on edge.  Spirit knows the timeline of overcoming traumatic experiences.  They start to fade out of the forefront after about half a year if you’re lucky.

Their phone buzzes.  It’s from Red!

They blink at the deluge of boxes, using the little arrow buttons on their phone to scroll down.

‘i don’t need anyone!  Thnx for the compliment’

Spirit blinks a few times, and shrugs.  Red never is very eloquent in text form, and they’ve heard that brevity is the soul of wit!  Whatever that means.  Spirit isn’t quite sure.  Plus, they can understand the desire to do everything by yourself, especially when you’re doing something to prove yourself to someone.

Since the town is pretty much deserted, Spirit takes the time to walk around, get to know the place.  They know it plenty from a bird’s eye view, but whenever you scope out a territory it’s best to know all the angles.  They trace the different side streets with their eyes and memorize the street signs.  They might make a diagram, to make sure the layout sticks in their head.

They’re pretty calm, until they feel the ever ethereal power that comes only from one source.

The Monkey King.

Something like primal terror freezes them in place for a split second, before they race away running as far away from the outpouring of heavenly power that comes with the Monkey King’s presence.  They can’t even think about where they’re going, feet pressing hard against the messy street pavement. T, crunching on glass and debris without thought because they just need to get away.  They know who Monkey King is. They know that they would mean nothing to such a monarch, to such a being.  They have no favors to spare, nothing to keep themself safe, so why wouldn’t he jump on the chance to get rid of them?

Considering their reputation, considering the times they’ve colluded with Monkey King’s enemies, there’s no reason to believe he’d let them live, if he saw them.  No reason to think that he wouldn’t leave them a bloody stain on the pavement the moment they appeared in his line of sight.

Or worse, he’ll \tear out an eye for your insolence.  He clearly doesn’t have a problem pulling out organs, from what you’ve heard in the stories, and with what he did to Macaque?  He’ll ruin you.  Well, at least you’d finally have a normal amount of eyes, right? 

Their breaths come in short bursts.  They climb up to the roof of a short building, curled into a little ball, and shut their eyes.

They don’t manage a single normal breath until they feel the energy of the Monkey King fade out.  He must have left, back to his mountain.  Good.  That means they won’t die today, which really is something!  Every day they manage to live is kind of a surprise, really.  They’re consistently shocked by their ability to keep going.

They carefully sit up and glance down at their feet.  Bleeding, apparently.  Not a surprise, given how they weren’t careful when sprinting through the street, but annoying nonetheless.  They pull out the pieces of glass, clean off the wound with some antibiotic ointment they keep on them at all times (Mom used to make it herself with stuff they scavenged in the forest, and now you can buy an even better version in the store for cheap), and wrap their feet in gauze.

Once that’s done, they lay back, spread eagle on the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky as they try to regulate their breaths.  They’re not exactly steady yet, but at least now they can breathe.  Soon, though, the sky clears, and Spirit has to squint to keep the sun from burning their retinas.  Their phone buzzes in their pocket, and they pull it out, holding it up so the shadow of it falls over their face, blocking the sun a little.

‘The garbage noodle boy will pay!’

They type out a reply.

‘Red.

I don’t know who the noodle boy is, but I’m sorry he made you upset.  Did you have to leave the weather tower?  Do you need anything?

Let me know!

Spirit.’

They get a bunch of boxes and a very hard to follow explanation, but eventually they parse it out.  Noodle boy is the nickname Red has for Monkey King’s successor, and apparently he came in and kicked Red out of the weather tower.  

Spirit asks if Red needs help with his next scheme, but Red declines.  That’s fine.

Spirit knows when they aren’t wanted.

As the sky clears, people begin to peer out their windows, and a few brave souls actually leave their homes.  Within an hour, the city is back to its bustling state, if a little slow as it tries to reset from the panic.  Spirit watches this happens with a fascination one would have with watching ants build a colony.  Well, not in the sense that mortals are just like ants, but they are simple in many ways and complicated in others.  Peril is unknown to them in a way Spirit never could understand, and to see them grapple with the appearance of it and work it into their community and lives is ever fascinating.  Mortals are very tight knit, after all.  Everything affects the collective.

Demons are typically solitary creatures.  They create small clans, sure, but they do not settle, create towns for themselves.

Spirit flits between the different factions and never settles themself.  They have a few caves that could become homes, if they stayed, but they never do.  Not when there are favors to hand out, places to explore.  Besides, an empty home isn’t a fun one to return to.

They’re about to head out, disappear into the forest areas outside of the town for the night, but the roof door to the building opens.

“Hey,” comes a gruff voice.

Spirit freezes.  They turn their head around, slowly, eyes wide.

The figure that stands before them is a stout pig demon, wearing what appears to be a chef’s coat.  He’s got stubble, sharp blue eyes, and small tusks that peek out over his upper lip.  He stares at them without animosity.  Mostly interest and confusion.

Spirit, at a glance, suspects that they’d be able to take him, should he attack.  A second glance, more a read of a soul, proves otherwise.  Whoever this is, there’s a power they’re hiding.  A lot of power.

“Don’t see a lot of monkeys around here,” The demon says.

“Sorry,” Spirit replies, immediately.  “I-uh-I didn’t know this was your roof, I was just sitting up here for the view-I-I’m leaving, so—”

They don’t want to get in a fight.  There’s no point in trying to throw on glamour, appearing human.  And they don’t know how to really explain themselves, either.

The demon raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, trying to put Spirit at ease.  It doesn’t exactly work, considering it reveals the demon’s claws.  Dull as they are, Spirit is sure he knows how to use them.  But they do recognize the sentiment.

“Hey, hey, no need to apologise, ‘s long as you’re not causing trouble,” he gives them a sort of half grin.  “Just figured I’d see what you were up ta, if you were alright.  Not often I find anyone hiding on a roof for a good reason.”

Spirit stares.  They don’t exactly know how to react in this situation, so they just.  Don’t.  Their tail curls around one leg and they wish they could just.  Run.  But then he might chase them.  That wouldn’t be good at all.

“Uh.”  He scratches the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence.  “I’m Pigsy.”

How...appropriate?  Spirit fights a giggle, because of course his name is Pigsy, what else could it be?  The smile worms its way onto their face anyway, and their ears twitch as they look anywhere but at Pigsy.

Pigsy smiles back and chuckles a little.

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of on the nose.  Not my first choice of a name, but apparently it’s everyone else’s,” he snorts.

This time, Spirit does giggle, their nose crinkling with the motion as their smile reaches their eyes.  They relax a little.  If Pigsy is at ease enough to joke, it’ll probably be okay.  They’ll probably be okay.

“You, uh, mind telling me your name?” Pigsy asks them, and they freeze again, suddenly shy.

They fidget, then sigh.  It would be rude to not tell him, even though they wanted to keep a low profile, but Pigsy is asking nicely, and he doesn’t seem mean.  What’s the harm?

“Spirit,” they reply.

With a wave, they leap across the space of the street between the two buildings, sliding down the back side of the building.  It’s easy enough to slip into human form and disappear into the crowds towards the outskirts of the city.

They sleep leaning against a tree.  It isn’t terribly comfortable, but Spirit is used to that.

The next month is spent really getting to know the town.  It’s a huge place, and Spirit wants to be aware of every nook and cranny, just in case.  They’re a bit on edge, too, because Monkey King was here, which means he’s unafraid to come back.  If they’re around when he does, that wouldn’t be good.

But if they know all the secret passageways, just maybe, they’ll be able to outrun him.  From what they hear, the Monkey King cares about mortals, so he’d probably try and mitigate collateral.  If they disappear into a crowd, or get underground, they’d likely escape.

They have plans.  They make them whenever they stop on a skyscraper and let the wind blow through their fur, when they look down at the steep drop and think about catching a hand over a thousand years ago, when they think about every step to the present.  They have a plan for every street corner and alleyway, should they be caught.  They have to.  It’s the only way to survive.

Their plans come to a halt when they feel a soul split.  Well, not split, because that’s not possible, but at the very, least spread out.  All kept together by a thin, golden tether that ties them to their source.  

It starts as just one tether.  Then two.  Three, seven, fifteen, thirty-eight, a hundred—Spirit goes dizzy trying to count them all, up on the tallest building in the town.  The weather tower’s roof basically has seats built into its design, if you push a window open and sit on the glass tile, so it’s fun to climb on top of it.

Eventually, they have to see what is happening, because the city is dancing with golden lights scattered across it, and it’s making Spirit dizzy.

A group of tethers coalesces in a single building, an anti gravity arcade.  Spirit hasn’t gone in, because they like when their feet stick to the ground, and the amount of noise and bright lights is enough to leave them dizzy for decades.  They hop to the roof of it, peering over the ledge to see just who is inside.

“Monkey King?”

Spirit whirls around, and comes face to face with a mortal, wearing a bright orange jacket, red pants, a white shirt with a target on the chest (which, not that Spirit would say, is a bit odd, and is asking for a chest injury), and a red headband.

Then, an identical copy of that mortal appears.  Then another.

Suddenly, Spirit is surrounded.

“Uh,” they start.  “No?”

Regardless of their valiant effort to make it known that they are not the Monkey King, they’re dogpiled quickly, grabbed by tens of hands and carried into the sensory hell that is the anti-gravity arcade.

Considering they’re not being hurt, and considering they can’t move their arms, Spirit doesn’t struggle much.  They just shut their eyes, coiling their tail around their leg and staying as limp as possible.  Resistance seems a bit futile, and if they’re malleable instead of stiff they’re less likely to be damaged during their, uh, transport.

“I’m really not the Monkey King,” they try again, though their voice gets muffled by the many, many figures holding them.

The group stops.  There’s a buzz of chatter before one voice cuts out above everything.

“Alright, alright, what’s the haps?  What’s got y’all making me step away from the porty?” The voice has a very casual lilt to it, but it’s recognizable as the same voice of all the other mortals.

“We found the Monkey King!” One of the clones pipes up.

“You what?!”

“We got him, boss!”

“You—okay, okay, lemme see!  Drop him!”

Spirit is dropped onto the ground unceremoniously, and the crowd parts so they can look up to  this supposed leader.

He looks like the rest of the group, but his orange jacket is tied around his waist and his shirt doesn’t have the target on it the rest of them do.  He’s got his pants bunched up at the base of his boots, blue headphones hanging off his neck, and when he glances down at them, Spirit sees a flash of a sharp tooth poking up over his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” they say.  “I’m, uh, not the Monkey King.”

The ringleader groans, leaning his head back.

“Of course you’re not,” he says, though the tone doesn’t indicate that he’s angry at them, which is nice.  He turns to the group standing behind Spirit, and glares.  “C’mon, boys!  I told ya if you saw the Monkey King, you report back to me.  No goin’ after him, no makin’ a fuss.  If this was the real deal, he’d’ve had you poofed quick!  The Boss might not know how to make us go away yet, but the King definitely does.”

He gives a quick, cursory glance over the group.

“We lose anyone?” he asks.

The group shakes their heads.

“Good.  Now, next time, listen to me!” he shouts.  

Spirit flinches at the sound.

The group, thoroughly chastised, all mumble apologies.  The leader sighs.

“Alright, alright.  Half of you keep on look out, and the rest of you go and play.  We got the arcade to ourselves, after all,” he waves them off, and they scatter.

Once they’re gone, he turns to Spirit.  Spirit stiffens and very carefully picks themself up.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” The leader says.  “They’re not the brightest bunch, and any monkey demon is gonna get them excited.  I told them to look out for the Monkey King, not kidnap him, but you spread one brain cell thin enough and things are bound ta’ get lost in translation.

Spirit glances around.  They look to be backstage somewhere.  The hum of pounding bass is muffled, but they can still hear the music.  There are no flashing lights, which is nice.

“Haven’t seen or heard of ya’, though.” The leader speaks up again, drawing back Spirit’s attention.  “What’s your name?”

“Spirit,” Spirit replies.  “And, um, it’s okay.  They weren’t very rough handling me, so it was fine.  

“Um,” They can tell the leader isn’t an original, they can see the tether, but they have to ask.  “You’re, uh, like them, right?”

The leader shrugs.

“If by ‘like them’ you mean a clone?  Sure,” he leans in close toward them.  “But, uh, keep that on the DL, you know?  Don’t want it gettin’ spread around.”

Spirit blinks a few times.  So, clones.  That isn’t surprising.  Macaque can make clones from his shadows, and he told them that Monkey King can make clones out of hair.  The successor must have inherited that power.

The thing that does confuse them, is

“DL?” they ask.

The leader raises a brow.  “The down low?”

“Uh…” Spirit fidgets and glances at their feet. 

The lingo makes no sense.  Is it a new thing?  They’re really bad at keeping up with trends and dialogues.  Their ears burn with embarrassment.  They must look really stupid.

“Just don’t go tellin’ nobody, alright?” The leader clarifies.

Spirit nods.

“Okay!  But, uh, why are you hiding?” It doesn’t seem to make sense.  If the successor made the clones, why do they feel the need to run from him?

“Cuz the Boss made us, made us do a bunch of his dirty work, and I don’t think he’s gonna like that we got tired of it.” The leader glares out toward where Spirit assumes the rest of the arcade is.  “Free will ain’t something clones are supposed to have.  I’m a little more, uh, on the wild side.  The rest of the boys are pretty simple, so I keep ‘em close so they don’t get into trouble.  And hey,” He smiles, all sharp teeth. “Can’t have a porty if you don’t got a roaring crowd.”

Well then.  That certainly changes things.  Spirit has never wondered about the sentience of clones, considering they’ve never interacted with them for long.  Macaque’s shadow clones are more extensions of himself than they are sentient creatures, and they never talk.  But, if clones really do become sentient, it’s a rather cruel thing to strip that sentience away, right?  So long as they aren’t hurting anyone, anyway.

“That’s fair,” they shrug.  “But, um, if you want to really stand out, maybe some new clothes will help?”

“That a fit check?” The leader smirks.

“A what?”

“Nevermind,” The leader waves a hand.  “What you got in mind?”

Spirit tilts their head to the side in thought.

“I think, um...your aesthetic,” they start.  “It doesn’t fit with, uh, the others, so I could get you some new clothes.  Accessories.  As a favor?” They shrug, a bit self conscious.

The leader is pretty confident, and Spirit is decidedly not.  It’s awkward to think that they could be of service.

A blade has a use, but if you have claws that are just as sharp, why buy the tool?

The leader considers this, and then shrugs.

“Sounds good, 3 eyes,” he agrees. 

Spirit blinks.  “It’s Spirit,” they clarify.

“Sure.” The leader shrugs them off.  “Exit’s down the hall to your right.”

Spirit nods and dashes off.  Slipping into human form is easy as a new set of clothes, though they always have to be wary of their tail, wrapping it around their waist like a belt so as not to arise suspicion.

Sure, demons live in this town, but the ratio seems 10:1 and Spirit prefers to blend in.  Besides, if they get mistaken for Monkey King again, they might just scream, if only to startle the crowd so they can get away.

They flit between stores, looking for something fitting for a character like that clone had been.  Spirit isn’t good at fashion, Macaque picked out their outfit after all, but they do have several eyes for flashy things (two, the third isn’t as entranced by such things).  They grab a pair of visor glasses, pink to accent the blue.  They have these weird lines through them, probably to see through.  Spirit thinks they’d be mighty useful to counteract all the bright lights.  

Then they look for something orange to replace the jacket, since it seems to be a fixture on all the other clones.  They find a kind of garish orange tiger print coat.  It’s pretty wild, and, well, the leader said he was pretty wild.  They toss it over their shoulder and head back toward the arcade.

They come in the same back way, because anything to spare themselves the sensory overload of the arcade is worth it, though they feel eyes from all around watching them as they approach the backstage.

Two large bouncers step in front of Spirit, as they approach the backstage, and Spirit nearly trips and falls in their haste to back away.  They’ve never been a fan of looming figures, and even though they’d probably be the same height as the bouncers if they stood up straight, they’re far too used to hunching down to do anything else.

“U-um,” they manage a whisper, clearing their throat before they continue, trying to speak up above the din of the music blaring in the other room.  “I-uh-I-the boss, uh, wanted me to get him some clothes, so…”

They hold up the items they found as proof, giving the two bouncers a shaky smile.

The two share a look, before one walks toward the stage, leaning down for a moment to talk to someone before straightening back up.

“3 eyes!” 

Spirit fights the urge to wince at the nickname, because they don’t like that they only have three eyes, they don’t like the reminder.  Instead, they sigh and smile awkwardly, waving as the leader saunters over.

“Hello,” they show off their pickings.  “I thought these would fit.  Since, uh, neon pink and blue go well together, and, um, I thought this jacket could, uh—”

“It’s way better than the old one!” The leader snatches both items out of Spirit’s hand.

The shades go on his face quick, and he tosses his old jacket so fast it’s a blur as it hits the wall.  He slides the new one onto his shoulders and leans back, hands in his pockets.

“Do I look good?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer.  “Nevermind, course I do!  Look at me!”

“I am,” Spirit agrees with a half shrug.

“Nice work, 3 eyes!  The fit fits!” He chuckles, and did his teeth get even sharper in the half an hour or so Spirit has been gone?  They can’t tell.

He plays with the sleeves of the new coat, and glances down at his feet.

“Anyway, uh.” For a moment, he’s almost shy.  “Picked out a name for myself.  Figured keepin’ the old one made no sense and all.”

“Oh?” Spirit keeps their tone carefully neutral, tilting their head to the side.

“Yeah.  Porty.” Porty gives them a wry grin.  “If I say it weird, might as well be my brand, right?”

“Sure?” Brand?  Spirit thought a brand was when you put hot iron on something.  Macaque wanted them to do that to a cow he found, but they couldn’t.  It was too mean.

“Anyway,” Porty’s voice cuts through their confusion.  “I gotta get back to my DJ stand.  Wanna stay for the porty?”

Spirit lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” they say, and when Porty frowns, they scramble to explain.  “Not that I don’t, uh, like parties-I—” Well, they’re no good at lying.  “I just have uh, really sensitive eyes and ears.  It would be too loud and bright for me,” Spirit lands on something truthful as they finish, giving Porty a hopeful smile.

Porty’s expression stays carefully neutral, before he bursts into a sharp toothed grin that stretches wide across his face.

“That’s fair, but don’t be a stranger, kay?  Us wild ones gotta stick together!” He nudges their arm.

Spirit thinks Porty is awfully nice and cool, but he talks in ways that make their head spin.

“Got it,” they reply in lieu of asking for clarification, and they disappear out the back door as the music swells again.

They write Porty’s favor into their book just as they start to see the tethers vanish.  One by one, like dying stars flickering out, they disappear.  Spirit watches, wide eyed, as each of over a hundred vanishes.

There's a pit in their stomach, as they think of the giggly, desperate for approval, mostly kind clones suddenly ceasing to exist.  Thinks of the many voices going silent.

Macaque would tell them that clones are a means to an end, a weapon to be discarded after use.  But the successor didn’t discard them after use, he used them and left them, abandoned them.  And now has the audacity to get rid of them when they’re becoming too sentient for his liking?

Spirit doesn’t know the circumstances.  It’s rude to judge a person over things Spirit doesn’t know the full story of.  But they didn’t hate the clones, and Porty, for all his faults, seemed to just want to make a good time for people.  Not the type of good time Spirit would enjoy, but they know others might.

Curled up on the roof of a skyscraper, they watch the lights disappear.  The arcade, a veritable lighthouse of stars, loses its many tethers in an instant.  The mass of light vanishes as if blown away by a gust of wind, until there’s only one left.

The final one, Spirit knows.  

It disappears like the rest.

They break into the arcade that night, and find the coat and glasses on the floor, abandoned.  The arcade is dark and there is broken glass all over the floor, but Spirit steps around it, eyes only for the coat and glasses.  The things they got for him.  To prove that he was more.

Now all that’s left.

They pick the two items up gently and bury them out in the woods.  Maybe Porty wasn’t a real person, maybe he was a means to an end that got out of hand, but Spirit can’t fault anyone who lets them do them a favor.  And besides, sometimes all that’s left of people are memories, and Spirit wants to remember.

They remember Mom, and they know they’re the only one who does.  They can carry that weight for the clones, too, if no one else will.

They get a call from the Long family a month or so after meeting the clone, and isn’t it funny how one of the most affluent, mystically inclined families lives just on the outskirts of the town that Demon Bull King was sealed in?  Spirit wonders if they settled here for that reason, perhaps guarding the staff that the Monkey King left behind, since Monkey King had left it there without any thought.

Spirit doesn’t hate anyone (their father doesn’t count, because they made sure he wasn’t anyone ever, just a memory in Spirit’s mind, forgotten by time as his body burned on its pyre) but they severely dislike the lack of responsibility Monkey King takes.  Not only did he seal away Demon Bull King (Spirit is aware that Demon Bull King was destroying villages and causing a stir, but Monkey King took Red away and what parent wouldn’t be angry?), but he didn’t even stick around to watch over his seal!  He just left it, like the staff alone would be the end-all.  

Spirit would be too anxious to ever leave something that could even possibly be broken.  Maybe they’re paranoid, but they would have at least stuck around, or left a guard, or something!

Honestly, it isn’t surprising that Red managed to break it, eventually.  

They arrive at the Long residence to a sight of a broken down door and demolished artifacts scattered across the entrance hallway.  They blink, three eyes darting around to try and drink everything in.

“Ah, Spirit,” Comes a prim voice.  

Spirit jumps, and turns to find a couple, dressed in green and gold, staring at them.  They’re dolled up, makeup and everything.  Spirit bows, polite.

“Hello,” They greet.  “You’re in need of a favor?”

“Yes,” the woman answers.  “Yesterday, there was an attack on our home by the Demon Bull Family.  Many priceless artifacts were destroyed in the process.  We would like you to salvage as much as you can from the wreck, and clean up the rest.”

So grunt work.  That’s fine.  Typically Spirit is called for that sort of thing, if there are secrets involved.  And when you have priceless artifacts, you don’t want just any random person handling them.  Spirit doesn’t think they’re terribly trustworthy, but if someone asks them to be, they can be.  Keeping their mouth shut is easy because people don’t usually come to them for conversation.

Macaque told them once that they were awfully chatty, but that was when they were younger.  They grew up.  They usually only talk to themselves now.

“Okie doke.” They nod, turning back to the wreckage.

This should take them a few days, if they pull a few all nighters.  They’re pretty bad at sleeping anyway, so at least this time it’ll be on purpose.

They pointedly don’t think about how they told the Demon Bull Family of the artifact that was here.  They pointedly don’t think about how the Demon Bull Family likely attacked this home for said artifact.  What people do with the information they give out is none of their business.  It’s not their fault.

Well.  It is.  Spirit isn’t stupid.  Actions have consequences.  A domino falls and starts a chain reaction.  Regardless of intent, the first domino is the issue.

And Spirit pushed the rest of the pieces down, so the aftermath is their fault.

They start with the biggest pieces of the wreckage, moving out broken stone and whatnot, so that salvaging the finer pieces will be easier.  They’d ask where they’re supposed to move the large pieces of stone, but the two mortals didn’t seem to like them, so they just bring it to the side of the house.  Out of sight for the moment.

They start collecting pieces of broken artifacts, sorting them into different piles for reconstruction later.  They cut their fingers a few times and decide to wrap up their hands in gauze to spare the rest of their fingers from mutilation.

While they’re doing that, someone comes up behind them.

“Hi!”

Spirit jumps a full foot in the air and stumbles to regain their footing, nearly slipping on the dusty tile before steadying.  The gauze not yet secured sticks haphazardly to their sleeves, and they fidget with it as they turn around fully to see who it is that interrupted them.

It looks to be a girl around their age—a little younger, they think.  She’s got the same fine makeup as the two adults who Spirit wagers are her parents, though hers is made less refined in application, instead more youthful and in the form of self expression.  Her green varsity jacket fits in line with her parent’s outfit, green and gold, but the rest of her outfit is a bright white only seen in the marble of the home’s interior.

And then there’s the dragon blade, strapped to her back.  She seems comfortable with it there, which leads them to believe she’s the new wielder.  Which certainly gives her presence weight.  

Spirit lowers themselves to appear non threatening and demure, and they wave, awkwardly, before continuing to affix the gauze to their hands.

“Hello,” they reply. 

“I’m Long Xiaojiao.” The girl bows politely in response.  “But you can call me Mei.”

“Mei,” Spirit repeats, getting used to the word on their tongue, getting over the confusion of someone actually coming up to talk to them when they’re on a job.  “I’m, uh, Spirit.”

“Nice to meet you!” She smiles sunnily up at them.

Spirit stands and fidgets, a little, trying to figure out how to respond.  They don’t know how to interact with people much.  Interacting with Red is easy, they’ve known him for centuries, but with new people, it’s hard.  They’re terribly awkward, and they’re a monkey demon with three eyes.  It isn’t as if they can have conversations with mortals without that becoming a factor.

In fact.

“You know, I haven’t seen a monkey demon before.  Do you know the Monkey King?” she asks.

Spirit winces.  “No,” They respond, quietly.  “He-uh-from what I hear, he’s kind of a recluse, and I don’t interact with many monkey demons,” Spirit shrugs, trying for a smile.

Mei doesn’t seem perturbed by their lack of knowledge, shrugging nonchalantly right back, and Spirit relaxes a fraction.  Like with Pigsy, Mei doesn’t seem to have many expectations on Spirit’s behavior, or requirements of knowledge and or ability.  So far, anyway.

Then again, that could be because they know not to expect anything from Spirit.  Spirit is well known in the demon world to be as worthless as they are useful, and Mei is from a powerful family that Spirit has done favors for before.  The two of them probably knew of Spirit already.  That’s why they’re good at knowing that Spirit knows pretty little.

“Yeah, that’s fair.  My friend MK’s met him, since he’s his successor, but from what I hear from MK, Monkey King doesn’t talk to a lot of people.” She drops the information down in front of Spirit as if it isn’t a bombshell.

Spirit blinks a few times, trying to process the information.  Huh.  So, this girl knows the successor.  Interesting.

“MK?” they ask, curious.

Information is important.  If they perform a favor for Mei, that might get them an in with the successor, which means they’ll have something against the Monkey King and then they can be safe.

“Yup!” Mei whips out her phone, dragon phone case and everything, and shoves the screen up at Spirit, bright light pressing up towards their eyes.

Hand reaching toward their face, reaching digging scraping pain—

Spirit’s back hits the wall.  They don’t remember backing up, just like they don’t remember their breaths picking up, nor do they remember starting to shake.  Eyes wide, they glance around, until they lock eyes with Mei, whose phone is still held up in the air near where their face used to be.

“Oh,” Spirit murmurs, ears rising up from their previously downturned position.  “Sorry.”

Mei drops her arm, brow furrowed in concern.

“I, uh,” Spirit scrambles to explain, because they don’t want her to tell her parents that they’re easily startled, that they’re not good enough, because that could ruin their reputation, that could stop the favor from being kept, it could ruin everything.  “I don’t like.  Things thrown at my face.  Without warning.”

“Oh,” Mei says, softly, gently, glancing at Spirit with something softer and kinder than pity.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters again, standing up straight.  

They shuffle off, getting back to work at getting the many cracked artifacts off of the ground.  They don’t usually have visceral reactions like that around other people.  The last they can remember is when they were with Red.  He’d waved a hand too close and they’d jumped back.  He didn’t apologize, because Red hates admitting fault, but he did hover over them for a moment, as they regained their bearings.

Mei scuffs her boot on the tile, and then idles over.

“Nah, I get it,” she waves off the apology, though Spirit does question how she could possibly understand when they never told her why.  “Hey, do you have a phone?  I could send you the picture!”

Spirit turns to her, glancing down at the earnest smile on Mei’s face.

“I don’t know if my phone takes photos,” they reply, pulling out the brick of technology out of their pocket.

Mei’s face drops in shock at the sight of it, hands jumping up as if to snatch it from Spirit’s grip. They hand it to her instead, because Spirit can tell she wants to hold it, and Mei looks at it like one would the priceless artifacts shattered around the hall.

“This is...ancient,” she says, delicate, like she doesn’t want to insult them.  “It doesn’t even show emojis!”

“What’s an emoji?” Spirit asks.

Mei drops her face into her hands and groans, before perking back up.

“Can I upgrade it?” she nearly begs, eyes sparkling with excitement.  

Befuddled, Spirit doesn’t immediately agree.  Should they?  They already made Mei upset because they freaked out, it would be rude to deny her something that brings her joy, even if it could come at the expense of Spirit’s phone.

Even more confusing is that, rather than think them stupid for having an inferior product, Mei just wants to fix it up for them.

“Um,” they start, haltingly.  “I like that my phone’s pretty indestructible, and I’ve had it for a while.  Aren’t, um, newer phones more fragile?”

“Not when I make them,” comes Mei’s cheeky reply.  “I’ll even use the materials from this one as a base!  It’ll be the same, just better!  And I’ll be able to send you photos!”

She puts on what Spirit can tell are puppy dog eyes, and Spirit caves instantly.  Mei needn’t use those on them; Spirit knows they’re a pushover.

“Okay,” they acquiesce.

Mei cheers.

“Perfect!  I think I have a charm that will look nice on your phone, too, so I can give you that!” She rocks back and forth on her feet, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

Spirit smiles to themself, setting a collection of pieces on one of the pedestals spared of the destruction.  Tonight, they’ll have to get special glue somewhere to make the cracks nearly unnoticeable.  There’s a demon marketplace a few miles outside of town, so there will probably be some there.

They walk over to the other side of the hall, glancing over at Mei, who follows them.  She fiddles with her phone, and a cursory glance of her screen shows that she’s researching the model of Spirit’s phone for reference.  Huh.  Spirit didn’t know phones could do that.

Their eyes travel from Mei’s phone to the legendary blade on her back.

“You can wield the Jade Dragon Blade?” they ask, aiming for nonchalant and landing on incredulous.  They’re not a good actor.

Instead of puffing out her chest and acting proud, something Spirit would find more characteristic of Mei based on the twenty minutes they’ve spent around her, Mei hunches down a little, looking shy.

“Yeah, I just found out.  It’s, uh, pretty cool.” She shuffles her feet, seemingly reluctant to acknowledge her newfound importance.  “I was never really, uh, what was expected of by my family, so it’s kind of a surprise that I can use it.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, Spirit knows.  High expectations for children of powerful families are to be, well, expected, but it doesn’t mean it’s pleasant.  Spirit doesn’t have to see the tired slump of Mei’s shoulders, with the weight of something wearier than just exhaustion, to know that.  They’ve known it since they saw the fervor and desperation Red worked, the way he swallowed hurt at dismissal.  

It’s a bit sad, they think, that they see it in Mei, too.

“I, uh, I know how to use a bunch of weapons,” They offer off handedly as they continue to work.  “I could teach you some things.  If you want?”

Macaque taught them to use a wide variety of weapons, before they settled on their combat sickles, so they know how to use general blades.  They aren’t a sword master, but they’re sure they could teach Mei the basics.

Mei perks up again.

“Really?  That’d be super helpful.  I think my parents kind of expect me to already know how to use a sword, since I can wield this one, and if I told them I don’t know they’d get me some stuffy tutor or something,” she rolls her eyes at the idea.  

“Once I’m done with this,” Spirit gestures the mess of the entrance hall.  “We could meet up somewhere to start?  Call it a favor.”

Spirit tries not to seem too excited, but opening up a new line of favors with someone is always a fun experience.  A new layer of safety, a new token, even.  If they’re lucky,  Either way, to have Mei’s name in their book would be awful nice.

Mei opens her mouth to accept, but the hard slap of heeled slippers against the marble floors makes them both freeze.

“Xiaojiao,” comes the cold voice of Mei’s mother.  “Spirit is here on a job.  Don’t talk to them.”

“But—”

“Either find someplace else to be or stay in your room.  Now,” Mei’s mother is unrelenting, eyes sharp.

Mei gives Spirit a commiserating smile, and then bounds down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Once she’s gone, Mei’s mother turns on Spirit, a snarl on her face.  Spirit knows the Long family is one of dragons, but maybe they might have forgotten just how protective dragons are of what is theirs.

“Never,” The voice is a hiss, and Spirit hunches down, curling in on themselves.  “Never talk to my daughter.  You keep away from her.”

Spirit trembles, and nods.  They didn’t want any trouble, really!  They just wanted to help.  And Mei owing them a favor means they could interact with her without being as scared as they are, in general.

But, then again, they suppose having a reputation like theirs does work against you.

They work until nightfall, managing to get most of the hard work done.  There’s still the matter of reconstructing artifacts, which means they need special glue.  So they depart late at night to the demon market a few miles out of town.

It’s more a flea market, not exactly as concrete as some of the other shopping centers Spirit has perused.  It’s actually kind of new, popping up because now that the Demon Bull Family is up and running, demons are crawling in droves to get a piece of the new economic boom.

They find a stand a half an hour into their walk that has the type of glue they need.

“Oh, well there’s a familiar face,” The shopkeep says when Spirit steps up to the stall.

Spirit tilts their head to the side, but doesn’t comment.  “I would like that glue, please,” They practiced saying it a few-fifty-times in their head before stepping up, so they would get it right. They point to the jar they want with a small smile on their face, to be pleasant.

“Alright,” The shopkeep, a fox demon by the ears and swishing tail, takes the jar and wraps it gently.

Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls out their coin purse, but when they do, the shopkeep laughs.

“No, no, your money is no good here,” The shopkeep says.  “Let me return a favor, to you.”

Spirit blinks a few times, but it isn’t a surprise.  People try and return favors all the time, as if they could ask for anything of Spirit and then return the favor on their terms.  Spirit may do anything for a favor, but they don’t let anyone decide when that favor is returned for a reason.

White splattered red, a smile made dull with crimson spilling over lips.  Returning the favor, returning the favor and dying and never coming back and it’s all your fault why didn’t you stop her—

They sigh, stand up straight, and put on the intimidating smile like Macaque taught them to.  Wide eyes but with a glow that is more a promise than an effect, and a grin with just enough teeth to show that it’s sharp.  It feels weird on their face, but it always works.

“No,” They respond, voice ever quiet.  “I’m the one who deals in favors.  I make the terms.  And I want to pay.”

The marketplace has gone silent.  The shopkeep is frozen in place.  Spirit smiles.

“A-Alright,” the shopkeep finally says, rattling off the total.  

Spirit blinks once, letting the glow in their eyes vanish.  Their shoulders fall as they fumble with their coin purse until they pull out the total.  The shopkeep hands them the bag, and Spirit waves cheerily, turning around and heading toward the exit of the market.

The demons in the market give them a wide berth, but Spirit prefers that.  They like their space.

The whole project for the Long family takes a total of three days, two of which are without sleep.  Spirit is used to not sleeping, whether it be from the usual nightmares or a lack of forethought to go to bed, and so they manage.  Being without sleep leaves them jittery and off kilter, but Mei has seemingly taken her mother’s warning to heart, and Spirit is undisturbed as they work.

They like reconstructing the artifacts.  The heads of the Long family tell them that the family can handle the actual reconstruction of the house, which is a relief considering Spirit knows very little about architecture.  Putting artifacts back together is just like putting together a puzzle, and Spirit loves a good puzzle.  Gets their brain working.

Macaque had puzzles, but his were always more...violent.  Spirit prefers these ones, with the artifacts and without danger.

When they’re done, they’re regarded with distaste but not disappointment, which is nice.  Spirit is pretty sure most people they do deals with don’t particularly like them, because no one likes owing people something.  That’s not Spirit’s problem though!  They always allow people to refuse, but people like convenience, and Spirit is malleable, quiet, unobtrusive, and generally willing to be used as any sort of tool.  They’re more an object than a person, on the job, and that’s good!  It means Spirit is good at whatever they need to be.

They almost forget that they’ve given Mei their phone, because they’re leaving the property when she shouts their name.

They jump a full foot in the air, turning around.

“Hey!” Mei comes sprinting across the courtyard, skidding to a stop in front of them.  “You almost forgot your phone!”

She holds it out, and it looks very little like what Spirit expects.  Gone is the black brick of an item, replaced with a wide, reinforced screen.  The case is sturdy, black with purple accents.  Spirit feels the familiar material in the black sections.  

There’s a little purple lotus charm dangling from one corner.

Spirit holds the phone gingerly, almost afraid they might break it.  They tap on the screen, and it glows!  Spirit taps it a few times, but nothing else happens.

“I have no idea how to use this,” they say, looking over at Mei with wide eyes.

Mei laughs, kind and not at all cruel, which is confusing in and of itself.  Spirit half expected her to think them stupid for not knowing.  But Mei directs Spirit to a stone bench by a pond in the gardens, and carefully explains how the touch screen works, and how to get into the different apps, like contacts and messages.

“I put my number in there,” Mei says, pointing out her contact.  “So that way we can text each other!”

“Oh,” Spirit stares, and then smiles, small and shy and pleased.  “That sounds nice.”

How often is it that someone wants to talk to Spirit?   How often is it that Spirit is told how to contact someone for fun?  For something besides work?  They can only recall Red bothering which is somewhat depressing, but it does nothing to stop the swell of elation that makes their hands shake with the desire to move, at the thought of a new friend.

But to flap their hands like that is childish behavior, so they grip their new phone tight instead.

That doesn’t stop their tail from wagging beneath the bench, though.

Once Mei is done teaching them the basics of modern phone technology, she stands, giving them a sheepish grin.

“I should get going.  If mom finds me here with you, she’ll get real cranky, again,” She smiles.  “Text you later?”

Spirit stands, and their shoulders don’t ache so much.  Subconsciously, they feel the wherewithal to stand tall, for the moment, when Mei gives them such a blinding grin.

“Yeah!

They send their first emoji to Red, a little purple heart and the message ‘Red!  I just learned what emojis are!  I hope you like this one!  From, Spirit.’

Red responds with a bunch of flame emojis, and a single red heart back, stuffed between the fires.  It makes Spirit giggle.  Has Red been sending little fires in every text?  It’s certainly on brand, though they feel it might be a little redundant.  Maybe it’s his theme?

They get a text from Mei.

‘Hey!  I got a race a couple of months from now.  Wanna come watch?  Call it a favor ;D!’

Spirit rocks back and forth on their feet excitedly.

‘Mei,

Sounds fun!  See you then :)

From,

Spirit.’

They add a little purple heart emoji to the end of the text, and receive a barrage of green ones in reply.

Spirit smiles.

[penaltybox14]

Finally got some spare brain cells and wrote for myself, not school or patient care reports.  Kicking around an idea I had with @dying-redshirt-noises, an Adam-12 AU where Pete is actually a runaway juvenile delinquent who ended up changing his name, fuzzying up his past and becoming an LAPD officer.

...

Pete has this dream sometimes.  He is twelve years old, before he got taller, when his voice was just beginning to break and hovered in that soft, sweet spot like water sweeping over the suggestion of a stone.  The dream is far from Los Angeles, and he sits on a rock by a creek that lingers on its curves like a freight train far in the distance. 

He is in jeans and a t-shirt and chuck taylors but they aren't chuck taylors, they've got no marks on them but a size, and the t-shirt has a laundry print he tried to cover with the whitewash off a fence a mile ago.  He doesn't belong here, in the dream, but he's got nowhere else to go.  The wind is slow and high, the sun beats down, and the grasshoppers fiddle in the weeds.  

The dream is far from Los Angeles; it is far from anywhere at all.  

The man's voice and the chuckle of a belt heavy with keys comes from the brush, and it throbs in his ears and in his bones: It's time you got back, isn't it?

The creek is too wide and too swift.  When he turns back at the voice, squinting the figure to shadow, the voice says: Let's go, son.  Let's not be any trouble.  

There is nowhere left to run.  

When he wakes up, in his bachelor pad on the second floor, his skin is damp and electric.  The central air shunts the same dry, stale breeze around, here and there a whiff of cigarettes or casserole gone before you can think to identify it.  So he opens the window and leans, and watches the still, unblinking surface of the complex's pool.  Three years ago a beautiful woman - a girl, really, whose scars were still white and not yet stretched and faded and forgotten - drowned in the pool and no one knew who she was and no one knows now.  Some recalled the tender face and tight, pursed mouth, or the long dark hair worn straight with a beaded headband, or maybe the red checked shirt with the blousing sleeves or the dark dungarees.  She was barefoot, which seemed right if you thought about it.

Pete doesn't think there's anybody but him and the landlord left who remembers the whole business.  This is not a place for staying - people live here a while, get on their feet, and move on to split-levels and brand-new subdivisions clustered around glittering, gritting freeway interchanges.  Places where people eat and sleep and dream and wake up and go to work and round the clock and come home and eat and sleep and dream and wake up and do it all again.  They are safe there in their catalog homes, and no beautiful barefoot girls drown, nameless and white-eyed, in paste-jewel swimming pools.  

Jim lives in a place like that.  Him and Jean, the doe-eyed pair of them, and their baby, who will be a toddler soon, with his own yard to play in, grass as neatly hemmed as any major league outfield.  Jim will teach him to play catch; he won't be very good at teaching, from the start, because he's still a boy, still a varsity star whose body did everything he every imagined it to do, without coming up short, without halting or asking.  But that's alright.  Jim will teach him to play catch and he won't be frustrated and he won't be angry, he'll just say, Jimmy, eye on the ball, okay?

Jim will invite him over and he'll watch from the shade and rib Jim, just a little, but not Jimmy, except just a little when he's bigger and he can laugh about it.  He's hoping the kid won't turn out to be a pitcher, he's really hoping, because then he might have to step in and teach the kid how to sling a curveball that'll unbutton a jersey, or fire a fastball that'll make the Army sit up and take notice.  Jim will ask him where he learned it, and he'll have to shrug and think up something, and he'll make up a story about accidentally breaking Mrs Patterson's kitchen window with a bad pop-up from the playground sandlot, which was too small for big boys to play on anyhow, and that'll make Jim laugh with all his teeth and ruffle Jimmy's hair.  That'll be a good story.  It won't be the one where he was popping rocks off his Louiseville Slugger; it sure won't be the one where he pegged a Coca-Cola bottle at a passing freight train.  He didn't know the train was going so fast; he didn't know how the bottle, heavy and sweating in his hand and the high summer, was going to spin, come off the box car at the angle it did.  

He was sorry.  He was.  But that's not the story he's going to tell Jim, and sure not the one he's going to tell little Jimmy.

>>

The girls never run like the boys do.  

Pete's never figured that one out - the girls, at least the ones who know trouble, they go to ground when they're cornered, their eyes down, or, more rarely, hot with challenge.  The girls in patched jeans and old army coats, who smoke cigarettes like men, between stained fingertips, eyes like lionesses.  Girls who know the power of their vices, they bide their time.  

But the boys run: they all do, bolting long-limbed through the clawing dark, breathing hard in time with the street-lamps, their hearts pounding.  They get away, some of them, if not most of them - hard to catch the lot when they spring out like sparks from their squat-houses, their teenage tent-city tenements.  They book it, on sneakers worn to the soles of their feet, into the urban forest.  They will catch a bus in the morning downtown, to Hollywood and Vine, somewhere people with money pass by.  They will hitchhike to the hillsides, or the beach, somewhere to bide their day in the shade.  

Sometimes they never make it past the night.  Early one morning, just when they were breathing easy, just when the sun was scrambling over the mountains and shaking the valley awake, they got the call for a DB.  A man in a suit and tie and glasses perched on the hood of his car shaking his head, while his daughter sat in the back seat with the door open.  She had a book open on her lap and kept pushing up her glasses, which slid down her nose in the dusty morning.  The man shook his head and said: Lydia, she gets car sick, I pulled over so she could be sick in the brush (and the verge stank like vomit; and something else, richer), and then I saw -

A bare foot, as dusty as the sun, and an awkward young leg in jeans, and a brown t-shirt with yellow stripes on the arms, and long curly hair, his head to one side, on his arm, as if he were sleeping.  His eyes half-open, waiting.  The flies were gathering on his lips and he had no hands, and there was still twine around his neck.  Ants marching across his lashes.  Perhaps older than he looked; perhaps not.  He still had one shoe, with no laces.

Boys run; the slip into the shadows.  They throw back their heads and laugh, they are defiant, they are stupid, they are too young.

They stayed late that morning, waiting for the coroner.  They stayed late, filling out paperwork.  

Pete said: "Go home."

Jim had a look that said he didn't know how.  His dumbstruck eyes had blurred the line between work and home, between the pavement and the rocky earth, between the boy (who would wait for a month among the other nameless dead) and himself (whose varsity track ribbons had yet to fade).  Pete said: go home, and kiss your wife, and go to bed.  

"I can't stop thinking about him."

"You will."

"Malloy, that's awful harsh."

"Didn't say you'd stop caring.  Just you'd stop thinking about this one kid, when the next one comes along, and the next.  It's too big a basket, carrying around all that.  You gotta set it down, partner, you gotta set it down and think about the ones that made it."

"How?"

Pete shrugged.  "I drink too much coffee, and I eat my steak rare.  You do what you gotta do."

[moonlit-imagines]

Two Sides of a War

Peter Parker x reader

warnings: a fight scene that makes no fucking sense bdhshagag, bad writing in general

a/n: thank you !

prompt: anonymous: “okay so dating peter parker and then fighting him during civil war cause the reader is on team cap?? thank much love you and your writing”

You and Peter were just two wannabe up-and-coming vigilantes heroes based in New York. You barely had a name for yourself, just some YouTube videos with some...interesting comments. Why are people so attracted to masks?

Peter and you crossed paths as Spider-Man and y/h/n a couple dozen times while watching over the streets of New York, after a while, you guys became good friends and revealed your identities to each other. It wasn’t long before the two of you fell for each other.

Now you were being approached by the famous Wanda Maximoff and Clint Barton, two Avengers who needed your help. You couldn’t just say no! This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you packed up your suit.

“Germany.” Hawkeye replied while you slung your backpack over your shoulder.

“I’m good to go.”

Along the way, you picked up another masked individual, Scott. He sure talked a lot, he talked until he passed out. Once it was quiet, you realized something. You hadn’t told Peter where you were. This was the coolest opportunity you’d ever received and you had yet to share it with him. You stared at your lockscreen, the picture of the two of you sitting on a rooftop eating cardboard-tasting pizza. Never again would you order from there.

You typed out your message, reading it over and over again.

Pete, you’ll never guess where I am right now. I’m in Germany, dude!! Apparently the Avengers aren’t doing to well, so they called me in. They told me I’d be home for dinner though, I don’t know if they meant dinner in NY or dinner here, either way, it’s gonna be awesome! Wish me luck, love you!!! 💙❤️💙❤️

You selected the entire message and deleted it, casting your phone aside on the seat of the van. Honestly, that text might worry him more than anything. Suddenly you just run off to another country with some rogue Avengers? Sounds a bit sketchy. Your stomach didn’t feel too good now, what if you made a mistake coming here? No way, this is your chance to do the right thing. The Accords they told you about were ridiculous, they shouldn’t have to wait for a vote on where to help. They should just be able to help.

The van came to a halt and the engine switched off.

“Ready to meet the Captain, y/n?” Clint asked you as you gathered your things.

“Definitely.” He stepped out of the van and opened the door for you, you stepped over Scott and hopped out, dropping your bag on the pavement. “Hi, I’m y/n, y/h/n. Here to help.” You waved at the three men in front of you with an awkward smile to go along with it. You were so caught up in the thought of fighting alongside these big names that you forgot that you were probably going to be extremely intimidated.

“It’s good to have you, y/n. Thanks for coming here on such short notice.” Captain America himself reached out his hand and you nearly forgot how to shake somebody’s hand. “Are we all ready to go?”

—————

You marched through the lot of the airport beside your new teammates, heart racing with anticipation, you should be a bit scared, but this was the coolest thing you’ve ever had the chance to do! After some bickering between the Tony Stark and the Captain America, Tony called out some random word.

“Underoos!” Iron Man yelled and a red figure flew onto the scene.

“That can’t be..?” You muttered loud enough for Cap to hear and he looked over to see your puzzled face. It was. “What the hell?” You said loud enough for everyone to hear, now all eyes were on you.

“Oh, shit.” Peter put his hand to his forehead, this could not be happening right now.

“Wait, kid, you know them?” Tony asked his newest recruit, who’s white eyes grew larger as he stared at you in shock.

“That’s...heh, funny story, Mr. Stark.” Peter stood up with Cap’s shield on his arm.

“I’m his partner, his s/o. You got him a new suit?” You cut in and Tony gave you a dirty look.

“I wasn’t asking you, pipsqueak.” He snapped back at you. “Of course I got him a new suit, he was wearing rags. You could use an upgrade, too.”

“This is awkward.” Peter piped in before getting punched in the face by Ant-Man. And just like that, you all scrambled to take each other down, you were determined to make it over to Peter, hiding behind a gasoline truck to talk.

“Peter, why didn’t you tell me that Tony Stark picked you up?” You and him yanked your masks off and your boyfriend engulfed you into a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark told me to keep it quiet! I honestly don’t want to fight you, this could get bad.” Peter held your cheeks in his hands and brushed his thumb on your face. “Please don’t punch me that hard.”

“I dunno, Pete, I can’t make any promises.” You joked and kissed his palm. “Kidding, be careful out there. There are some heavy hitters.” You put his mask back on and adjusted your own before running back to the fight, Peter swinging above you. The fight couldn’t have been more tense, all these friends were suddenly turned against each other and somehow you and Peter fell into the middle of it.

“Hey, Spider-Boy!” Tony called to your boyfriend. “Why don’t you take care of your little lover?” He suggested, making Peter very uncomfortable for many different reasons.

“It’s ‘Spider-Man,’” he whined and reluctantly swung back over to you, making you lose your balance and tumble backwards, “hey, me again!”

“They want you to take care of me, huh?” You crossed your arms and cocked an eyebrow, the ultimate look of disapproval. Peter lifted the bottom half of his mask for you to see his lips move.

“I think you may be on the wrong side of this one, y/n. I mean, these guys are doing something illegal.” Peter grabbed you by your upper arms and pulled you to safety, there was debris flying every which way.

“Did Tony tell you what it was?” You turned you head and gave him a know-it-all smile, Peter sucked his tongue and did you one better, an awkward smile.

“Well, no...” He rubbed the back of his neck and you nodded along.

“That’s what I thought.” You reached your arms out to him, which was deceiving since your next move was a front-flip over his shoulders, pressing the button to his web shooters and wrapping the webs around his wrists. Peter barely reacted because, well, he didn’t think his own s/o would disarm him like that. “You should sit this one out, babe. You’re doing more harm than good.” You folded his mask back down and patted his head, strutting away to help your team again.

“Y/N?! Are you serious?!” He squirmed around trying to break loose from the binds of his own weapon. “Mr. Stark? I could use a little help here!” Peter cried out while shimmying against a piece of metal to free himself. “These things are so strong! I can’t tell if I should be happy or mad at my work!”

“What’s going on, kid?” Tony flew to Peter and witnessed his struggles.

“I’m a little stuck.”

—————

The fight came to rough close for your team as everyone went down one by one.

“What’s gonna happen to them, Mr. Stark?” The freed Spider-Man asked his boss.

“Well, my young padawan, the proper authorities get to deal with them!” Tony told the Spider-Man and realized what this would mean. With a reluctant groan he looked around the airport for you. “Alright, kid, your little friend is laying on the ground near that plane wing. Go get them, I’ll cover for ‘em.”

“Thank you, sir!” Peter rushed to go and get you, worried by the fact that you were just laying there. “Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?” Peter fell to his knees and shook you by the shoulders.

“Yep! I’m good.” You answered without opening your eyes. “Can we go home? Please?” You begged him, reaching out and accidentally hitting his face.

“Yeah, let’s go.” He laced his arms under your knees and back, when you were moved you moaned in pain. “You’re gonna be okay.”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlisbeth // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @allthecreativeonesaretaken // @frostedgiant // @praellee //

[bioodorange]

|| Jeff The Killer Headcanons Part 2 ||

Since my first one blew up, here's more!

Jeff's allergic to cats but he loves them anyway

He's around 6'1 in height

Broad shoulders and fairly built from running and relying on brute force for his attacks

His knife is the same one he's had forever, it was a gift from his father when he was 10

This was before his family moved to Harrisburg, and then Delran where most of his story takes place

Jeff is originally from Philadelphia

He's birthday is June 2, 1998

Spends 20 minutes a day, crouching over and aggressively tying his shoe laces whenever they come undone

Most of the smaller gashes on his face are from trying to recut his smile

He's not a fan of them and will often make the gash wider or more odd shapes to cover it

This is why he's has odd scarring patterns on his face, well besides the burns

Jeff is left handed

Unlike the rest of his family Jeff isn't very religious

He claims to be an atheist but in stressful or tense situations he'll find himself praying things will be alright

He still wears a rosery around his neck

Jeff doesn't like the feeling of tight things on his neck , it reminds him of when Liu choked him

Both him and his brother have Mommy issues

They're father was constantly out and hopping around with work but did try his darndest to be there for his kids

When he learned Jeff didn't like hunting, which is why he bought him the knife, he took him to a few wood shop classes

Occasionally Jeff will carve a small wooden figure from a spare chunk of wood and leave it in the woods

He also does this when he kills the parents of a child- he won't kill an adolescent unless he has to

One time Jeff walked with a little boy and his dog to the police station after seeing bruises on his back and the boys heavily intoxicated father

He was a strong sense of empathy for those who are reseliant

Jeff really struggled with bullying in school

The only time he wasn't the the three years they were in Harrisburg

Jeff's best friend was a blonde boy in his class named Lucah- he was also his first real crush

During this time Jeff struggled with internalised homophobia considering his parents swore it was the devil's work

His younger brother actually helped him through this, when they were closer

Jeff often had bruises and scuffed up clothes from running around, spending most of his time outside

He will go outside in sweatpants and barefeet with snow on the ground but insists on wearing slides if it's over 70° and there's pavement of ant sort

Despite seeming a bit homophobic from his own confusion Jeff will kill a bitch because trans rights

He was diagnosed with ADHD in second grade, he's low functioning

Jeff struggles with math but was a big fan of social studies

He was a history buff and especially liked studying the history of England and France

Low-key had a crush on Marie Antoinette

Jeff is not a fan of flying but would take a boat around the world

He used to play with Liu in the woods at an abandoned house

After he was released from the hospital he went there by himself

Smile dog was a stray at the time who lingered around the area

The two became fast friends and spent a lot of time together

After killing everyone and starting a second fire Jeff ran away and Smile followed

At one point he and Jane were friends and he introduced her to him

If Jeff had never burned her alive the two would have been close friends for most of their lives

After being killed by Jane and watching everyone from his old life

He wishes he could take it all back

Even if it meant dieing that day at the party

[violetnotez]

SHE IS HERE. PART TWO. BY EXTREMELY POPULAR AND LATE DEMAND!!!!

This fic. THIS FIC RIGHT HERE. HAS BEEN FIGHTING SO HARD I AM DONE THIS HAS BEEN A STRUGGLE. If there are typos I AM SORRY- just msg me and ill fix it if its that bad im just tired!

Kirishima x reader

⤷Genre: Angst, Fluff

⤷Word Count: 9k+ (-this has the weekly prompt for the @bnhabookclub​ discord -“Im fine” :)

⤷ Warnings: slight mentions of blood, cursing, suggested spicyness at the end

⤷ Synopsis: It’s been exactly 3 months since the last time Kirishima saw you, after you had abruptly ended things with him. He’s been trying to forget you, but it’s no use-he’s still madly in love with you, and wishes he could get the truth of why you two ended. What a shocker when he gets a chance to ask his questions-and he learns the truth about your villainous life.

Song Recs: ⤷ “Breakeven”-The Script ⤷ “Lucid Dreams”- Juice WRLD ⤷ “Scars”- Lukas Graham

PART 1

Kirishima looked up at his calendar, a sad sigh escaping his lips. 

That number shouldn’t be such a big deal, that plain black “11” tiny and insignificant next to all the other digits, like little ants stationary on the page.

What it represented, though, was so much more: that day so many weeks ago was so full of heartache and misery, the feeling of being lied to eating at his core for days to come. 

Today, 3 months ago, was the day you confessed to him that you didn’t love him. 

Kirishima has never felt so betrayed and heartbroken in his whole life: you were his first real love after all, and hearing you say your love was a lie destroyed him.

He didn’t know what to do or how to even react to that news: he had felt so numb after, so incredibly empty, it was like he was a walking shell of himself once he left your room.

His friends had tried to cheer him up constantly, always putting in the effort to lift his spirits with laughter and comfort. But the warmth of their attempts of cheering him up didn’t help him at all: he always still felt so cold inside.

It also didn’t help that you had mysteriously left UA the day after the “breakup.” When Kirishima laid his tired puffy eyes on your empty desk the next day, his heart couldn’t help but beat feverishly. He knew he shouldn’t care that you were gone, but he couldn’t help it. No matter which way he spun it, He was still desperately falling for you, even if you had broken his heart. 

He had sat down, his back slumped as he eyed that empty seat with worry. 

How had everything gone so wrong? 

He couldn’t fathom what had gone stray-your love  had honestly felt so real to him. You had told him you had only dated him out of pity-but if somebody was being forced to do something, just to spare someone’s feelings, would they have given him his first kiss so perfectly, making sure to be soft and gentle? Would they have stuck with him late into the night to help study for tests? Or give him sweet kisses on his scars when he was feeling self conscious? 

It just didn’t add up-the feelings you two had were genuine and real. It couldn’t all be one sided like you had said.

He gave another look to that chair, just imagining the ghost of you sitting there, turning around and sending him that infectious smile that light up his whole day.

God, it wasn't even one whole day and he felt so incomplete without you.

Mr. Aizawa walked in, everyone scrambling to their seats and watching him intently, the room getting noticeably more quiet.

He didn’t remember much of that class-he had remembered Mr.Aizawa standing at the front of the class, his deep voice breaking his miserable thoughts when he said the class would be free of one student.

You had seemingly left in the middle of the night, your guardians notifying the school you would no longer be attending UA due to you moving. All of Class 1-A was incredibly confused, including Kirishima- you had never said you were moving, yet you somehow were just gone. As if you never existed.

It just didn’t add up to Kirishima-you would have said something about moving, or at least acted strange the weeks prior. All these events just didn’t make sense to Kirishima-the break up, your confession, you leaving-it all just didn’t add up. But he was too tired, too wrecked inside to think about it anymore. The more he tried to piece the story together the more it gnawed at him, making him feel so much more worse than he already felt. He slumped in his chair, knowing full well everyone was staring at him-you were his boyfriend after all, he should have known.

Oh wait-ex.

He slumped in his chair even more, barely the tips of his spiky red hair poking up from the desk table.

It was gonna be a long few weeks for him, he could already feel it.

Now he was past all those days of crying and breaking over you-some days he could actually forget about you and not have to worry. But on days that were permanently etched into his mind, like today, he couldn’t help but remember. 

Kirishima's phone began to ring, the vibration of the call making the phone jitter against the wood of his desk. He tore himself away from the calendar, his hands instantly swiping to take the call once he saw the Caller ID.

“Hey Fat, how's it going!” Kirishima forced a smile, his voice preppy and bright as if nothing had ever happened.

“Kirishima, thanks for taking the call,” his mentor seemed to breathe a sigh of relief hearing his bright voice on the other end.

Since Kirishima was in his 3rd year, he was required to do another work study, for an even longer period of time than before. So when he was asked by Fatgum to come join the agency once again, he couldn’t help but say no. He had loved his old mentor back from his 1st year, even if he did get pretty banged up at the end of his work study. He was more than happy to join his agency again, and wanted nothing more to learn and grow to be the best hero he could be.

“I know this is pretty late in the day for you,” Fatgum continued, “but I’m going to need your help,”

“Tamaki was supposed to be patrolling on the West side of town tonight, but he got called in to help with a robbery on the North side. I don’t have anybody else to take his place, so I was hoping you could take over his shift for the night,”

“Of course! I’ll do anything you need,” Kirishima propped his phone into the crook of his neck, already rummaging around his room for his hero suit.

“You're a lifesaver Kirishima!” Fatgum exclaimed, the toothy grin he was most likely sporting practically audible.“See ya for training tomorrow then!”

“You too, Fat,” Kirishima's cheerful tone waned, a sad smile replacing his bright grin as he stared down at his hero suit.

He had already known today was going to be a tough day for him, and the fact that he was off from any type of hero work that would make him forget about his sadness didn’t help. 

But now that Fatgum has given him a job tonight, he might be able to erase his mind of all the past heart ache for the next few hours. He gave himself a small smile, his hero suit beckoning him to put it on, the reds and blacks calling to him like ghosts from a dream.

He was gonna at least try to forget-just for the night.

It was now an hour before the end of his shift, and he was feeling practically tired.

The West side of town was relatively quiet, nowhere near the crime riddled areas of the North side of the city boulevard. He knew these streets well from patrolling them almost every night of his hero study, knowing each alleyway and path like the back of his hand. 

Tonight was silent, only a few late night joggers or the occasional fast food joint open for any customers getting the late night munchies. 

It was soft, provincial, and bitter sweet. 

He was trying his best to not remember, to not remember your face, or your smile, or the way you would laugh so warmly whenever he did something amusing. He was trying not to imagine you standing by his side, your hand grabbing his and your shoulder resting  on his, a happy sigh escaping your lips. 

Why were still haunting him, even three months later? 

why couldn’t he just forget about you? 

A crash and a yell snapped Kirishima out of his memory, an angry scream of a teen being heard from the late night restaurant. 

He shook his head to rid himself of those unwanted thoughts, noticing a black figure running across the parking lot into an alleyway at lightning speed.

“That-that Villian!” She shrieked, her friends trying to soothe her as she continued on her rampage, “She stole my wallet! My damn wallet! The hell-“

“Don’t worry ma’am, I’ll get it back for you, don’t worry!” He yelled towards the group, his voice warm and assuring as he sent her a toothy grin. His feet began pounding the pavement, disappearing into the alleyway in the direction of the criminal.

Your breath came out in painful huffs, your hand fumbling to put the wallet into the jacket of your Villian suit. 

Damn Shigaraki and his “plans.”

Shigaraki has now concocted up his next bright idea  for the League, this time relying on you stealing an ID card from a college student that looked similar to you. 

While the LOV was going off stealing a bank for some extra cash, you were told to go find someone who looked similar to you in order to pass as them. for what you had no idea, but you knew Shigaraki would be extremely mad with you if you didn’t do what he asked. You shivered at the thought of him, those cold red eyes like bloody daggers ripping into your flesh. 

You slowed to a stop, your breath coming out in pants as you pulled down the mask on your face, your breath finally free from the constricting fabric.

God you hated running.

Nobody seemed to be following you though, footsteps inaudible to your ears. You slinked into a dark corner of the alleyway, your hands rummaging inside the wallet for the ID card you desperately needed.

Cash, credit card, a picture of her and possibly her boyfriend,a shit ton of gift cards-

You breathed a sigh of relief, flicking out the desired card with a flourish. In the low light conditions you were in, it was hard to see her details, but you knew that it matched your complexion just enough to pass by.

Thank God, now Shigaraki wouldn’t be on your ass-

“Hey, it’s not cool to steal, man,” you heard a familiar voice echo throughout the concrete walls of the alleyway, making your blood run cold.

Shit, please not be him, anybody but him-

You instantly tugged your mask over your mouth and nose, praying to God it wasn’t him.

Maybe it was another hero, or somebody that just resembled him-

“Just give me back what you stole, and nothing bad will happen to ya,” Kirishima continued, his footsteps slow and solemn as he walked over to you, as if you were a wounded animal that could attack at any moment.

You shoved the wallet hastily into your jacket pocket, looking around, desperate for a way out.

Damn it-you were completely blocked from the back, a tall cement wall blocking your escape. The only way for you to get out was to somehow dodge Kirishima and make a run for it, or fight him.

God definitely had his favorites, and it obviously wasn’t you.

This boy was so quiet-all that hero training made him extremely agile, like a cat going forward it’s prey  as he continued to walk towards you cautiously. 

It was a shock to see him-he looked so much older, his handsome face making your heart squeeze painfully. He still sported his iconic red hair to match his suit, the only thing really changing was the amount of scars on his body. When you two had dated, you were so close to him you knew every valley, ditch, and scar on his body like your own.

He was getting stronger and tougher, growing to his goal while you were stuck in your life, still just a little pawn in Shigarakis decaying hands.

You didn’t feel like fighting him-you still felt guilty for the way you had ended things with him, even though it was weeks after. You knew it had to be done in order to protect him, but you also knew it had hurt him to the point of no return.

 He had to have hated you now, and honestly, you didn’t blame him-it just hurt to know you lost a love you still felt. And it was your fault.

Kirishima watched your every move, not suspecting a thing-you were just another thug, another puny Villain he had to take down. Even though it was decent fun to take a criminal down, dealing with witnesses, the police, and paperwork was quite the opposite. But it’d get his mind off of his own misery.

The Villain seemed strange though-as if they were terrified by the mere sight of him. They weren’t even trying to bad mouth him, which was a definite first for him. It was hard to see in the dark alleyway, but he could make out the outline of the thief trying to quickly dodge him, trying to break into a run to get out of the cramped dead end.

Kirishima swiftly grabbed the arm of their leather jacket, pulling your squirming body close to his.

You were screaming internally-he needed to let go, he had to let go. Your heart felt like it was ripping apart, the sudden memories flooding your body as you remembered how it felt to be so close to him, to be so intimate you could see the flecks of brown in his vermillion red eyes. You didn’t want him to realize it was you, to see you as his enemy yet again. You couldn’t bear to see the heartbreak and disappointment in his eyes, your hands clawing to get away.

“Hey-just calm down a little-“ he huffed out, the words separated as he tried to keep a hold on your body.

It was strange to him though-you weren’t even talking, not a peep was spilling out of your lips. You seemed pretty young, and by your smaller frame, you were most likely female. You seemed 

so scared, your eyes bright with desperation and fright. 

His larger hands kept you close to him, his heart pinging with hurt-

There was no way this was you. He was going crazy-those weren’t your eyes.

But God, they looked so familiar-your eyes looked exactly like that the day you two broke up. Full of fear and sadness and guilt-

This wasn’t you, this couldn’t be you, but-if it was-

With one hand firmly wrapped your waist and another shakily reaching toward your mask, your body fighting desperately to get him to stop. Even through your attempts, he pulled the material gently off your skin, The flimsy black mask falling to the ground pitifully. your face looking down at the ground with embarrassment, now knowing your cover was blown.

Kirishima's heart beat painfully-it was you, this was you.

What had happened?

“Y-y/n?” He stuttered out, his voice caught pitifully in his throat.

You swallowed thickly, trying to shove the dry ball of embarrassment down your throat.

“H-hi Kiri,” 

He quickly let go of you, his body blocking your exit as he stared at you in disbelief.

You looked so different, so unlike you-you were wearing a completely black outfit, the material shiny like wet rocks near a dark river. Your hair was pulled back painfully tight, your eyes looking down at your scuffed combat boots in despair.

You looked so defeated and so sad, as if there was no happiness left in your body.

Who even were you?

“What happened to you? Why are stealing? Where have you even been?” He bombarded you with questions, his voice getting more and more authoritative and desperate as questions flooded his mind.

You couldn’t even think to comprehend an answer to any of them-you just needed to forget this encounter ever happened. For your and Kirishima’s sanity and, most importantly, safety.

“Just let me go Kirishima,” you dodged his question, taking a step forward to push your way out of the alleyway.

Kirishima's body was bigger and stronger though, and with each shuffle you attempted he would close the gap between you two, blocking your escape solely with his body.

“No, I-I need answers y/n,” he replied. His voice sounded so hurt, so full of anguished you felt your heart break a little more. He was still hurting, and now he was confused, seeing you all dressed up and committing crimes like a low level Villian. 

“I need to know what happened to you.”

You faulted in your step, staring at Kirishima with wide, mournful eyes. You made yet another attempt to surpass him, your shoulder a mere centimeters away from his as you tried to walk past him.

“Nothing happened Kirishima, please just let me-“

If you thought you were going to leave that easily, you were crazy. 

He swiftly grabbed your arm, his calloused hands rough against the leather of your jacket. Even through the thick material you could feel how warm he was-he always radiated such heat and brightness.

“Why did you leave UA?” He was abrupt with his question, but the hint of softness faltered his harsh exterior-he was still worried for you.

A deep sigh cascaded from your lips, your brow starting to sweat. You were tired of dealing with this heavy burden, this spider web of lies you had created for your own self. You still loved Kiri, yes, but your relationship was over and done. There was really no fear of judgement anymore. Hell, he just saw you steal a wallet like a low level thug-how much more could he judge you in this moment?

“You want the truth Kiri?” Your voice was blunt, and monotone, a shield from your true emotions. 

“You want to know who I really am? I-I’m a Villian. I work for the LOV. I only went to UA because I had to listen to Shigaraki. He needed info and I was the only one to do it.”

You sneaked a peek at Kirishima's face, a slight grimace on your lips as you anticipated the look of disgust on his face. Your heart thumped painfully, waiting for him to look at you with revulsion, but-it never came. His bright vermillion eyes still stared down at you softly, his eyes coated with worry and sympathy. 

“So-you were being forced?”

“At first I wanted to do it-b-but after I while, I started to change my mind,” 

he was so warm, his body heat seeping into your cold skin like a fire on a winter's night. Even now, in this dark alley, exactly 3 months from your terrible breakup-he still could make you feel safe. He was your home in the snow storm, so warm and comforting when the rest of the world was so unforgiving and icy. You relished the feeling of his calloused palms on your body, wishing those hands were on your skin instead of your jacket so they could  slowly  warm your whole body with their wonderful  heat.

“Then why did you leave?”

You gulped, licking your lips tentatively. Did you really want to tell him the truth? Tell him how weak you truly were? You honestly didn’t, a part of you screaming to just feed him a lie that would satiate you both-but the thought of living with even more of a guilty conscience made your mouth go dry. He didn't deserve another lie-after all you did to him, Kirishima deserved the truth. 

“I-I didn’t want to get hurt. I didn’t want you to get hurt. If Shigaraki found out I was considering leaving the LOV, he would have done anything in his power to keep me.”

“You don’t know the League like I do. When I mean he would do anything-he would do anything-including killing.”

Kirishima's eyes momentarily widened, the brutal words cutting the air like a knife. It didn’t surprise him, though-he was a hero in training after all. He had been in too many dangerous run ins with villians-hell, he couldn’t even count how many times he could have died just in his first year at UA. Death was a recurring threat in Kirishima's life, and , for better or worse, it didn’t scare him as much as it used to.

“Kiri-I-I lied to you to keep you safe. You meant the world to me-You still do. I still think about you all the time, and I know you probably hate me, but I still love you. I never stopped.”

He watched your eyes turn down in shame, your head hanging low as if you were carrying a great burden. It was painstakingly obvious you were feeling guilty and remorseful, and his heart throbbed at the thought that of you being forced to continue on with this life. We all made dumb mistakes when we were younger-you shouldn’t have to keep the burden of your past decisions still. 

As much as he felt sympathy for you, he couldn't help but feel so happy that you still had feelings for him. No matter how he spun it, he still cared for you and loved you with all his heart-hearing The same thoughts come from you just made him fall for you even more.

He gingerly took your chin in his hands, his calloused digits lifting your sullen head in order for him to look at you fully. Even when you looked so downtrodden, you were absolutely beautiful to him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“God, take the words right out of mouth, huh?”

Kirishima's heartbeat feverishly in his chest-what he was about to do was so incredibly risky, but he had to do it. Too many nights he spent dreaming and remembering you, the memories bitter sweet. Now that he had you in front of him, he was going to take any chance he could go get those sensations back in his life.

Kirishima placed his lips gently on yours, knocking the wind out of your lungs. You couldn’t breathe-it was like you were drowning on his essence-yet you couldn’t careless. Warmth filled your stomach, fueling all over your body like a hot flame. It was so comforting and surreal to be feeling this again, to have Kirishima's hot lips pressed against yours.

He parted from you, both of you buzzing with electricity. It was surprising how much truth that kiss held-it melted the cocoon you two had around your hearts, allowing you two to see how much you had truly missed each other.

“ Y/n, I miss you, I knew that night you said you didn’t love me, something wasn’t right,” he spoke, his breath fanning your lips gently. “I knew there was more than what you were letting on.”

Kirishima grabbed your arms suddenly, looking you square in the face with intense eyes.

“ Y/n, you should have left then and there! We would have protected you! I would have protected! I promise I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you-“

“Y/n, you need to leave them, please,”

You sighed, hating how quickly the air thickened with the remembrance of your current situation. 

“Kiri, I don’t want anybody to potentially get hurt because of my dumbass decisions, I’m fine, I can handle myself-“

“Y/n, no your not fine! Look at you-,”he motioned to your clothing and your sullen face, “this isn’t you at all! 

“Kiri, please, don’t give me false hope-“ you shoved him off, wrapping your arms around your body to protect yourself. If you didn’t get control of yourself, you would follow his words in a heartbeat. As much as you would love to run into the strong arms of Kirishima, for him to warm your numb body with his positive energy- you knew it was dangerous. You didn’t want anybody to get hurt over you.

“It isn’t false hope though….” He smiled sweetly at you, his hand stretched out to you, “please, just take my hand, Kay? Nothing bad will happen, I promise,”

You stared at him long and hard, your eyes wide with fear and uncertainty-he was so genuine, so warm, so forgiving. He wanted to help you, he was willing and ready. He wanted to fight the world with you by his side, to protect the people he needed to protect with his loving energy. Kirishima had a way of making you believe anything that came out of his mouth, and you were falling for his spell. You didn’t know if it was the shock from seeing him after so long, his kiss, or just from wanting to leave so badly, but you stretched out your hand, ready for him to take you away.

a cruel, scraggly voice boomed from the shadows, “He promises to keep his little love bird safe.”

“How touching.”

You two spun your heads around at the sound of the ominous voice, your blood running cold.

“Shigaraki,” you gasped out, your eyes glued onto your leader. 

He was smiling a sick grin, his expression sadistic and cruel as he stood in a few paces away from you two. He was clothed in his Villain suit, his clothes tattered and dark like the Grim Reaper himself.

 Spinner and Twice were standing close by, surveying the scene from above as Shigaraki sauntered to you two. Kirishima's expression instantly turned from softness to determination, his body instantly turning to shield yours.

“Oh no need to act so heroic hero,” he grinned, his tone sickeningly sweet life cough syrup.

“Just give us our comrade and we’ll be on our way.”

“You're not going anywhere with her!” Kirishima yelled, his quirk activating in his arm as he shielded you from Shigaraki. “She doesn’t want to be with you scumbags anymore!”

“I’d watch your tone if I were you, especially for trying to defend a spineless traitor like her.”

Kirishima's face turned red in anger, his whole body now turning as solid as a rock as he charged your former leader.

“You piece of-“ 

Shigaraki continued the sick grin plastered on his face as Spinner and Twice instantly jumped from their positions, grabbing Kirishima's arms and roughly slamming him into the nearby wall. You heard the air forces out of Kirishima's lungs, his face contorted in pain. Your heart felt as if it was getting stabbed as you watched Kirishima struggle against their holds.

“Kirishima!” You screamed, your body yelling at you to help him-but you knew you couldn’t take on those two by yourself, not even including Shigaraki.

You turned to the villainous man in front of you, your eyes pleading.

“Shigaraki, please, tell them to let him go-let him go!”

He took a step toward you, his footsteps ringing slowly like the ticks of an old clock.

“Oh, I will,” he replied, his voice low and sadistic, “-when you rejoin the League.

“ I’d kill you right now for being such a selfish brat if I didn’t need you-so take it as a gift. I’ll spare your life if you just come-“

“Never,” you spat at him, fear filling your stomach with your defiance. You were surprised to hear how steady your voice was, but the slight Tremble in your fists said otherwise.

“Fine then,” he smirked, “suit yourself-“

With a wave of his decaying hands, Spinner and Twice began to use their full force on Kirishima-punching, kicking, anything to torture him. He was trying his best to block them, even with his quirk-but they were quite strong, especially once Twice used his quirk to produce more of his own body. It quickly began evident that Kirishima was having a hard time to fight off the villains, his Stance slowly becoming weaker and weaker as his face began to bruise and his arm dusted with his own blood.

You were hopeless to just watch, watching your worst fear come to life-people we’re already getting hurt over you.

Anger filled your stomach, licking up your body like hot flames as you turned to charge Shigaraki, fire in your eyes.

“Stop it you crusty ass-“ you yelled out, your fists out as you tried to land a punch on the Villian.

He seemed to know your exact movements though, his hands harshly grabbing your wrists and mouth, colliding your body with his.

“I’d watch that mouth of yours if I were you, unless you want it to disintegrate-along with the rest of you-“

Shit.

You had momentarily forgotten about Shigaraki’s dangerous quirk-one wrong move and you could be a heap on the ground, nothing more. The fingers around your mouth were delicate, knowing full well you wouldn’t try and escape. They drummed playfully against your mouth, as if taunting you to do something foolish. You felt how cold he was, the feeling of his chapped skin on yours disgusting as he toyed with your life in his hands. 

It was all a game for him-and he was winning.

“Look at him-“ Shigaraki ordered, the grip around your mouth suddenly tightening as he twisted your head to face Kirishima's misery.  

“You caused this, y/n. All this pain, all this suffering. If you leave, he will be the first we target. Well slowly go after each and every person you have ever loved, until we finally come for you.”

“Now, you don’t want that, do you?”  He asked, his face tilting in order to see your answer. You forced yourself to not look at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the small tears running down your cheeks. 

All you could muster was a small shake of your head, the vibration of your movement going through Shigarakis finger tips.

Through the fists and clones he was trying to fight off, Kirishima could see you shaking your head, Shigaraki looking practically happy by your answer. A sinking feeling filled Kirishima's stomach as he saw your body language slouch in defeat. He Tried to call at you, to stop you from agreeing to whatever was coming out of Shigarakis lying lips, but at that moment one of the clones landed a solid punch to his stomach. Kirishima felt all the air leave out of his lungs , his knees wobbling and hitting the floor as his head spun from the pain.

Shigaraki still had his hold on you, watching how your face crumpled as you watched Kirishima fall and unable to help.

“Good, now, will you come and rejoin?” He asked one last time, motioning for his comrades to move away from Kirishima and back to their spot on the roof of the alleyway.

He knew now he had you under his finger, knowing the show he had just made you watched instilled enough fear for you to never leave his team again. He watched your eyes cower to give one last look at Kirishima's crumpled body, your shoulders tense with stress.

“I-I’ll rejoin the League,” you whispered out, feeling the hold Shigaraki had on you loosen. 

It was tearing you up inside to see Kirishima so bruised and hurt on the ground-you focused on the signs of him breathing, his broad chest rising and falling as he struggled to push himself back up. That small evidence gave you courage, your heart racing as you will yourself to continue with the plan you had secretly been concocting this whole time.

You grunted, a sly smirk erupting on your face.

“After I do this-“

You swiftly grabbed Shigarakis arm, twisting it in an excruciating position behind his back. He yelled out in pain, a string of curses filling the night as you rammed your fist into his chest, sending the air out of his lungs. He stumbled dramatically, dry coughs spewing out of his lungs as his knees hit the floor. 

“You no longer have power over me-none of you do,” you stood defiantly in that alleyway, watching your ex comrades stare at you in shock and awe. In all your time with the LOV, you had never defied them. Not once. You were always so obedient, which was why Shigaraki loved to have you around as a n asset to his team-you were so easy to keep around his finger. 

But now you were clearly being rebellious, your stony face telling the whole group you had changed-you didn’t give a damn about their threats and their rules anymore. You wouldn’t be coming back.

A burst of fear and extreme annoyance flooded Shigarakis' system, the pain of your kick aiding fuel to the flame. He growled, a curse directed at you dribbling from his lips as his thin legs wobbled his body weight up. His mouth opened to send you another string of curses, ready to unleash his full wrath on you for embarrassing him so much, until a characteristic siren filled the night air.

Kirishima propped himself onto his knees, a tried grin gracing his bruising lips.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you-“

His hand lifted, showing the whole group a small contraption in his hand. In the darkness of the alleyway it was hard to tell what it was, but it seemed Kirishima was holding a phone, a route to your location lighting up the screen.

“My mentor gave all us heroes-in-training a tracker, just in case we get into any trouble. While you were blabbering on about plans, I sent the heroes our location.”

Kirishima smiled triumphantly at the fearful faces of Shigaraki’s comrades, Shigarakis own fave contorted in rage. 

The sirens were slowly getting louder, the colors of blue and red dancing lightly against the stony walls of the alley way.

“So unless you wanna get caught by the heroes,” he added in, his tone surprisingly friendly, “ I suggest you go.”

Shigaraki seemed waver, trying to see if he could still get you back under the terrible circumstances. But the cops were practically here, the sounds of car doors slamming being heard. He had to admit it to himself-he lost this battle. He gave you one last scornful look, his bloody irises sending a shiver down your spine as he took off with his comrades, not leaving a trace.

You could already hear the police officers stepping out of their cars, fear flooding your stomach. Even though you had just defied the League, you were still a criminal. You had been doing illegal activities for months now-hell, you just stole a girls wallet 15 minutes ago and it was still in your damn pocket.

Even though a part of you was screaming for you to run as well, you fought off that flight response in order to help Kirishima off the floor.

His skin still feels warm, your hands making sure not to touch the tender parts of his skin from his fight. Even though he was smiling, you could tell he was in some pain. Your worst fear was already being realized-he got hurt over you. For you. You could never repay him for that, the guilt seeping into your core. 

“Kiri are you okay? Please tell me you are,” you pushed out, the tone of your voice desperate and pleading. “I’m so sorry-“

Kirishima looked up, his vermillion eyes as bright as ever as he caresses your cheek, sweeping the single tear off your face.

 “For what? You did nothing wrong y/n, you don’t have to be so sad over me-this is my job after all!” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood as you began to help him stand up. He was slightly wobbly on his feet but seemed to be doing just fine. 

He gave you a small smile, a hint of worry in his eyes as he heard footsteps coming behind him.

“Just-let me do the talking, Kay?” He waited for you to give him a nod, his hands giving yours a gentle squeeze.

“Do you still have the wallet you stole?”

“The-? Oh, yeah, I do,” you stated quickly, the wallet resurfacing in your mind as you rummaged in your jacket, pulling it out and shoving it into his hand.

“Thanks,” he smiled at you, his cheeks warm as he faltered for the smallest second. 

It was evident he wanted to lean in and kiss you-the way he stared at your lips was quite evident and brought a blush to your cheeks. 

But Kirishima was still on duty, and couldn’t be so openly romantic when he was in his hero suit as well being approached by law enforcement. He instead opted to kiss your cheek, the smooth skin of his lips warming your whole body as he walked over to greet the police officer. 

Kirishima has spoke to the police officer for quite a while, a few others watching close behind as they surveyed you. You felt strange, standing there so alone as you watched Kirishima talk to the officer so warmly. 

You didn’t know what he was saying, or what he was doing, but you were hoping he was somehow sweet talking the officers. You watched him point to you at one point, his warm smile assuring your terrified face as the officer looked you up and down tentatively.

He motioned you to come over, as if trying to get a frightened animal to come near him. You followed his command, your steps hesitant as you approached the two men.

The officer face was hardened until he saw the look of terror on your face, his expression softening slightly.

“This is her?” He asked gruffly, turning to Kirishima.

“Yes,” he nodded his head in confirmation. “The LOV have been brainwashing her for their plans-she has intel the heroes could use to our advantage. Fat Gum’s agency needs her straight away in order to get that info from her. I promise we will get her in the system and any other information you may need on file.”

The officer gave you two a long look, sighing as he scratched his chin.

“Alright,” he complied, a huge smile erupting on Kirishimas face. “You two need a ride? You look pretty messed up.”

Kirishima gave a small chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Uh-yeah, THAT'D be pretty nice actually-“

After the small car ride to Fat Gum’s agency, you had helped Kirishima out of the car and to Fat Gum’s office at the top floor. It seemed like someone had already alerted Fat Gum to Kirishima's arrival, because you two were instantly met by the pro hero with worried eyes once you reached his office.

“God Kirishima you had me so worried for a second!” He yelled, striding over to the bruised hero, “that receptionist really made it sound like you were in need of medical attention or something-“

“I’m fine Fat, you don’t gotta worry about me!” Kirishima said good naturedly, his perfect teeth glistening in the fluorescent lights. “I actually have some things I need your help with-“

“You definitely do if you're bringing a civilian into the office,” FatGum stared down at you with a warm smile, your heart beating guiltily. It was strange to see the hero in normal clothing in not in his larger form, his stature so much smaller it seemed from his usually large frame.

“The names Fat, but you can call me Taishiro!” He held out his hand in front of you, his bright personality radiating off of him, “and you are-“

“I-I’m y/n, sir,” you said hesitantly, taking your smaller hand in his. He was just as warm as Kirishima, like a bright ball of sun. 

No wonder Kirishima interned with Fatgum-he was just like him. Bright, fun, kind. Everything you so dearly craved for in your life, but couldn't quite grasp.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a civilian-I’m a criminal, a Villian,” you muttered sadly, your head hanging low, “well, I was-“

Fat Gum gave Kirishima a confused look, his happy exterior dropping slightly. 

“She was being forced to be a Villain by Shigaraki,” Kirishima quickly stepped forward, his tone serious as he defended you. “She wanted to leave the LOV, but they were threatening her.

“She didn’t do anything wrong-she just wanted to protect herself and the people around her.”

Fat Gum scratched the side of his cheek, his eyes lost in thought.

“Well Thats a strange situation to be in-I’m assuming you two know each other?”

You looked at Kirishima, red blossoming your cheeks just like his. 

Maybe it wasn’t the best time to tell his mentor that you had dramatically broke up with Kirishima over 3 months ago.

“We uh-“ Kirishima started, his voice wavering in uncertainty.

“We were classmates,” you chided in quickly, “I went to UA along with Kirishima, but the LOV forced me to leave the school.”

Fat Gum nodded his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “So-you’ve been working as a Villain, but against your will?”

You nodded your head, your breath caught in your throat as you awaited for the hero's reaction to this news of your true identity.

“This will get a little fuzzy legal wise, especially if people are looking for you-some may not trust what you say, even if you left the League and do everything in your power to change their minds.”

“Don’t worry though, I believe you,” the hero placed his hand in your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I believe Red Riot full heartedly in his perception of others and I’m pretty good at reading people too. I can tell youre not what the League tried to make you into.”

He sent you a warm grin, making you feel safe for what had felt like a long time.

“Would you be willing to answer questions about the League? about how they operate, how large they are, their plans-“

“Yes, anything to end them and help the heroes,” you answered quickly, your tone set in determination, “I’d be willing to do all of it.”

“Well that settles it!” Fat Gum said happily, the smile back on his face. “Tomorrow we’ll start talking to you about your experience with the League-but you two seem to need a well deserved nap.”

“Why don’t you keep her in your apartment Kirishima?” FatGum turned to the hero, Kirishimas dusted in pink by the proposition. “Shell feel

a little more comfortable since you're someone she knows, and she’s also close to the agency.”

Fat Gum gave you a soft smile, his eyes filled with reassurance. “Heroes will be around all day and all night, so nobody can come in and out.”

It surprised you how intuitive the hero was-he knew exactly how you were feeling. 

Even though you knew it was foolish, you still felt that somehow the League would find you and try to bring you back. You had clearly defied them, and it scared you that they be trying to get their revenge. 

But Fatgums charming smile was so reassuring and welcoming, you couldn’t give him a small smile back.

“I think I can manage that arrangement.”

“Good then,” he gave you two one last smile, ushering you two out the door, “make sure to get some rest-tomorrow will definitely be a long day. Make sure those injuries are doing well too, alright?”

You both gave the hero a curt response, turning your backs from the now closed doors.

Kirishima's heart began to beat intensely, his stomach filling with butterflies.

You had agreed to stay in his room? God, if someone had told him a few hours ago you’d be staying the night with him, he’d wouldn’t believe it for a second. But now this was happening, and he couldn’t be more ecstatic or nervous.

He stared at your profile, not missing the dusting of red on your cheeks-you were nervous too? It made him feel a little better inside, a small smile gracing his lips as he stretched out his hand.

“You ready?”

You looked down at the outstretched sha s in front of you, taking his palm in yours tentatively.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” 

He lead you through the agency, taking an elevator a few levels down in order to get to the apartments specifically for the heroes in training.

It was a short trip, but the fatigue that wa a beginning to hit your body was making it feel so much longer. The adrenaline rush you had felt all night was wearing off, your eyes fluttering as you will yourself to stay awake.

Kirishima noticed your sleepy state, a small chuckle escaping from his chest.

“You feeling tired?”

“Just-a little,” you yawned out, wrapping your hands around your body.

“Don’t worry-were almost at my place,” he gave you a sweet smile, his hands outstretched for yours as the elevator door opened. You took it gratefully, letting him lead you to his door as he opened it with ease.

You stepped inside, adjusting from the darkness as you took in the sight in front of you.

The room smelled of him-the warm and musky scent ofhis cologne lingering in the air. It was almost teasing you with its memories, a wave of comfort washing over you as you recalled all the times you buried your nose into his neck and smelled his scent. 

His room was pretty neat, surprisingly, his desk organized and his walls decorated with a few posters. You recognized some from his old room at UA-a Crimson Riot, his favorite band, and even a calendar he used to use frequently.

Some areas of his room signaled the busy life of his work stidy, his unmade bed strewn with clothing he had hastily ripped off, a small pile of clothes in a pile and his laptop charging in a corner of the room.

Kirishima cursed himself as he looked around the room, painstakingly noticing every little detail and mess, hating how he hadn’t cleaned up his room that day.

“Sorry for the mess, I didn’t expect to have anyone,” he chuckled nervously, already going around and picking up his things.

“It’s fine-I like it,” 

You were speaking the truth when you said it-you liked how it was so him, showing a glimpse into his daily life. It was warm and comforting, even residential, to see him in his day to day life.

“You do?”

You hummed a “yes”, feeling your heart beat fast when Kirishima closed the gap between you two, his palms gently grasping your arms. He breathed in a deep sigh, holding you close.

“God, you don’t know how much I missed you,” he sighed out breathlessly.

“I missed you too Kiri,” you looked down, old guilt resurfacing inside you, “I’m still sorry for being so-so mean to you-I should have just told you the truth, I shouldn't have lied-“

Kirishima smiled softly, lifting your chin with his finger.

“Don’t worry about that! That was in the past-now it’s just you and me, kay? You don’t have to worry about any of that, now”

He gave you a long look, sorry buried in his brows as you ran his fingers along your skin, feeling the bags under your eyes. You inhaled a deep breath, loving the electricity Kirishima set into your skin just from his touch.

“You really are tired, huh?” He asked quietly, his voice husky from exhaustion himself.

“And you're not?” You gave him a quirky smile, making him blush with a chuckle.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” he gave you a small grin, his hands returning back to their spots on your arms.

“Do you wanna sleep? You can take the bed if you want-I know it’s not made, but I can sleep on the couch if you’d like-“

“I want to sleep with you,” you replied softly, your eyes widening once you realized what you had just said.

You wanted to sleep with him? God, you sounded so perverted! 

“I-I mean I want to go to bed with you-I didnt mean-I just didn’t want to make you sleep somewhere else, since this your room-“

Kirishima's face was incredibly red, but the smile was still plastered on his face.

“Oh it’s alright, I really don’t mind either way.“

He pulled himself away from you gently, as he began searching through his dresser for some clothes.

“So-bed together?”

“Yup!” You replied back, popping the p as You sat on the unmade bed, your fingers dragging against the plus fabric as Kirishima turned around, sitting in front of you as he handed you one of his shirts.

“I know you don’t have any pajamas, so you can wear one of my shirts until we get you some clothes.”

“Mm, sounds good,” you smiled tenderly, loving how close he was as you ran your hands through his hair.

He sighed into your touch as he nuzzled into your skin, his breath warm against your skin.

He sat there for a few moments, finally rising sluggish and slow.

“Gotta move-or I’ll fall asleep right there,” he chuckled, walking over to the front of his closet. He began to take off the pieces of his hero suit, the large gears on his arms hitting the floor with a thud.

You admired how broad his shoulders were, the way his muscles rippled so evidently as he moved his bones to his will. He was so perfectly built, you could t help but drool at the firmness of his skin.

“Having fun over there?,” he turned around, a shit eating grin plastered on his face as he undid the belt around his waist.

“Just a little,” you gave him a small grin, hear flooding your face as you held the shirt close to your chest.

“You can go change in the bathroom if you’d like-you don’t have to stay out here if you’re not comfortable,” 

“And what if I am?” 

You laughed at the clearly evident blush on his cheeks, his face trying to hide the rush of embarrassment.

“Your a handful,” he chuckled, his hand running through his hair nervously.

He knew you were joking, and you two had only sorta, maybe gotten back together lass than an hour ago-but damn if he wasn’t nervous and excited by you being so flirtatious-in his room. 

For the rest of the night. 

You gave him one last smile before you disappeared into the bathroom, your hands closing the door gently.

God, it felt so nice to be in his arms again, to feel safe and warm. You had missed the fluttering feeling Kirishima gave you, like you could fly away  at any moment and you could care less. You brought your nose to the cloth of the worn shirt, the powerful smell of his detergent and cologne washing over you. It was so comforting, a nostalgic feeling filling your body as you remembered how much you missed his scent. 

You quickly stripped of your clothes, happy to be free of the uncomfortable garments finally. Since Kirishima didn’t hand you any shorts to wear, you decided to only wear the shirt he had given you over your underwear. The softness of the shirt felt so relaxing against your tired skin, almost like getting a hug from the boy himself. You smiled a deep sigh, happy to see that the shirt was long enough to at least cover your underwear from plan view and you splashed your face with some cold water, rinsing away all the fears from tonight.

You would have a long day tomorrow answering questions about the League-you could at least give yourself tonight to forget and be worry free.

Kirishima was hastily changing before you came out of the bathroom, dreading the idea of you seeing him half naked as he swapped out of his hero suit. He opted to wear something comfortable, grey sweatpants and an old black tshirt, his body running frantically to clean his room. Now that he got the chance to properly clean his room, he was a mad man trying to make it to his liking. He shoved clothes into his closet, made his bed, even hiding cords under his bed. 

If you were going to be in his room, he was at least going to give off some impression of him being neat.

He was now laying on his newly made bed, his hands occupied with checking his phone as he heard the bathroom door opening, your footsteps soft on the carpet of his room.

He looked up, a question about to fall from his lips until his mind went completely blank at the sight of you.

There you were, standing in his room, looking as beautiful as ever wearing his shirt and nothing else. He couldn't help but stare at your legs, worshipping the curves as his mouth was agape from awe.

He didn’t fully prepare himself at the sight of you in his clothes, but god did you wear them so perfectly-

“You okay Kiri?” You gave a nervous laugh, striding over to the bed, settling your knees on the plush comforter.

The shirt road up from the movement t, showing more of those pretty thighs of yours that made him practically drool.

“Ne-never been better!” He tried to compose himself, his voice rising slightly.

God, he needed to get ahold of himself.

“You look pretty comfy,” he gave a small comment on your outfit, loving how bashful you look at the comment.

“Of course I am,” you replied back, crawling over to his side of the bed. He gulped at the sight of you coming so close to him, “I’m in your clothes after all.”

You sat your body next to Kirishima, your hand finding his as your other lightly rested on his stomach. 

“You know, I’ve always thought you looked good in anything,” he smiled, his eyes dark like wine, “but you wearing my clothes-you looked best in that,” 

“Really?” You gave the boy a shit eating grin, knowing full well you were playing a dangerous game now.

This night could end in two different scenarios: one could complicate things, and one could really complicate things.

You’d take the latter, if he was willing.

You shifted your body around him, straddling his waist as his shirt rode up, exposing your thighs even more.

“And what about when they're not on?”

Kirishima's heart beat at an insane pace in his chest-was this wrong to do? He didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t care at that moment.

He returned the smile, his hands traveling underneath the soft shirt.

“Even better.”

Tagging (anyone who commented or asked for a part 2- I tried to get everyone!):

@cellotonin​ @bakugous-forehead​ @lgbtonystarks​ @marrypuffsstuff​ @lady-bakuhoe​ @kurinhimenezu​ @hipster-merchant-of-death​ @hot-pocket01​ @bubblegum-bee-otch​ @kai-charm​

[forevercaroline]

The nine lives of Caroline Forbes chapter 1

For @austennerdita2533, @caritobear, @misssophiachase, @babeyouareenough, @joceysstuff

Xxx

“Come on Rebekah hurry up.”

“You try running in heels.”

Klaus and his younger sister Rebekah and younger brother Kol are running into the tall and open coit tower but these three are not here to see the panoramic views of the city and bay. They followed the man dressed in black and has scars on his face who is sent to kill their kind but at the moment he is after Caroline Forbes who doesn’t know who she is or how to protect herself.

“No please.” The man with scars has cornered Caroline to the edge of the tower she looks down at the ground the people look like ants they are so high up.

The trio hear her cries and Rebekah reaches down and takes her heels off and catches up to her brothers. They are to late they get to the top of the tower as Caroline is pushed off. The man with the scars watches as Caroline’s body hits the pavement.

Klaus reaches out and takes his siblings hands and they turn around quickly and quietly.

The bald guy with scars turns around and watches as the two blondes and brunette siblings are running down the stairs he gets an evil grin on his lips and he chases them down the stairs.

As they get down to the ground. Klaus being older pulls his siblings behind him Rebekah is putting her heels back on behind him and Kol is in front of his sister. Klaus address the man that just killed Caroline. “You would really kill us here out in the open. Knowing who and what we are?”

As the older man with scars saunters towards them drawing a knife pointing it at them. “One way or another you will die if not from my hands it will be from someone’s. The order has declared it.”

Xxx

That morning:

Blonde perky Caroline Forbes wakes up excited for the day to begin today is her sixteenth birthday. All she wants is a convertible bug doesn’t matter what color anything except green or orange.

Her bedroom is as bright and perky as she is and everyone has a dark side too all of that is reflected in her room. With tea dye walls the back wall behind her bed is a black piece of wood with white mandalas over it. As she is getting out of bed with a baby blue padded headboard with her pink striped comfortable and pink and black pillows. She puts on some music and dances as she picks out of her clothes for the day. The sun is shining through the windows of her little nook she has a window seat of red cushions, she has a chair, a footstool and a beanbag in the nook seating area. With her desk one one side and her mirror on the other.

While in her en-suite bathroom taking a shower her mind wonders to the color of car she wants a convertible bug maybe red, or pink, yellow could be cool but maybe blinding they do live in San Francisco, baby blue or regular blue could be pretty.

When she finishes her shower she puts on a pair of denim capris, pink spaghetti strapped tiered cami and a navy textured jacket if she gets cold she also has on black wedges and a silver heart necklace.

She goes down to the kitchen which her mom gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning sweetie.” She hands her a bag which when she unwraps it, its a bag of Reese’s, a new black sweater and two new necklaces one is a gold tear drop with gold balls along the inside surrounding a crescent moon and the other is a tube necklace with three lines hanging down but connected to the other side of the necklace.

Caroline hugs her mom. “Thank you I love them.”

“Your welcome there is one more gift but you can’t see it until tonight.”

She nods and as she is picking up a banana. “Did dad send anything?”

“I’m sorry honey he didn’t we don’t even know where he is its likely he forgot.”

After swallowing some of the banana she looks up at her mom and puts on a fake smile. “It’s ok, I know that he left years ago but I just thought that he would send me at least a card on my birthday its not everyday your adoptive daughter turns sixteen.”

Liz pulls her daughter into another hug, even though she is not the biological parent of Caroline she loves Caroline no different.

Xxx

Before school starts Caroline and her two best friends brunettes Davina Claire and her cousin Enzo Claire are talking by one of the stairwells. “I keep having this strange feeling to visit coit tower I don’t know why. I’m going to try to ignore it.” Caroline rubs the side of her temple ever since, Davina and Enzo picked her up in Enzo’ black Jeep everything has been incredible loud every little noise is amplified she swears she could hear he inner workings of the Jeep it’s giving her a headache.

Enzo’s parents died when he was five and a half, and he was sent from Southampton England to San Francisco to live with his cousin so he has a British accent. “Don’t look now cuz London is coming.”

Davina peaks over her shoulder and bites her lip and just like that Kol and Klaus Mikaelson a devilish duo on a good day are coming down the hallway. Kol has a basketball he is bouncing off the walls and catching it. Klaus and Kol stop in front of the staircase and Kol hands his ball to Klaus so he can flirt with Davina, while Klaus is waiting for them to finish he throws the ball above Caroline’s head and catches it so he throws it again above Caroline’s head who is not thrilled and just waiting for the ball to hit her in the head she reaches up and grabs the ball.

Both Caroline and Klaus walk towards each other with different ideas in mind, Klaus wants the ball back and Caroline wants to give him a piece of her mind. “Listen just because your attractive and British and have dimples and look really good in a Henley.”

Enzo pinches her to stay on topic. “Right doesn’t mean you can throw a ball above my head and I’ll be totally fine with it.”

With one hand Caroline throws the basketball down the crowded hallway and it swooshes into a garbage can near the exit of the school. Students in the hallway are amazed and mummer did you see that, Klaus is speechless and looking down at Caroline but Klaus is not the only one speechless so is Caroline and that whole group.

It’s Enzo’s voice that breaks the silence. “How did you do that?”

Caroline swallows and still shocked. “I don’t know lets go.”

Her and Enzo grab Davina’s wrist and drag her off she yells back to Kol “Talk to you later.”

As Caroline is rushing down the opposite hallway she threw the ball in with Enzo and Davina right behind her Klaus and Kol share a look and watch them flee with amazement.

Xxx

Caroline comes out of science and has to go down the stairs to history when Klaus who is coming up the stairs stops her by putting his arm on the wall and backs her up until her back is against the wall. “ That was impressive earlier. You’ll have to show me your moves.”

Caroline nervous she knows his sister Rebekah better they are friends since the Mikaelsons moved here three years ago she can count on one hand the number of conversations she and Klaus have had one when Rebekah introduced Caroline to her brothers Kol and Klaus she said hi he said hello that was it. “ Moves I dont have any moves. That earlier was a freak of nature.”

“I wasn’t talking about basketball.”

Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Klaus puts a hand on her waist. “Oh I’m not trying to be.”

Caroline has never been this close to Klaus it’s like she can hear his heart beating. She always thought he was Rebekah’s jerky older brother. “ Why are you talking me?”

He leans in and smells her neck. “You smell nice.”

Caroline now a little uncomfortable but when he smelt her his heartbeat jumped. “ Ok its called taking a shower and perfume.”

If it was even possible Klaus gets even closer to her. “Why are you giving me such a hard time Caroline Forbes.”

“We’ve never had a conversation.”

“Looks like we’ll have to change that. I feel like we are going to be great friends.”

Klaus leans down to give Caroline a kiss as his lips hover over hers they both hear. “Klaus!”

They both look at the stairs going upstairs and Rebekah is coming down. With Klaus distracted Caroline makes her escape as she is going around Klaus she smiles at Rebekah. “Hey beks.”

Rebekah smiles at her.

Xxx

Klaus, Rebekah and Kol are sitting in the library and Rebekah hits Klaus in the arm. “Really klaus.”

“We need to know there is only one explanation for the basketball trick this morning.”

“And if she wasn’t she would be dead. And you would be prime suspect number one.”

Kol chimes in with “The basketball stunt is all over school everyone is talking about it.”

“If Rebekah would of not interrupted my test we would know.”

“She’s my friend plus Nik you were coming off creepy. Seriously smelling her neck we don’t have a specific smell making us different then everyone else.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”

Kol asks. “You’ve been friends with her for three years and you’ve never noticed anything.”

Rebekah side eyes her older brothers. “Its not like we are doing ritual sacrifices and I can see if she heals quickly or lazer tag to see if she has night vision, we’re not doing cheerleading or gymnastics to see if she can jump high. Am I supposed to pretend to want to paint her nails and see if claws extend.”

“We need to find out before they find her that is if she is one of us.”

Xxx

Caroline works at a clothing store/bookstore with a cafe. She doesn’t understand the merge of the two but the clothing store goes into the little cafe off the bookstore. There’s no middle wall between the two. While at the counter of the clothing store a brunette teenager comes to her. “ I’m new to this town, do you know cool spots to check out?”

Caroline turns around and comes face to face with the new student at her school Stefan salvatore she had heard there was a new student. “There is a nice cafe over there. It’s California so people like to hang outside.”

Since it’s a slow day at the shop Caroline and Stefan sit in cafe and talk. “How do you like San Francisco so far?”

“Its nice my dad moves us around a lot. Its just the three of us my dad my older brother and me my mom died years ago.”

“I’m sorry, my dad left years ago its like he’s dead we never hear from him.”

As Stefan is leaving Caroline watches him leave he’s cute.

Xxx

All day Caroline has had this lingering feeling to visit coil tower, she doesn’t know why she visited this place when she was younger before her dad left. As she is walking up the stairs to the building she notices a man in all black and has scars on his face. Three claw marks down the right side of his cheek and neck. The man is watching her go into the tower. As she is looking around at the base of the tower she notices the guy is following her. She figures she’ll lose him going up to the tower since there are thirteen levels of stairs.

Xxx

Present:

Rebekah and Kol had snuck away to find Caroline’s body which people have started to surround around. As Kol and Rebekah are trying to get through Kol announces. “Nothing to see here folks just a prank.”

They hear a women say. “A prank I saw her fall from the tower.”

As Kol is lifting Caroline up Rebekah goes over to the women. “Are you sure your feeling ok your saying a lot of crazy stuff.”

Xxx

Klaus opens the door to the penthouse as Kol brings Caroline in, Rebekah rushes over to the couch to make room for Caroline’s body. Their older brother Finn who is on the phone with his wife Sage while looking out the window sees their reflections in the window and pulls the phone away from his ear. “Did you get to her before they did?”

“No but we did bring her here. When she wakes we will explain everything.”

Finn turns around to see Caroline’s lifeless body laying on the couch. “And how do you know this girl is one of us?”

Kol looks up at him. “She one handed tossed my basketball down a crowded hallway and made a perfect basket in a garage can.”

Finn puts the phone back to his ear to tell Sage he loves her and he’ll call her back. “How long has she been like this?”

All three of his younger siblings look at each other. “An hour.”

“The first death and the loss of innocence is always the longest to come back from.”

Xxx

As Kol’s popcorn is finishing in the microwave Caroline’s eyes open and she looks around at the dark penthouse she is in. Moonlight shining in from a wall of windows, she’s laying on a black couch and there two black chairs on each side of the couch. The last thing she remembers is being at coil tower and that creepy guy following her.

Rebekah is in her bedroom and Klaus is in his studio, Kol went to go make popcorn and Finn was in charge of watching Caroline’s body to see if it did something. While waiting Finn called Sage back he wasn’t paying attention to the couch and the now awake blonde.

Caroline looks around and sees Kol in the kitchen pouring popcorn into a bowl and a man she does not know talking on the phone she gets up and is a little lightheaded really confused on how she got here and her headache is still hurting. As she is going towards the elevator Kol comes out of the kitchen and puts an arm around her waist and picks her up.

“You can’t leave yet.”

She kicks him but it does nothing, she never know Kol was this strong. “What is happening and why are you holding me hostage?”

Kol carries her back over to the couch. “I know it looks like that but this is for you own good. Finn you had one job watch her. Can you get Klaus and Rebekah.”

Finn puts his phone back in his pocket. “I’m in charge here you go get Klaus and Rebekah I’ll watch her.”

“No offense Finn but you didn’t do a good job the last time and I think she could take you.”

Finn flicks his hand and claws comes out of his nails. “I think I can handle one teenage girl.”

Kol rolls his eyes and leaves the living room to get his brother and sister. Caroline looks at the elevator and Finn who is looking at his claws. “ I wouldn’t if I were you. Like my brother said I know this looks bad but we are trying to help you.”

“Help me by keeping me in this dark fortress.”

Finn looks over at her and raises an eyebrow. “Fortress, please this a penthouse.”

Kol re enters with Klaus and Rebekah and Caroline rushes for Rebekah and hugs her finally a friendly familiar face.

Rebekah gets her back on the couch and Klaus sits on the arm of the couch next to Caroline his feet on the couch and arms resting on his knees while Kol sits in a chair off to the side and Finn leans up against the window. Caroline looks at them and they are all looking at her. “Will someone tell me what is going on and how I got here?”

All the siblings look at each other none of them want to explain this it’s hard to explain. Klaus begins. “Kol picked you up after you fell and brought you here.”

Kol adds. “To your death you fell and died.”

Caroline shoots up and exclaims. “What I died. I’m dead, the afterlife is full of Mikaelsons. I can’t die it’s my sixteenth birthday I still have not got a car yet.”

Kol looks over at his siblings. “I don’t know whether to be insulted by that.”

Finn sighs. “How did I end up with this?”

“Freya is busy, Elijah is on a date and Sage is out of town on business.” Finn glares at his sister.

Klaus looks up at Kol while Rebekah tries to get Caroline to sit back down. “I was going to ease her into that tidbit.”

Rebekah gets Caroline to sit back down and is rubbing her arm up and down. “Your not dead... anymore. Look you are like us your Mai.”

Caroline looks over at Klaus and raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me I’m not yours.”

Rebekah tries this time. “No Mai are a group of people who have amazing abilities were not all human but not all god we are descendants of a powerful goddess Bestet we were once protectors of humans and used to help Pharaohs but we got sick of taking orders and the mai and humans had a falling out, for centuries now we’ve been hunted. That man earlier with the scars he was sent to kill you and if we didn’t intervene he would of kept killing you.”

“Kept killing me how many lives do I have?”

Finn from the windows tells her. “Nine we all have nine some refer to us as Demigods, our abilities manifest when we are teenagers.”

Caroline looks at Rebekah. “Is this a joke?”

Rebekah shakes her head no.

“I have claws like him.” She points at Finn.

Rebekah lifts Caroline’s hands up and her finger nails are longer and look like claws. Caroline’s eyes widen. “How do they go away?”

“Relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say you didn’t just learn you died and came back with claws and have had a headache all day.” She glares at Kol for telling her to relax.

Finn leans off the window taking charge. “I know you’ve just been told a lot of things and processing but maybe you would like to go home, you said it was your birthday why don’t you go home and celebrate.”

His three siblings look up at him Finn sometimes can be so insensitive. Caroline nods and Finn flicks a finger to Klaus to take her home.

In the elevator down to the lobby Caroline is pacing and Klaus stops her and puts both hands on her shoulders. “You need to relax did you forget that part where we are being hunted if someone sees claws they will try to kill us.”

Caroline nods and tries to make them go away by closing her eyes tightly but nothing. “Breath with me.”

As the elevator doors open the claws disappear.

Xxx

Klaus drives them to her house, as he drives he asks her, “You were born in the Ukraine right?”

Caroline nods. “How did you know?”

“Mai are not born in America, we come from Europe, Ukraine, Russia that’s where my family was born we moved to London later. Since Mai and humans have had a falling out we can never have a intimate relationship with them. You can not date a human I saw you earlier at that clothing store flirting with that new guy at school that’s all it can be Caroline if you kiss him something bad will happen.”

“Bad how bad?”

“If a Mai kisses a human the human dies best case scenario paralyze before death.”

Caroline turns towards him as he pulls up to her house. “Mai can only kiss mai.”

Klaus nods. “Want to practice.”

Caroline rolls her eyes. “Any more changes?”

“Claws, enhanced hearing, faster reflexes, hyper awareness, accelerated healing, night vision, your stronger now and what am I forgetting oh yeah a tail.”

“What?”

Klaus laughs “Just kidding. About the tail everything else you do get.”

As she is opening the car door. She tells him. “Not funny.”

“Don’t worry one of us will always be there for you, watching out for you.”

Xxx

As Caroline is coming up the front stairs of the two story home she shares with her mom. When she opens the door Davina and Enzo jump out and yell “Surprise!”

Caroline screams and in seconds Klaus is right behind her he places a hand on her shoulder and she jumps they both can hear how fast Caroline’s heart is beating. Klaus leans down and whispers in her ear. His breath tickling as she hears. “Breath.”

She looks up at him surprised he’s here, she thought he left how did he get there so fast. “You forgot this in the car.” He hands her a long black velvet jewelry box. “Happy birthday.”

Xxx

After he leaves Davina and Enzo surround her. “What was Klaus Mikaelson doing here? And what did he give you.”

“You two have had quite the journey today from where you two were this morning.”

Caroline rubs her temple she can hears heartbeats, car’s driving past, clocks ticking, conversations in other homes their TVs. People going for nightly jogs she can hear their music. “Its been an interesting day.” She opens the jewelry box and her eyes widen at the beautiful diamond infinity bracelet.

Liz comes home and sees her daughter and two best friends on the couch. “Your present is here.”

Caroline’s eyes widen and Liz puts her hands over her daughters and guides her outside and there in front of the house on the street is a powder baby blue convertible bug. “Ahhh thank you so much mom.” Caroline flings her arms around her mom’s neck.

Xxx

Later that night after Davina and Enzo went home Liz pulls out a small cinnamon crumb cake for two she gives Caroline and fork and they sit at the island and eat it. After they finish Liz tucks a piece of hair behind Caroline’s ear. “Did you have a good birthday sweetie.”

“It’s definitely one for the books.”

Liz pulls out a card and hands it to her daughter. “This was in the mailbox.”

The envelope does not have a return address it’s addressed to her. She opens the card and all it says is Happy Birthday H.R.

Every year she gets a card from H.R. she doesn’t know who they are and there is never a return address. She has all of them in a shoebox under her bed. One day she hopes to find out who H.R. is.

Xxx

As Caroline is drifting off to sleep Klaus is sitting on her roof watching to see if any harm will come to her. Also her email dings and it’s a email from her father that says happy birthday.