#my thumb is numb from this project it was so intensive

[thecorgayarts]

The latest issue of Vestiges Magazine!

I love fake zines. This is my contribution to @artists-guild-of-exandria calamity event. I'll post individual pics of everyone, WIP/Process, and detail shots later.

First is the cover, then some interior ads.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Domination.

A commission for the very lovely @evaesis​. 

Word Count: 4k.

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi/OC (& Slight Yandere!Overhaul/OC).

TW: Non-Con, Dub-Con, A/B/O Dynamics, Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Slight Exhibitionism, Non-Consensual Touching, Mind Break, Physical Abuse, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, and Possessive Mindsets. 

There was someone in Kit’s apartment.

She knew there was. She knew there was, she’d known since the moment she found her deadbolt undone, a new scratch next to the lock, the interior of her flat just a little too quiet not to be suspicious. She should’ve been used to it, now, considering her quirk, how it heightened her senses, how often it seemed to attract fans a little more proactive than most, but she still found it difficult to fight that familiar paranoia, the feeling that something was wrong, even if evidence was sparse. She tried to ignore it as she pushed open her front door, but it was difficult to suppress. It was always difficult, for—

“Are you ignoring me, Bluu?”

Her anxiety spiked, but dropped just as quickly. Right.

She’d managed to forget about the phone in her hand, Aizawa still loitering on the other end.

She took a second to sigh before she moved it back to her ear, already hitting herself for letting such minor details get under her skin. “Trying to,” She countered, stepping through the threshold, dropping her bag on the nearest table before bothering to grope for a light switch. “You were talking about tomorrow’s stake-out? C’mon, I’m dying to hear how two Pro-Heroes will somehow, against all odds, spend eight hours staring at an empty storefront.”

There was a hum, a breath of a laugh, but Aizawa was just as stern as ever when he went on. “Don’t change the topic. If something’s wrong, I can—”

“You can go home and relax.” Her lights flickered on, and Kit’s nerves eased. Her furniture wasn’t toppled over, her windows weren’t broken, and nothing was out of place, even if her ears were still pressed to her scalp, her tails flicking anxiously behind her. “I’m a big girl, alright? If anything’s wrong, I can handle it.” Aizawa hummed skeptically, and Kit groaned, making her exasperation clear, as she went on. “Goodnight. Make sure you’re ready to be this helpful tomorrow, Mr. Alpha.”

“Make sure you’re still alive, tomorrow,” He retorted, trying and failing to hide the fondness in his voice. “Keep yourself safe. I don’t work with corpses.”

He hung up before she had the chance to respond, leaving Kit in frustrated, giddy silence. Tossing her phone on to the closest table, Kit tried to take her own advice. She’d just gotten off of patrol. She was on high-alert, she was exgausted, and she was projecting that onto the place she wanted to feel safe the most – her apartment. She wanted to feel safe, but she didn’t want to let herself. She just wanted one more fight, a few more minutes of adrenaline, and if she couldn’t find one, her irrational instincts were content to make one.

And then, she caught it. A hint of smoke, something similar to burnt sugar. Caramelized past the point of sweetness, but still pleasant enough to cover up the rot, just underneath it.

An arm wrapped around her waist, a chest slotted itself against her back, and Kit grit her teeth, fighting the urge to kick herself for not listening to her irrational instincts sooner.

“Talking to an alpha behind my back, dollface?” The voice was rough, low and raspy, at the same time, and Kit recognized it instantly – Dabi, a member of the League of Villains, a familiar face from the other side of battle fields and walls of fire that always seemed to be just a little too far for Kit to fight, beat, and arrest, before he could cause any more carnage. Anger shot through her, bright and blinding, but the feeling dimmed into numb, logical terror as a scarred hand rose, wrapping around her neck, his palm just hot enough to remind her of his quirk, of the damage it could do in seconds, if she gave him a reason to use it. “Try anything, and the whole fucking building goes up.” His tone was still light, teetering on the line between careless and calculated, but Kit knew better than to test him. If Dabi made a threat, she knew he’d be good for it. She’d already given him plenty of chances to prove that, unfortunately. “I just need to help my friend with somethin’, sweetheart. Nobody has to get hurt.”

She could’ve fought back. She wanted to fight back. Dabi wasn’t good with close-ranger combat, but she was, and she could’ve fought and won, if she tried to.

But, as soon as she caught a stroke of red in her peripheral, as soon as she heard that sigh, she knew she couldn’t. Not if Keigo was here.

Not when she knew he’d sooner slit her throat than let her interfere with whatever plan the Hero Commission had arranged for him.

In his defense, he seemed hesitant. His expression was grim as he stepped into Kit’s line of sight, his wings folded against his back and his mouth set into a small frown. She only got a moment to glare, though, before Dabi drove his heel into the back of her knee, shoving Kit to the ground and grabbing her wrists, forcing them against the small of her back while she growled, baring her teeth to both of the men that surrounded her. She wouldn’t fight back. She wouldn’t blow his cover, but that didn’t mean she had to be nice about it. “Bastards,” She spat, Dabi’s hand already slipping under her shorts, his intentions becoming more unignorable with every passing second. “Don’t touch me. What the fuck do you think you’re—”

“Don’t take this personally.” At least Keigo fit the part, just as cold and just as villainous as his more sincere counterpart. “It was Dabi’s call. I would’ve gone with a civilian, if it was up to me.”

“Our initiation.” It was a purr, this time, punctuated by a chuckle as nimble fingers found her panties, tracing the shape of her slit through the thin fabric. Despite herself, her breath hitched as his thumb caught on her clit, pushing a slow, deep circle into the vulnerable bundle of nerves. “You should feel honored. Another villain would’ve been easier, and there’s gotta be a hundred different sidekicks easier to track down than you, but I figured if our golden boy wants to prove he can get his hands dirty…” There was a pause, another laugh, this one muffled by the dip of her shoulder. “Might as well let him have a taste of my favorite little Hero before I take her home, right?”

An initiation. That was what he claimed this was for – Keigo’s initiation, but Dabi didn’t seem in a rush to pull away. He took his time, pushing open-mouthed kisses into the side of her neck, nipping at all the tiny, sensitive spots that made her eyes clench shut, her body jerk under the oh-so-generous attention of an alpha. She didn’t want him to touch her. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, but her body did, and that was enough to spur Dabi forward, a deep chuckle falling from his lips as his gaze shifted, rising to Keigo, still kneeling stiffly in front of her. “Didn’t take you for the shy type, rookie. Get down here, before I start to think you’re havin’ second thoughts.”

Keigo rolled his eyes, but his hesitation was playful, at best, a show put on for Kit’s sake rather than his own. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun.” His tone was light, but the way he moved was stiff, clinical, his fingertips barely brushing against her waist as Dabi pulled back, giving her just enough distance to let Keigo take the lead. Keigo didn’t argue, only taking his place, his lips ghosting over the edge of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, just quietly enough to let Dabi believe it was some idle threat. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

At least she didn’t have to lie. Her lines were the same, regardless of his role. “Go fuck yourself.”

If nothing else, Keigo tried to keep his word. It was a small mercy, how little he used his hands, how swiftly his feathers cut through her shorts and her panties, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful, not when she still felt so exposed under Dabi’s prying eyes, not when it just gave him more skin to touch, more to burn. She didn’t need to be prepped. There was already slick coating the inside of her thighs, heat pooling at her core, her omega instincts reacting to the alphas’ pheromones before she could will herself not to, but Dabi must’ve been feeling nice. Whether or not she needed it, Dabi still took the time force two fingers through her tight entrance, the sudden intrusion drawing out a pitiful whimper that only seemed to make Dabi’s grin widen further. It was too intense, for something so thoughtless. He didn’t set a pace, didn’t try to find a rhythm, just curling his digits, spreading them apart, aiming for whatever made Kit grit her teeth and bow her head and keen, loudly, needily, despite how hard she fought not to. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was…

It felt good, and she hated him for it.

By time he pulled away, she was bent over, squirming in his hold and panting, trying desperately to ignore the hum Dabi let out as he popped his fingers into his mouth, all sick contentment, all satisfied pride. There was a squeeze to her wrists as he acknowledged Keigo, barely offering a nod before shoving her into his chest, finally letting him take the lead. “Get it over with, pretty boy.” It was an order, not a request. If Kit was in a more sympathetic mood, she might’ve felt bad for him. “Before I get tired of watching you sulk.”

Keigo didn’t force her to watch. With her hair strung around his fist, his nails dug into her scalp, he forced her face into the crook of his neck, keeping Kit on her knees as fabric rustled and the tip of his cock bumped against her pussy. “I’ll be gentle,” He muttered, and Kit had to wonder why she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.

Then, he thrusted into her, not bothering to pause until he bottomed out, and Kit had her answer.

~

Dabi hadn’t been kidding, when he said he’d bring her home.

She tried to pretend he had been, sometimes, to close her eyes and pretend she was anywhere except the damp, dank cellar of whatever warehouse she’d been sedated and trapped inside of, but it was difficult. The quirk-cancelling collar around her neck was too heavy to be ignored, pressing against the base of her throat with an uncomfortable chill, and she couldn’t seem to get used to the way the chain attached to it rattled every time she tried to move. The concrete made it difficult, too, scraping against her knees, threatening to draw blood whenever she tried to shift, whenever Dabi’s grip tightened around her tether and he saw fit to drag her in one direction or another. He was good, at that. He knew how to keep his eyes on her, even if her gaze could hardly be called adoring.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice did little to endear her any further, a smug simper already tugging at the corner of his lips as his free hand dropped to the base of her ears. He was sitting on her cot, the only piece of furniture in that god-forsaken basement beyond a few forgotten crates and boxes she couldn’t bring herself to open, leaving Kit to sit between his legs. He’d been kind enough to edge his jeans down, his shirt discarded completely, his cock half-hard and already on display. He wasn’t feeling patient enough to force Kit to do it herself today, obviously. “I’m on a schedule, ‘ere. I’d love to play around, but I’m afraid I’m gonna need my omega to do her job, today.”

He said it like she had a choice, like his fingers weren’t already tangled in her hair, jerking her towards him until the flushed tip of his cock was pressed against her cheek, pre leaking onto her cheek as his palm grew warmer, just hot enough to be searing. Kit got the message quickly. If there was any silver lining to being with Dabi, it had to be that. He didn’t bother pretending he was any less depraved than he’d already proved himself to be.

She tried to get it over with as quickly as she could. Relaxing her throat, Kit closed her eyes and let Dabi thrust into her mouth, playing with the idea of giving her time to adjust before dragging her forward, only stopping when her nose met his pelvis and Kit gagged, her chest heaving as she tried to blink away the tears welling in her eyes. If Dabi cared, he didn’t try to show it. With an airy groan, Dabi guided her into a rhythm that fell between unhurried and uncaring, between self-sacrificing and selfish, slow enough to be agonizing but consistent enough to keep Kit on-edge, unprepared despite how predictable he was starting to become. Still, she tried to get used to it. To let the tension in her shoulders dissolve, to ignore his bitter, musky taste, to—

“She can still bite, y’know.”

To let Keigo ruin it, just when she’d gotten good at disassociating.

Dabi didn’t pause, but he lifted his head, eyeing the man leaning against the far wall, watching carefully. She supposed she should’ve been thankful for Keigo’s lasting heroism, his persistence when it came to making sure Dabi didn’t leave damage beyond burns and bruises, and yet, it was hard not to hate him for it, too. Just the raspy chuckle Dabi let out was enough to irritate her, enough to spur her loathing for the cause, rather than the source. “I’ll take the risk,” Dabi replied, only making the idea more tempting. “Wouldn’t be that bad, if she tried. ‘d give me an excuse to—fuck, give me an excuse to teach my omega some manners.”

There was a pause, a second filled with Kit’s heavy breaths and Dabi’s quiet swears. “She’s not yours.”

Without warning, she was shoved back, forcefully separated from Dabi with an audible pop. Kit moved to speak, but she didn’t get the chance to, not before his hand was clamped around her chin, his forefinger and his thumb digging into her cheeks as he stared down at her, a smirk painting itself across his lips after a long, careful second. Blatant, unconcealed, unashamed. Like he’d already forgotten Keigo was just across the room.  Like he’d never cared at all, as long as Kit was still kneeling at his feet.

As long as she was still powerless, compared to him.

“Not yet.”

~

At least Keigo had the courtesy to leave, this time.

To be fair, he’d done his best to stick around. He’d perched himself on a storage crate as Dabi left his first bitemark on Kit’s neck, sat on the stairwell as he pried her legs apart and made Kit cum on his tongue, lingered in the doorway when Dabi brought in his first set of ‘toys’, but today, he’d chosen to make himself sparse. It felt like a betrayal, in a way, one greater and more hurtful than the faux sacrifice that’d gotten her into this. Like he’d left her. Like he’d pushed her into a lion’s den, promised to rescue her after a few bites, then pulled up the rope behind him. But, at the same time, she was relieved. Anyone would be. She had to be.

It would only make it more painful if Keigo had stayed to watch the beast tear her apart.

Her head was fuzzy. Her mouth tasted like dust and her tongue felt like cotton, and her whole body seemed to throb. It was probably the exhaustion, the poor sleep and the dehydration and the lack of sunlight, and the fact that she hadn’t so much as seen her suppressants in more than a month didn’t help. It was all she could do to keep her arms crossed under her head, her back arched in a way that wouldn’t break her spine as Dabi pounded into her, his hands on her hips and his cock abusing her poor, drooling cunt. This was the first time he’d fucked her, really fucked her, and it showed, his satisfaction oozing out in his pheromones, his wild grin, the way he couldn’t seem to think about doing anything but bucking into her faster, deeper, harder.

 She was used to it, or she should’ve been, at least. He usually focused on his own pleasure, Kit’s needs serving as something unnecessary enough to be completely forgotten, but it would’ve been impossible not to react as he rutted into her pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to squirm and whine and go tense, if only because she knew there was no way out of his iron-clad grip. She did make a half-hearted attempt, clawing at the sheets and struggling, but Dabi put a stop to her futile attempts to fight back with a single hand, pressing the heel of his palm into the base of her spine and letting his skin smolder. Instantly, she went still, but the heat remained, lingering as Dabi chuckled. “C’mon, baby, you’re still gonna try that?” There was a pause, a thrust sharper than the rest. It felt like he was trying to fuck her cervix rather than her pussy, honestly. “Haven’t I been a good alpha? Tell the truth, now.”

He wasn’t a good alpha. He wasn’t a good anything, but her tongue felt heavy, her brain too hot to think, and for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say that. Still, she tried. She didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive herself, if she didn’t. “I don’t have a… You aren’t my—”

Another flare, another warning. This time, Kit screamed, and she could feel Dabi’s cock twitch inside of her. “I’m your alpha.” It was a growl, deep and throaty and overwhelming. He wasn’t asking. It wasn’t a choice. “I’m your alpha. You belong to me. You’re my omega. Say it.”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t believe it. She knew what an alpha was supposed to be, what her alpha was supposed to be, and he wasn’t it, he couldn’t be, even if he made an effort. He wasn’t nurturing, he wasn’t caring, he wasn’t even nice, not to her, not when he didn’t have a reason to be. She didn’t want him as her alpha. She didn’t want to be his omega. She didn’t want him any where near her.

But, she didn’t want to be in pain, either. She wanted him to stop.

And for just a second, she was willing to do whatever she could to make him stop, even if it meant giving in.

It was a moment of weakness, little more than a gasping breath that could’ve been mistaken for something coherent. She didn’t even realize she was talking, not until her mouth was open, words stumbling out before she could choke them back. “I’m you’re omega!” It was a short, desperate cry, but Dabi didn’t seem to mind. Not if she took the nails digging into her hips as a sign of encouragement. “Please, I’m—You’re my alpha! Please stop, I can’t—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish, not before Dabi bottomed out, filling her cunt with something thick and hot as her entire body went rigid, a bolt of pure electricity that shot for her core to her brain, lulling her into a depleted, fatigued state, something more mindless and more tolerable than what she’d almost gotten used to. She didn’t even flinch back as Dabi leaned down, his lips barely brushing against the harsh, blackened bruises he’d left littered across her skin. She just didn’t have the energy to. She just couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to so badly.

Dabi wasn’t her alpha. She knew that. He wasn’t.

But, she was starting to think it’d be easier, if she pretended he was.

~

Or, it might’ve been easier, rather.

As it turns out, she wouldn’t be with him long enough to find out.

It’d been a trade. She thought it was, at least – it was hard to tell from the position she’d been in, her face buried in Dabi’s chest, her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him the way he liked to be clung to whenever he took her to one of the League’s meetings. She tried not to listen. She really, really tried not to, as the air filled with dust, as she heard someone scream, as even Dabi reacted, holding her just a little tighter while Shigaraki muttered and snarled and bargained, holding her until a man she’d never seen before lifted her out of Dabi’s lap entirely, snapping his fingers once before leaving with her in-tow, cradled in his arms like a damsel in distress. Like a doll, helpless and breakable, freshly bought off a less deserving owner.

He was wearing a mask, an elongated beak that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. A memory resurfaced, dull and distant, the idea of face and a case she hadn’t taken up – something small, non-violent, money laundering or drug trafficking or all of the many things Kit had never taken an interest in. She pushed it away without a second thought. Kit tried not to think about things like that, anymore. It really never ended well, when she did.

She must’ve been staring, but he didn’t see mad when he finally glanced in her direction. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but she thought he might’ve been, beneath the mask. It was enough to give her the confidence to speak, even if her voice still shook. “Are… are you my new alpha?”

“No,” He said, his tone calmer than Dabi’s had ever been. Not kinder, but less needlessly cruel. “But, I’m going to be. We just have to clean you up first, get you to a condition more…” His eyes dropped to the bruises circling her neck, to the dented metal collar at the base of her throat. To the letters burnt into her skin, just barely peaking out from underneath her oversized shirt. “A condition more fitting of my omega.”

Kit fell silent, at that. She didn’t bother arguing. She couldn’t seem to remember why she would.

It wasn’t like this alpha could possibly be worse than her last.

~

‘She’s alive. With Overhaul. If Dabi’s tantrum was anything to go by, he plans on keeping her.’

Aizawa got Keigo’s message a few minutes after midnight, in the dead center of that night’s patrol. He hadn’t been expecting it, honestly. Keigo’s updates were infrequent, rare, more of an obligation than a courtesy, a hint at security in exchange for Aizawa’s promise not to do anything… impulsive, despite his stand-offish reputation. He’d almost lost his temper once, the day after Kit was taken and Keigo privately confirmed that she was with the League, but it would’ve been a waste of energy, back then, it would’ve been a waste of time. He couldn’t do anything, not on his own, not when Keigo was so intent on earning the League’s trust before taking any action to oppose them. Not when Kit was already in so much danger before he had a chance to interfere, before he had the chance to do something half-baked and make the situation infinitely, irreversibly worse.

Not when he’d already thrown away his chance to prevent this entirely, all because he’d convinced himself she’d hate him for doing what had to be done, when she insisted on being so reckless.

But, that didn’t matter. He couldn’t keep beating himself up. He had a better way to spend his time, now. He had better things to do than just worry.

Kit wasn’t with the League anymore, after all. Keigo’s position wasn’t a factor, and Overhaul was much more predictable than Dabi.

It was time to take his omega back, whether or not she still wanted to come.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Have I got a treat for every one this fine Wednesday! X3

Thank you @noire-pandora for the tag! <3

Cue the boys finally having a moment of blissful happiness! *wails*

---

Solas let his thumb ghost along an infant cheekbone, feeling the faintest grit of scales under it. “He reminds me of you.”, he said without really thinking, nostalgia and the tightening of fondness gripping his mind and heart as ivory plate shivered from his touch, but not one of pain.

I am not hurting him, tainting his scales black.

Fane chuckled from beside him. “Does he? I think I see the resemblance. The scales, I’m guessing?”, his dragon teased, uncommonly, but understandably in good spirits.

Solas hummed. “Mm,” He readjusted the cloak, smiling without reservation as the tiny dragon burrowed into it more, a sleepy whimper loosing from a sharp maw. “Not precisely. It is more his spirit--bright even in slumber, strong even when faced with adversity.”, he explained and couldn’t help but let out a quiet coo when another whimper escaped a slender form. “Shh, da’isenatha. You are safe.”

“Here,” Fane reached over, readjusting Solas’ hold a bit and fluffing up a bit of the fur lining to which the tiny dragon immediately sought it out. “..he wants warmth.”

Solas tilted his head, glancing up at Fane and smirking gently. “He is a snow dragon, is he not? Would heat not make him uncomfortable?”, he asked. He only asked due to how the other man practically whined when the fire in their quarters was just a tad too high.

Fane shook his head, eyes soft as they gazed upon his kin. “Not yet.”, he said, slowly taking his hands away when the ‘nest’ was deemed good. “Infant dragons seek warmth from their mothers for the first several weeks, but I think he’ll have to need a source of heat for much longer. His body can’t regulate properly. He’d die in the conditions our breed is supposed to thrive in.”

Solas felt his gaze go hooded when Fane gently ran a thumb along the crown of the dragonling’s head and his whole body felt like mush when a tiny purr rattled through the cloak and up his arms. It was followed by a soft squeak of satisfaction, almost looking as if the line of the infant’s mouth was smiling. It was such a beautiful, mortal sight that Solas didn’t know how much more he could take, but despite that, he pulled the dragon closer, offering him warmth as he desired.

He would grant any desire, any request if it brought a smile forward--on either dragon that he was blessed to know and to love.

Solas hummed, thinking. “Hm,” He shifted a bit, moving closer to Fane absently before settling and looked up into softened emerald and gold with a tentative smile. “Would a warming spell be unwise?”

When Fane only stared at him with a raised eyebrow and curious look, Solas felt the need to justify or rather, explain his request. He wasn’t trying to push magic as the only option, knowing the precarious thoughts on it, but if warmth was sought, warmth could be easily obtained.

Solas cleared his throat gently. “Most of the magic will be contained to my body, of course. The heat is the result of a delicate balance of core temperatures and the residual essence will be projected outwards.”, he explained, suddenly finding himself blushing as Fane’s gaze softened like butter and more or less saying, ‘Relax’. “Ah, in shorter terms, it is akin to a rune warming a basin of water.”

Fane chuckled. “I know what a warming spell is, my sky. You’ve done it for me countless times.”

Solas blinked, blushing more. “Ah, of course.”, he muttered, turning his face away and absently pulling the tiny bundle in his arms closer. What was going on with him? It was as if all thought processes had flown out the cave’s entrance, and had been carried away with the wind, lost to him.

“Solas,”, Fane called out to him, another chuckle lacing his baritone. When Solas didn’t answer the call with his eyes or voice, opting to pluck at a loose emerald thread, one of his dragon’s hands appeared upon his face, beseeching. “--look at me, my sky. Let me see what you’re feeling right now.”

Solas felt his lips draw tight, refusing to look up, but leaning into the blazing hearth that was Fane’s palm. He honestly couldn’t understand what was coming over him. Could it be the atmosphere--cool and soothing, ice and snow smelling fresh, smelling clean? Could it be the blend of emotions that permeated the air--stress ebbing away, gentle joy edging inwards? Could it be how Fane’s thumb began to stroke under one of his eyes--quietly praising, openly relaxing? He had no definitive answer, and for once, he did not care as a willowy body shimmied and huffed out a cool to the touch sigh, finding the perfect spot to resume their plunge into pleasant dreams. Did dragons dream, he wondered? Maybe he should ask, but not now. Now was the time to relish in silence, not soil it with noise beyond whispers and whimpers.

He wanted to cherish this sensation--this sensation of being alive, of being able to hope and imagine a brighter future than what the path depicted before him every day, every night, every hour. Pointed ears twitched as Solas heard Fane let out an airy laugh; the sound was exquisite and it made his body warm without the use of magic.

“I’ve never seen you act this way.”, Fane murmured, but his voice wasn’t displeased. It was more...in awe? Solas wasn’t sure, but he didn’t mind it as he gingerly began to stroke the tiny dragonling with the back of his hand--easily pulling bits of the Fade through to warm the leather. He knew he was acting...odd, but he couldn’t reign it in, couldn’t control the swath of gentle love and tranquility coursing through him.

Solas chuckled, fondness encasing him more as a serpentine head nuzzled against his warmed hand. “I have never felt this way.”, he said, breaking his vow of silence and his vow of not gazing up at his dragon.

The look on Fane’s face had the essence of love blooming into full blown adoration as Solas took it in. Emerald and gold were no longer two, but one--mimicking the most intense waters of the Fade since they appeared to gently glow. Their depths screamed, ‘I love you. I love you. Let me see. Let me see.’, and Solas felt his lungs tighten and his mouth go dry. He, too, wished to see, to see his dragon bask in life, and though it was subtle, Solas knew that that was what Fane was doing every time he caught jewelled orbs flicking downwards to check on their slumbering hope. A tenderly stroking hand was still prevalent upon Solas’ face and he couldn’t help but turn his head a bit to lay a light kiss against it, drawing an all encompassing gaze back his way and also pulling a voice just as sweet as the one in ebbing orbs.

“You’re happy.”, Fane whispered, a soft smile upon his features to match his glittering eyes. “I adore seeing you this way. It’s beautiful--you’re beautiful.”

Solas sucked in a quiet, but shuddering breath before letting it out slowly. “That is--” He clamped his mouth shut as Fane’s face appeared but mere inches from his own, earnestness all over it, as well as the desire to make him see.

“You are beautiful, my sky.”, Fane reasserted, stabilizing arms coming around to carefully embrace him, but mindful of who was between them. “If only you could see yourself right now, through my eyes, and soon, through his,” Solas followed the flicker of gold as it indicated downwards, his heart melting anew as the tiny dragon fidgeted as if it were dreaming. “..you’d understand completely.

Solas leaned into the arms encasing him, eyes going hooded as Fane began to nudge and nuzzle at his cheek and jaw. He felt so warm, so calm, so solid. The tiny dragonling was in his arms, heart perceptible as it beat against his arms, breaths calm and deep as slumber stretched on. His dragon was around him, shielding, holding, and drawing him closer to his form to where Solas could feel a strong, strong heart thumping in time with his own. It reminded him of when he and Fane used to sit along the forest floors just outside of Arlathan, blissfully at ease despite the loom of shadows. His dragon had welcomed him into a ‘hoard’ of one back then, and he was being welcomed again in a hoard of two.

He was being accepted by a being who never should have accepted him due to what and who he was, but actually came to love him, to take a form that had once been reviled and thought of as no better than an insect’s just to...be with him. Just as the little one in his arms, oddly warm despite an opposite affinity, seemed to accept him as well, allowing Solas to hold him, to..to care for him. How is it that he felt more kinship with the two proud creatures before him, one small, one dual in form, than he did with any elves or mages? He cared for his people, almost to a fault, but now, it felt as if his...heart was growing, reaching for more, thinking beyond to a world where...coexistence could truly happen this time.

How is it that he felt so alive when even things such as touching a page of a book or holding a brush felt numb?

“You are beautiful, ma’isenatha.”, Solas whispered, unable to keep the tremble from his voice as emotion began to overwhelm him and the sensation of Fane inching closer and closer as if to bridge the miniscule gap between had his heart yearning. “I am merely--”

Fane blinked once slowly, stilling the words that wished to flow. “A person.”, he whispered, a hand coming up to cup his cheek once more and a forehead coming to greet Solas’ own. “A person that’s made mistakes, made errors, but a person that’s loved, that’s cried, that’s cared.” A light kiss fluttered against his cheek, heat rising as surely as a whimper did from his chest.

“Cared so much as to warp the intention. I know what I have done, my dragon, and no matter the justifications, I committed an act unforgivable. To my people and to yours. If I am a person, I am but a shadow of one.”, Solas argued, gently turning his head down to witness pure white with only a splash of obsidian, but even that was pure to his eyes at this moment. He took a bit of the cloak in hand, swiping the edge under a closed eye gingerly and nearly wept when a pleased hum left the beautiful creature nestled in his arms. A question unearthed from that display of wonderful expression. “Would it...be wrong to name one of your kin?”

A pregnant pause, one that had Solas nearly backtracking, mentally smacking himself for being so foolish, but all the dread, all the self-loathing vanished like a barrier as Fane’s lips appeared against his own, warm, tender, and ever depicting of the man the other truly was; devoted. He froze up a bit, gingerly giving the tiny dragonling a squeeze, but no fuss was made, no whimper of discomfort sounded. Solas slowly began to relax, warmth filling him, eyes falling shut, and tilting his head slightly to slot his lips more flush with Fane’s own. The kiss was slow and sadly, fleeting, Fane letting out a quiet hum before pulling away with a hooded gaze and a truly bedazzling smile that made the lower lids of his eyes pull upwards.

Solas blinked, stunned and face warm despite the chill. “...Ma’isenatha.”, he whispered with a tone akin to reverence before unabashedly leaning into the wall before him and nudging against a beautiful jawline. He rested his head against Fane’s shoulder soon after, relishing its stabilizing demeanor, basking in how a hearty heart thumped and thumped and thumped with the drums of life against his side, linking with his own, while a tiny one fluttered against one of his forearms.

What had he done? What had he done to deserve this..?

Fane wasted no time in embracing him, bringing his arms up and giving him a tentative squeeze. Solas chuckled at that obvious display of carefulness, gaze going hooded as he stared up at a being who had defied so much as the little one in his arms did. Tenacity was indeed indicative to dragons.

“Did I break you?”, Fane asked, voice as soft as an echo of thunder, distant, but oh-so near.

Solas scoffed softly, smirking a bit. “Mm, perhaps a bit.”, he said, shifting his head back and forth against the leather of his dragon’s coat. Such a thing would make him bristle with discomfort any other time, but right now everything felt soft and truly perfect. It felt real. “Though, I know it was but your answer to my question.”

Fane chuckled. “Indeed it was.”, he said, glittering orbs of two tones rolling downwards to the slumbering dragonling. “I had a name in mind after I was sure he wouldn’t...die.”

Solas blinked before smiling a bit. “Is that so?”, he asked, smiling more when Fane nodded and his ivory visage flushed a light pink. “Then, the honor is yours, vhenan. Let the world know another dragon yet lives.”

Beauty was everywhere as those words fell from Solas’ lips. In the sharp lines of a devotion borne jaw, in the contours of cheeks and their related bones, in the curves of a smiling, a full blown smiling mouth, in bottom eyelids as they pulled upwards and the top shaded a heavily hue. In this moment, Fane appeared every bit of the beautiful person that he was--dual, but wholly one. Just as the curled up dragonling in his arms was. What had Solas done to deserve not one, but two, wonderful beacons; one, Devotion; one, Hope? He truly, truly did not know, but he wished for those two lights, those two lives, to shine forevermore.

They would endure, even if he did not. But perhaps, Solas would endeavor to push onward right beside, as a new set of sparkling tones--emerald and gold--gazed up at him sleepily, double lids flickering as the tiny dragon blinked away dreams and haze, and another set gazed down, wide-eyed and loudly joyful as those pools finally allowed themselves to fill with tears.

“Yune.”, Fane voiced the name with a shuddering, airy, but deeply joyful laugh. Tears began to roll down his pale cheeks, the delicate drip, drip, drip resounding off the stone ground, but Solas felt no guilt from them, no pain. For they were of happy make, of hope. “His name is Yune.”

Solas nodded, smile of happiness stretching his face to impossible heights, but he didn’t mind it. To bask in life was to share in its tender joy. And this time, he would allow it to permeate his mind and soul without shame, without guilt. For there was hope where there was otherwise not. A tiny questioning ‘chrp’ had Solas blinking gently, newborn orbs staring up at him curiously instead of looking down like the ones brimming with tears.

Those eyes, Solas offered a singular finger to the tiny dragon and felt tears prick at his own eyes as emerald and gold blazed with excitement and already, love. We will keep them colored, little one. Da’isenatha. A term that will be more commonplace. I promise.

“Welcome to the world, Yune.”, Solas whispered, feeling Fane come down to rest his forehead against the side of his eyes. The man was sniffling and quietly sobbing, and it had Solas letting out a shuddering sigh, leaning into the gesture eagerly as Yune--such a beautiful name--let out a squeak of acknowledgement and acceptance.  

Hope. What a beautiful light in the shadows--in this world he had wrought.

----

A bit lengthy, but I COULDN’T DECIDE! *screeches and curls up on the ground like the very dragon I created* 

Tagging (bask in the HOPE): @oxygenforthewicked @varric-tethras-editor @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @drag-on-age @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs and anyone else who’d like to BASK with their own creations! (no pressure, as always! <3)

[mistabullets]

Angst 13 & 15 w/ Giorno please

The Flowers You Give

Characters: Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: It’s been a year since you overthrew the old boss. But so much has changed. Don Giovanna attempts to comfort you.

Content Warning: mentions of deaths, loss of loved ones, grieving, depression, arguing, healing, slight mentions of violence, angst but there’s a happy ending at least

A year had past.

You were trying.

You tried your best to numb the pain. But you missed them. It felt surreal, how fast everything changed. It started when Giorno joined and quickly spiraled when Bucciarati betrayed the old boss. In a span of few weeks, you lost most of your loved ones.

You still had Guido, but he had took things better. He attempted to reassure you it was the future Bruno had envisioned and dreamed of but where was your dear capo to see this all unfold? You tried so hard to be dedicated in your studies, in honor of Narancia. But it was so hard to focus on a research projects or homework when you were crying about how it should have been you, not him. You attempted to fix your insomniac and restless slumber and listened to Leone’s old music player. But then you would wake up from that same old nightmare, taunting you with your friend’s dead body, the hole punctuated through his corpse with a missing heart.

You couldn’t look at Fugo the same. While you never told anyone, you had come to despise his decision, when he refused and called out everyone on their stupidity, how suicidal going up against the don would be. You thought him as a coward. But, now considering what all that haunted you, Fugo may had been right. But the damage was already done; it was over. And while you couldn’t see him as the chosen brother you once had, you recgonized the desolation which disturbed his purple hues. If you searched hard enough, one could see it in Guido’s black orbs, too. It had preyed at your mind, a glint of sorrow in your (e/c) eyes. Passione was no longer a place you could call home.

No laughing, yelling, and crying. Just quiet.

It no longer felt like you were familigia.

**

A year had past.

And you had finally snapped.

You were beckoned into the don’s office by Guido. However, you were not quite sure why he had summoned you for a personal meeting. As one of the higer ranked capos and having close contact with the boss, Giorno had a great amount of trust in your ability combined with your quick thinking and natural skills. You couldn’t help but ponder, if perhaps something might had been wrong.

However, your boss greeted you with a dazzling smile, one that could usually put others at ease. You had liked Giorno. In fact, when you met a year ago, you did develop a mild crush on the new golden boy with emerald eyes. But now, you were too prideful to ever admit that to your don. And you still liked him but when you around him for too long, dread filled your heart followed by your blood boiling and indignation making your stomach do flip-flops.

But none of that had surfaced yet. You returned the smile, albeit fake, considering the force put into it, along with the bags under your tired eyes. Giorno took notice. He had keen eyes and was aware of detail. You were stressed out. “Please, have a seat.”

Nodding, you sat in the cushined seat right in front of his desk. “So, uh, why did you call me in here, boss?”

Giorno, with soft consideration, chose his words carefully. He didn’t want vex you, since he was coming from a place of a concerned friend, rather than your boss. “You know you can just call by Giorno, Y/N. We’re familigia, after all.”

You winced at his words but attempted to brush it off. Sure, Passione is just one big family to him. That’s the motto in most mafias. To be frank, while you used to have a small crush on your boss, you never considered him a brother like you did Mista, Narancia, and Fugo. And you certainly never thought of him as someone with parental warmth and guidance like Bucciarati and Abbacchio. Familigia was not a word to be taken lightly. But you continued, giving a light snort at his request, “Okay, Giorno. Tell me, what’s up? Did something happen.”

“Well... to put it simply, I’m worried about you,” there was an edge of caution with his tone. He was not meaning to offend, but to help.

You quirked an eyebrow , trying to keep your cool. Sure, you didn’t like him going off about the family bullshit but he was still your boss at the end of the day. You looked at him, slightly confused, “What do you mean?”

“I’m concerned about your mental wellbeing. I know it’s been hard for everyone. For me, Fugo, Mista, and you. And it’s hard to talk with each other nowadays since we’re so busy... but it’s been a year since I took over Passione. I know you must be grieving. And I understand your pain—“

“—Stop. No you don’t. I’m always grieving. For the past year, I’m always thinking about them,” you paused, guilt was mixing in with resentment toward Giorno. “Do you ever think of them, boss? Or even grieve for your losses?”

He considered your words thoughtfully. Despite knowing them for a short time, he would forever be grateful. They gave him a grand opportunity and helped him seize it, achieving the impossible. He thought of them everyday, fondly remembering his time with them. From Abbacchio’s piss haze when they first met, to Narancia’s loud music playing in the background, and Mista’s hour long rant about the cursed number four. Giorno cherished the short time he spent being apart of Bruno’s gang. Giorno never had a loving family so he was envious of the natural chemistry which seemed to bounce off of the gang along with the subtle familial dynamics.

Bruno took on the maternal role, having recruit each and every one of you, basically adopting you. Abbacchio was a tough-love-kind-of-man, always making sure the younger ones were in line and keeping order in the family. Mista was the brother who would protect you, from heartbreak and harm’s way. Fugo was the brother who would help you study but would always start a fight for no reason. Narancia was the brother that would plot schemes with you but would constantly up each other’s ass. Then there was you, the youngest, the baby of the family, the weakest stand, the more emotional one; having to face the home you once loved become a distant memory. The reality simply being, that your chosen family crumbling apart and dying in front of you.

“I do think of them. Every day and how they helped me become the person I am today. I do grieve, but not in the sense that you do, Y/N. Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.”

You grimaced, finally snapping at the don, “They’ve died because of you! They barely knew you... hell, I barely know you now! How do expect me to grieve with a stranger?! You... you took away my family! And now you wanna call us family? B-Bruno should be the don! A-And L-Leone...” you hiccuped, tears clouding your field of vision, “h-he should have been his right hand man... N-Narancia should be graduating right now... this... i-it’s not all fair!”

“You’re right. It’s not fair,” Giorno narrowed his green eyes, avoiding your gaze, “but before Bruno died, I promised him to take care of you... and the others. But especially you, since he knew you would be hit the hardest. But I wish he was here to help me. Along with Leone and Narancia. I... I wanted to make things work. You all deserved to be happy as one familigia.”

You sniffled, tears streammed down your face but not daring to attempt eye contact. It was true, you took everything the hardest. You cried out of relief after intense missions, so glad everyone survived. There were times when you cried over trivial matters, such as Fugo calling you a dumbass for not knowing your multiplication tables or the time when Mista had teased you over a small crush had on a local. But Bruno had always reassured you it was okay to cry; it meant you still had a touch of humanity left (or in your case, too much humanity).

Giorno stood up from his desk, approaching you from your seat, deciding it was cold of him to have the desk separate the two of you. After all, this was not a meeting, but rather a heart-to-heart. He kneeled down before you, building the courage to reconnect eye contact while cupping your hands in the warmth of his palms, where life radiated. His thumb rubbed circles into your knuckles. “But I know, they would have wanted you, Guido, and Pannacotta to be happy... to not grieve like this,” he paused, considering what his next course of action would he, “Y/N, would you like to go to my garden?”

You silently nodded, not letting out a peep.

**

He led you by the hand like a lost child, taking you toward his personal garden, the backyard to his office. You knew of it; constantly in the background through the windows. He led you to the middle of the garden, the aroma perfuming a sense of tranquil, replacing your quiet anger. In the center, there was a beautiful marble statue of three men, of similar builds and features, reaching up toward the skies, ascending to the heavens above. It was surrounded by a small fountain, spurting out clear water. It just occurred to you that they may represented your past loved ones but it may have been a coincidence (you doubted it was accidental, Giorno was thoughtful). Around the edges of the fountain were flowers, that now you were up close, you could not identify to any known species from your limited knowledge of botany. Giorno released your hand, kneeled to the earth and picked four buds of different colors. Thank god you were not Mista.

The golden-haired boy gave you the hand picked bouquet with unique colors: pure white, soft orange, lilac purple, and your favorite color, a pale yellow. You looked at them curiously, knowing they were a new species of flowers, perhaps unearthed here. “I named them after you guys...” he explained softly, “that pale blue flower is Guido. That light red flower is Pannacotta. I think you can figure out the rest.”

Tears formed again, but not of anger, more from genuine amazement and the sense of dedication behind the plot of land and the time spent to discover these blossoms. “O-Oh wow... they’re beautiful, boss—sorry, I mean, Giorno. Ugh... sorry, I don’t mean to cry again.”

A serene smile plastered his thin lips, “It’s okay. Crying is fine... but, if you ever feel sad, angry, scared... or just uncertain. Feel free to come here. I... I know it may be hard to believe but I do care for you, Y/N. Like family.”

“T-Thank you,” you said with a slight hiccup. Damn, you really were a crybaby. But that was fine.

A year had past since you last saw them.

You sniffed the flowers in your hands.

And somehow, the smell reminded you of them.

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 3 - The Father

Warnings: Some swearing

Word count: 2k

Where it all began. 

Summary: Mandy finally meets The Father Joseph Seed, and he gives her an offer she has to accept no matter what.

Guest OCs: None

Guest Characters: Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Archangel Raphael [mentioned], God/Chuck [mentioned]

Note: This takes place in 2012.

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

It’s been a few weeks since Mandy Winchester had arrived in Hope County.

Joseph had a few of his followers keep an eye on her. 

God told him about her. That she was the one. The one that will guide the Project to the New World.

She passed through Hope County to get some gas, some grub and sleep. But before that Archangel Raphael had told her about Joseph. That she needed to protect him no matter what.

She had a few encounters with a couple of peggies but of course they didn't get to see her face because the second they broke into her hotel room she planted a bullet in their heads. 

She's a professional hunter, you know demons, vampires and shit but of course no one knows of her job. 

When Joseph found out about the hotel incident, he knew that it was The Mother.

God had told him about her arrival. 

He couldn’t approach her right away. 

The Voice told him to be patient, and that he’ll tell him when the time was right.

Raphael had told Mandy to wait until he approached her, and go with it from there.

Again no matter what happens, Joseph must be protected. 

Then that day came, Mandy was at the Spread Eagle bar with Mary May, Grace Armstrong, and Nick Rye having some drinks. 

When 3 cultists approached her while she's sitting at the bar. 

Everyone in the bar sees them, and are reaching for their weapons. 

"The Father wishes to speak with you" one of them says to her. 

She turns around, forgetting about why she was there in the first place, and says. 

"I don't know who that is. But if he wants to speak with me he can tell me for himself". 

He didn't take kindly to this, forgetting Joseph’s orders.

He aggressively grabs her arm, pulling her away from the bar.

“Let me go asshole!!!” she yells. 

She punches him in the face, knocking him out. 

The other 2 pull their guns out, unsure if they should aim at her because of Joseph’s orders. 

Everyone else in the bar pulls out their guns, and aims at the other 2. 

I mean everyone, Mary May, Nick, Grace, the cook, and a few locals having drinks. 

Mandy who is shaking her hand after punching him says. 

"If The Father wants to speak with me then I will go myself" she says.

“Mandy, you don’t have to go. We have no problem killing these peggie fucks” Mary says to her. 

She replies, “No it’s fine Mary. I just wanna know what The Father has to say to me, and if I need backup, I’ll let you know”.

She leaves the bar, and gets into her truck.

Mandy has learned a lot about the Project at Eden's Gate from the locals

She knows they meet up in a church in the middle island next to Dutch's region, and she’s also 100% sure she knows the eldest brother Jacob because of her husband Joel. 

She knows Joseph needs to be protected because Raphael told her to, and she hasn’t seen him at all. Not even a photo of the man.

Entering the center island, it's all fenced up, and has barbed wire. 

She makes the only left turn down the road to Joseph's church. 

As she pulls closer to the property, she sees the front gate is open. 

A sign in front that says "The Church of Eden's Gate".

"What the fuck am I doing?" she asks herself, “Is this really worth it?!”. 

She steps out of her truck, and approaches the church slowly. 

All the Cultists on the property eyeballing her like she's a piece of meat. 

This isn't the first time a bunch of hillbilly fucks eyeball, and stared her. 

When she gets within 10 feet of the church. 

A man with no shirt on, tattoos, beard, his hair tied up, rosary wrapped around his hand, and yellow Aviators steps out. 

She stops dead in her tracks the second the church doors open. 

“That must be Joseph” she says to herself, “He’s quite a handsome man”. 

He gives her an intense stare that makes her spine go numb. 

Her stomach feels like it's twisting, and turning in knots.

She doesn't say anything, she stands there, trying to make herself look intimidating and fearless. 

This 5'3, 135Ibs, 40-42 year old woman who can knock out a fully grown, bushy bearded, crazy eyed hillbilly Cultist with one punch. 

Tries to make herself look terrifying even though she's had her encounters with monsters in the past.

Joseph looks up at the sky, and he softly says. 

"I have heard so much about you". 

Confused, Mandy doesn't know what to say or do, she stands there and hopes Joseph continues with whatever he has to say to her. 

It's almost like he can read her mind, he steps closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and says. 

"He told me you would come. God said that the The Mother will arrive''. 

“Damn it Chuck!!” she says in her head. 

After a few minutes of not saying anything, Mandy finally speaks up. 

Taking a deep breath. 

"T-the Mother?!?" she asks, confused. 

Joseph nods his head, "Yes" he says softly. 

He places his forehead against hers, his hands on both sides on her head. 

Confusion drowns her mind. 

Joseph moves his head away from hers, and says. 

"The Voice told me you would come. The Mother will show herself. It would be your face". 

He places a soft gentle kiss on her forehead, and pulls her into a tight embrace. 

Mandy, with no other choice, hugs him back. Her hands placed on his chest. 

Hoping he would release her soon because she is beyond confused, and will need to process what is happening. 

Even though Raphael told her, she had to do this. She was still confused by all of this.

After what felt like hours, he lets her go.

The first real question she asks is "Why me?". 

He places his hands on her head again. 

His thumbs rubbing the soft skin on her cheeks. 

Looking into her brown eyes as if he was looking into her soul, he says. 

"It's all part of God's plan, he brought you to me. To be my other half". 

Mandy hasn't been romanticized, or been spoken to like that in several years. 

The only ones she had left in her life are her 2 daughters.

Whom she lost custody of 4 months ago. 

Hearing Joseph's words brings some peace to Mandy knowing that there is someone who cares about her other than her family.

Even though she doesn't know him that well herself. 

He knows her very well, like he's known her for years. 

She knows he needs to be protected, but the other feeling she’s getting is different. 

If she’s developing feelings for him then that's not a good thing.

That’ll put a target on him, and make her look like a traitor to citizens of Hope County that are being tormented by this man, and his followers.

She knows he's not possessed by a demon, or any sort of spirit because her hands are placed on his bare chest, and she's wearing iron rings that were soaked in holy water. 

He holds her in his arms. His left hand on the back of her head, and his other on her upper back.

She looks back, and sees about 15-20 of his followers watching them.

Like they were all waiting for her answer. 

He lets go of her, his arms still wrapped around her, and asks “What do you say?!”.

Unsure, and not knowing what she’s gonna get herself into.

“Umm, can I have a few days to think about it?. Then I’ll give you a straightforward answer”

He nods his head, “Of course”, and he plants another kiss on her forehead. 

He has his followers make a path for her to go back to her truck.

She gets in, and drives back to the Spread Eagle.

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

She pulls up to the bar, still not sure what her answer is.

Mary May, Nick, Grace and Pastor Jerome sitting at the bar.

The moment Mandy walks in the bar Mary immediately asks.

“What did Joseph want?!?”.

“Umm, he uhh” she takes a deep breath, “He asked me if I wanted to be The Mother of Eden’s Gate”.

They all look at her in disbelief, then at each other.

“Well you said no didn’t ya?” the cook from the kitchen asks.

“Well of course she said no” Mary says, “That be my answer right off the fucking bat”.

“What did you say when he asked you?!” Nick asks

“I told him that I would think about it” Mandy responds.

“You’re not thinking about joining those peggie fuckers?!?” Grace asks.

Mandy sits down at the bar, and sighs “On the drive here, it got me thinking, and I thought it would be a good plan. That I say yes to joining them, but on one condition they can’t torment none of you guys, and not just you guys. I mean everyone in Hope County. No stealing properties, businesses, killing innocent people, and forcing them to join the cult”.

They all exchanged looks, and after several minutes of silence Mary spoke up.

“It’s a great plan and all, but do you really want to be a part of their shit?!?”.

“It looks like I don’t have a choice. If I say yes, I give them my piece and they accept it, then you guys are free. But if I say yes, give them my piece and they say reject it”.

“Then it was nice knowing you Mandy!” the cook says from the kitchen.

“I asked Joseph if he can give me a few days to think about it, and he said it was okay”.

“So what are you gonna do?!?” Nick asks.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Either way there’s a chance I might end up dead” she replies. 

“We know you’ll make the right choice Mandy” Jerome says. 

“I hope so too” she says, and gets up from her seat to go outside.

“Where you going?!” Mary asks.

“I have to make a few phone calls” she replies, and leaves to her truck.

She gets into her truck, and drives to a secluded part of Holland Valley.

Behind the Lamb of God church.

She gets out of her truck, and prays to Raphael.

“Hey Raph, it's me Mandy. I need your help, so get down here ASAP”

After a few minutes the sound of wings fluttering behind her. 

“Okay, Raph I really need- Gabriel?!?!” she says before turning around, and seeing a different Archangel.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. You were expecting Raphael” he says, sarcastically. 

Stammering over her words. Unable to even two words together. 

Wha-? Where? Why?!?”.

“Are you gonna finish any of those sentences?!?” he asks with a snarky tone.

“Where’s Raphael?!?” she asks, irritated.

“He sent me on behalf of him” he says.

“What?!. Why?!” she exclaims.

“Okay Man, I’m gonna need you to take a chill pill, and let me explain on behalf of my big bro” he says, again with a snarky tone. 

“Okay, okay, fine. What was he gonna say?!” she says, hands on her hips. Calming down a little.

“He says. Just to summarize it” Gabriel says as he pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it, clearing his throat in an overly dramatic way, and reads it without even looking at it. 

“Just say yes!!!!. Do what you were sent here to do!!!!”.

He balls up the paper, and throws it at her head. “Do the job, and get it over with!!!”. 

Mandy scoffs, “Really Gabe?!. These people are my friends, they’re being tormented by this man and his followers. And if I join Joseph, and his Project I would be betraying them!!”.

Gabriel shrugs, “Well it looks like you should join them to protect your human friends, or not. This isn’t my problem. It’s yours. Peace”. He gives her the peace sign before disappearing. 

“No, Gabe no!!!” she exclaimed, and he disappears.

She groans loudly in frustration, and looks up at the night sky. 

“Seriously?!? Come on Chuck!!!. Fuck!!!”

Mandy knows what she has to do.

In order to protect her new friends, their businesses, and their families.

She has to say yes, and be The Mother of Eden’s Gate.

Hopefully they’ll come to terms on her offer. 

[lieraburaaisuh]

The Lady In White [Prologue]

Synopsis:

When the ghostly figure of a strange jedi appears on the field of battle, wielding twin white lightsabers, no one is quite sure how to react. For the droids she’s just another target. For the Jedi she’s a potential Darksider. But for the clones on the front lines she might well be a goddess.

Liera isn't sure how she came to be in the middle of a battlefield. The last thing she remembers is hiding out in an abandoned temple of dubious origins. But when she feels the fading life force of a nearby sentient all speculation is tossed aside. For Liera is and always has been a healer, and she has a job to do.

Warnings: General violence, loss/grief, and war. Some romance in later chapters, both m/m and m/f. There are hints of clonecest as well in later chapters and the side stories, although nothing explicit.

Note: This is the Third Story in my Series; The Ties That Bind. I will be adding the First and Second stories here soon. As well as the AUs spawned from this long project.

Staring at the stark white helmet laying on its side just out of reach he grimaced in confusion. Everything around him was a haze of blaster fire, cacophonous sounds of battle that rang out across the dusty battlefield. Searing pain radiated through his body, starting at his midsection. Hand trembling he reached down and pressed against his abdomen. Gasping in agony he tries to curse, but all that comes out is a gurgling cough of red foam. Closing his eyes he swallows down the metallic tang and lets his head fall back to the ground. Even if he could be saved there would be no one coming to find him until the battle was won. With a shaky breath he tries to gather his resolve but falters as another cough wracks his broken body.

‘All I want is to live. To see my brothers safe and happy.’ He wonders if it’s too much to ask. He knows that under the Republic he doesn’t have the right to wish for it, but it’s all he desperately wants. Darkness clouds the edges of his vision and a startling cold is slowly creeping through him. It isn’t enough to make him feel numb but it is almost comforting.

Just as he’s finally given in and accepted his fate, praying for his brothers and silently reciting the names of those he would soon be joining, a bright flash of light nearby draws his dull gaze. Pure white, blinding in its purity, fills his field of vision and he wonders if he might have lost his ability to see altogether. But then he should be seeing nothing at all, shouldn’t he? A gentle touch against his cheek make him choke on a gasp of surprise. Had one of his brothers come back for him? He knows he will not last long. He’d seen the absolute ruin of his digestive system, knew his lungs were at least punctured. There was no saving him now. But at least, at the very end, he could be with a brother in his final moments. Someone who would remember him not as a random clone, a number, but as a person who lived and fought and died. A true soldier.

He thinks they might be trying to get his armor off but he can’t be sure, everything feels so distant. A gentle voice calls out to him, sounding wholly unfamiliar but clear as a bell. “Shh, be still. I won’t let you go, I’ve got you.” Slowly a feeling he can only describe as a warm cloud chases away the cold numbness suffusing his body. Is this what the final few moments of death are like? Had his fallen brothers felt peaceful right before the end?

The warmth becomes a scorching heat and he cries out in pain. Gasping he opens his eyes and is confused by his ability to see so clearly. Hovering above him with an expression of intense concentration is a humanoid of a species he’s never seen before. Their skin is a milky white and their long hair is a pale pinkish blonde that reminds him of rose gold. Glowing lavender eyes, a sharp splash of color on an otherwise blank canvas, catch his gaze and hold him captive. There is passion in those eyes yet it is tempered by serenity.

As if noticing his newfound lucidity the humanoid gives him a small smile that is both reassuring and kind. “You won’t be dying today, little light.” There is a gentleness in that voice he has seldom heard in his life and it is both beautiful yet unsettling. “What is your name?”

Focusing on the words he comes to the conclusion that the one holding him is a woman. Maybe it’s the way her voice reminds him of a song or maybe it’s the feeling in the air around them. He can’t decide. But he knows he’s right.

“C-Clip, Sir.” He doesn’t know why he tells her his name and not his serial number. It just feels right.

“I’m Liera. Nice to meet you, Clip.” Slowly the warmth begins to ebb as she takes her hands away from his forehead and chest. Around him the sounds of battle reassert themselves as his awareness snaps back into place. He nearly jumps as he realizes they’re still in the middle of the engagement.

Movement behind the woman catches his eye and he has no time to think about why he’s suddenly able to focus, why the pain is no longer present. From behind the scattered debris of a downed gunship a super battledroid stomps closer, guns aimed at the two of them. Clip’s eyes go wide. Instinct kicks in and he grabs his gun, pulling it up and aiming it at the enemy even as he lays prone. “Look out!” He yells, hoping the woman gets out of the way in time.

What happens next leaves him breathless in awe.

Before he’s even finished crying out in warning the woman is on her feet, head turned to face the threat. From her hands twin blinding lights erupt as the droid opens fire. With the woman standing directly between him and the clanker he dared not take a shot, the risk of hitting her was too great. But as she began to move the gun lays forgotten in his lap, his mouth falling open to gape in surprise. From one moment to the next she went from standing in front of him, almost defensively, to carving the droid into multiple pieces of slag. The bolts hadn’t even slowed her down on her way. She’d either dodged them or deflected them.

Clip had seen jedi on the field before, usually from a distance. But he’d never had the chance to watch one up close like this. He tracked her movements, unblinking, afraid to miss any second of the awe inspiring display. Looking at her weapons as she spun then in her hands he had a moment of confusion. In all the stories he’d heard the jedi’s weapons were always one of two colors. Blue or green. But the twin sabers in her hands were both blindingly white. They lit up the air around her, bathing her in a halo of light. Her long hair, which fell down her back and stopped at her knees, shimmered like silken metal as the blades passed by in a sweeping arc.

With the droid turned into a heap of rapidly cooling scrap on the ground she thumbed her weapons off and clipped them to her belt. There was a look of disgust on her face as she turned away from the broken droid. Turning back to him, her expression softened, though her eyes were bright, appraising him carefully. Swallowing he sat up, trying to straighten as much as he was able. As she walked back to him she stopped, eyes darting down to the helmet at her feet. Almost hesitantly she picked it up, dusting it off as she did so.

“Do you need a hand up?” She asked, sounding a little lost or maybe tired.

“No, General. I’m fine.” Her face scrunched in confusion as she held out his helmet for him, to take with trembling fingers. Getting a better look at her now that the excitement had died down he wondered if all jedi looked as strangely as she did. There was no braid behind her ear, like the Padawan Commanders, but she had braided the hair at her temples and tied it back, keeping the majority of her hair out of her face. The robes he’s been trained to recognize are conspicuously missing. In their stead she is wearing a white blouse with sleeves cuffed at the wrist, a pale cream colored vest that hugs her slender curves, and fawn colored tights to match the sash-belt around her waist. A bright splotch of color draws his attention to her left arm and he blanches at the streaks of dark red soaking into the white fabric.

“Sir! Are you injured?” He blurted, getting to his feet with his helmet in one hand and weapon in the other.

“What?” She follows his gaze and sees the blood on her sleeve. “No, the blood isn’t mine.” She looks back up at him in concern and he can’t figure out why. It takes him a little longer than it should have to realize why. Looking down at his body he sucks in a breath. With some of his armor plates missing he can see the large gash in the black undersuit. Blood stains the area but he feels no pain whatsoever. Where once he’d been able to clearly see his own insides there is nothing but perfectly unharmed flesh. Like the last ten minutes had never happened.

“Wh-what?” The squeak that leaves his mouth is wholly undignified as his mind reels, trying and failing to comprehend the new information. Tearing his eyes away from his whole, unharmed, abdomen he gazes down at her with no small amount of awe. “How?” He whispers, almost afraid to ask.

“I used the Force. I’m sorry about the pain, I had to extract shrapnel from your wounds but I don’t have any medical supplies on me a the moment.” Well that sort of made sense to him. The force wasn’t really something he really understood so he just nodded.

Seeming content with his response she begins scanning the area around them, her eyes giving off a faint light as if lit from within. If she hadn’t just saved his life he might have been disturbed by it. As her eyes slid out of focus he knew she was no longer paying him any mind. Either she was seeing something he wasn’t or her mind was currently elsewhere. She came back a moment later, her eyes flicking up to him then away again. “I can feel more weakened life forces nearby.” She stated plainly.

Letting out a small sigh she looked at him fully, mouth a thin line and eyes apologetic yet determined. “I’m sorry I cannot fight with you. I have a duty to the dying and the injured.” In Clip’s opinion that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If she hadn’t felt responsible for the wounded then he wouldn’t currently be alive and well.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sir. We can handle the fighting.” Her brows knit as a frown tugs at her peach colored lips. She looks like she wants to say something but gives up a moment later. For a jedi he’s surprised how expressive she is. After all the jedi are meant to be calm and serene at all times, showing little or no emotion.

“Force be with you, Clip.” Nodding at him she turns away and runs off. In the distance he can see a fallen brother, leaning against a chunk of rock and head bowed. Clip hesitates. He should be rejoining the fight, taking out as many seppy clankers as he could with his brothers. But… if she was going to help the injured she wouldn’t be able to protect herself at the same time. The sudden urge to watch her back finally overrode his urge to get back to the fight. Jamming his helmet back on he followed behind her at a jog, eyes peeled for danger. With her short stature it wasn’t hard to catch up quickly.

Kneeling next to the wounded trooper she placed her hands on his helmet to remove it but had to back away when the man startled and flailed. Crouching next to her, in front of his brother, he reached out and gripped the man’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Slick. The General is here to help.” Relaxing when he realized he was in no danger his brother allowed his helmet to be removed without any more fuss. Giving him a curt nod of approval Clip stood and kept watch, scanning the surrounding area for danger while the jedi worked her magic.

From this side of things there was nothing special to see as the woman placed her hands on Slick’s forehead and chest place. Only her eyes and the feeling in the air seemed to change at all. Vaguely he recognized the feeling of warmth from his own healing but now there was an undercurrent of something else he couldn’t quite place. An emotion that welled up inside him and filled him with strength… Glancing down at his brother he took in the expression of awe on his face and it clicked.

Hope. The feeling she gave off was hope.

A lump formed in his throat and he had to swallow multiple times to force it away. Tearing his eyes away from the sight he focused on his task, his thoughts tumbling over one another. When was the last time he’d felt this hopeful?

The healing only lasted a few minutes but it felt much longer. Finally the jedi pulled her hands away, giving Slick a small smile. “You’re well enough to move now. I’ve fixed the worst of your injuries but I need to save my energy. You’ll need a medic later for the more minor injuries.” Getting to her feet she stepped away from Slick to give him room to stand and turned her focus back to the battlefield. Like before her eyes began to give off a faint glow as they became unfocused, as if she were seeing into the very fabric of reality. For all he knew- she was.

“Alright Slick?” he asked, reaching down to help his brother to his feet. The awed cross dumbfounded look he got in response to his question made him grin. It took his batch mate a moment to form words.

“What the shab was that?” Clapping the man on the shoulder he looked back at the jedi with a shrug.

“I don’t know, the force?” Slick gave him an unimpressed look. He laughed and switched languages. “All I know is that she’s helping brothers, and if that’s what she’s going to do then I’m going to watch her back.” Slick nodded thoughtfully and slipped his helmet back on before picking up his own weapon.

Without another word the woman was suddenly off running again. If she’d heard their conversation she gave no indication of it. But she hadn’t given them any orders to return to the fight or stay away from her so they took her silence as acceptance and followed, on guard and ready for anything.

They made their way across the battlefield, meandering and sometimes backtracking. It honestly made no logical sense to him but he supposed he wasn’t the one with the mysterious powers. He couldn’t be sure what she was seeing that he couldn’t so he chose to trust she knew what she was doing and follow her lead.

Every now and then they would pass by a wounded brother and her expression would turn sad. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you right now.” The words sounded as if they pained her to say, like she was truly sorry she couldn’t stop their pain. But they were all highly trained soldiers, they understood triage.

The longer they remained with her the more brothers joined their group. At one point Clip almost laughed at the absurdity of it. They had acquired nearly an entire squad at this point. All they needed to do was find a Sergeant and they’d be set.

There were a few hairy moments where they had to stop and fight off an unexpected attack from a group of droids but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. While the jedi wasn’t as skilled as Generals Skywalker or Kenobi she was still a jedi and held her own with no trouble. The fact that she wielded twin lightsabers and cut down the droids with almost vicious intent just boosted her approval among the vode.

The only thing that was a little odd about her was her hesitation when it came to moving debris out of their way. She went out of her way to either carve a hole through it or go around it, whereas their General would have just flung it away like it was nothing. She seemed almost bashful when she explained that her control of telekinesis over inanimate objects was sorely lacking. So while she could lessen the weight of the large metal slab in their way she could not actually move it any significant distance. It took four of them together to lift the slab she indicated was in between them and their trapped brothers but they were able to move it with her assistance.

The moment it was out of her way she bolted inside the wreckage and fell upon a trooper who was covered in blood. Immediately she removed his helmet and was closing her eyes to focus on her task as the two less injured brothers eyed them curiously. Clip let the others explain as he watched the general, concerned by how desperate her movements had been. Sadly his suspicion was proven correct when her hands fell away from their fallen brother. She stared down at him, the air around her filled with a profound silence and grief he could practically taste. It was their first loss. Gently she reached up and closed his eyes, placed his hands over his chest, and set his helmet on the ground above his head. Bowing her head she clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. “Faas nihar juehaa. Mielhaas hiif aouul lalleea.” The words were spoken in a soft yet reverent voice and were absolutely incomprehensible to him. Looking at his brothers he wasn’t surprised to find them equally at a loss.

When she was finished she rose gracefully to her feet. The skin around her eyes was tight but her eyes burned even more fiercely than before. “If you have respects to pay then please do so. But I cannot stay here any longer. There are more lives that can be saved.” She took a deep breath and let it out again, adding a quiet, “I’m sorry.” In those two words he could hear the depths of sadness she felt for the loss of one clone and it left him breathless. There were far too few sentients who viewed them as people in their own right. But even as he and his brothers were trying to wrap their heads around it the jedi was already on the move.

By the time the battle came to a close the jedi had saved forty-one of their brothers from the jaws of death. They lost three of the men she tried to save and he could tell each loss affected the woman deeply, but she didn’t let it stop her from moving on to the next life that could be saved. If there was anything that could convince Clip the jedi were the uncontested good guys in this conflict, this did.

Orders came over the comms and they all relaxed when they realized it was over. They’d won the day and were all expected to report in. The medics were already collecting the wounded. Relief swept through them. Even the jedi gave them a bright smile from the ground before she was finally pulling her hands away from her latest patient. Sidling up next to her Clip took off his helmet and attached it to his belt, holding out his hand to help her up.

“Thank you, General. My brothers were saved because of you.” Looking up at him she gave him a kind smile and took his hand, allowing herself to be lifted to her feet. As he helped her he couldn’t help but feel that something was… off. She was moving slowly, stiffly.

“I’m glad to help. Now then, we should… be…” From one moment to the next her presence diminished and she was falling.

“General!” He cried out, catching her before she could collapse to the ground. Carefully he lifted her into his arms, sharing worried looks with his brothers. Her body was completely limp, head lolling to the side. Placing his ear against her chest he could hear her heartbeat and felt the rise and fall of her lungs. Letting out a relieved sigh he cradled her unconscious form to him.

“What do we do?” He wasn’t a total shiny but Clip was still fairly new to the 501st. He didn’t know what the procedure was for a jedi suddenly falling unconscious for no damn reason. Thankfully Lieutenant Rotor was among the group who’d decided to stay back and protect her. Already he was barking orders into the comm and calling for an emergency transport back to the Resolute.

Someone offered to take the general off his hands, but Clip refused to let her go. Covered in dried blood and dirt, her hair tangled and messy, she was still one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Maybe more so, due to how little she seemed to care about her appearance over helping them.

“Don’t worry, General. I’ve got you.”

[memoirsofamessybitch]

In My Mind Part 6

Joe x Fem Reader

Warning; strong language.

Thanks to all for the warm-ish welcome back to this space. I’m sorry if anyone has been waiting far too long for this update. But it’s here now!

Enjoy!

Prologue  Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five

I finished Joe's face in silence as my boss hung around the trailer, making sure we didn't run off again. There were at least 2 things that I was certain of after that moment. Things were never gonna be the same again between Joe and I; and that I was dreading the follow up conversation.

“Right he's done” I stepped back and watched as she examined him intently.

“Perfect, right grab your shit you're coming on set” I frowned at her in confusion.

“Really”

“Touch ups, plus you owe me for fucking around earlier”

“That was my fault, in all honesty I was having some kind of crisis we needed a private area...” Joe jumped in for me, but it made no difference.

“Don't give a fuck, when the director is breathing down my neck, I'm breathing down hers” I shrugged and started to pack up some things in a bag to bring to set. I didn't even look at him, I couldn't. I let him slink away to his trailer as they prepared the scene. I was left to the mercy of my boss.

“You're good at this job, I've never seen you behave the way you have lately and because of him? You can do way better than that guy....he's a little ass” Nicola Kyle always had a way with words. A woman well into her 40's who clearly had never experienced any kind of love or happiness in her life. She was not the person I wanted to be speaking to at that particular moment. Never the less I continued.

“Don't talk about him like that he's a nice guy....I think he's cute” I paused for a moment and thought about him. “No! you don't get to think their cute, you don't hook up with talent okay, that's not how I run shit here and you know that”

“I don't wanna just hook up....I really like him” I went to chew the end of one of my make up brushes.

“Well he's clearly INFATUATED with you....it's been obvious since the day he sat in that chair.....the only person who doesn't see it is that dopey engineer who he's been using to get rid of his feelings for you”

“Don't say it like that, he's not using her...I don't think so anyway” Nicola put her hand on my shoulder and shook her head. She was pitying me.

“Men are all the same Y/N....I thought you were wise to that by now....if you wanna pursue this then be my guest....if you think he could be...”the one””

She removed her hand then ushered me to follow her onto set.

“You think I should tell him to cancel his date with her....I mean I told him to go on it but now....” The flood gates had been opened and I was spilling. However Nicola had had her share of this and put her hand over my mouth.

“No more...I don't wanna know, I just want you to be professional for at least the rest of the day” I nodded and continued to follow her in a much more docile manor than previous.

I wasn't needed much on set, I ran on a couple times but nothing intense. I couldn't believe we hadn't even got to location filming and I had already fucked things up between Joe and I. We both glanced at each other as he walked off set. God I wanted to run up to that beautiful bastard and just kiss him, but I contained myself.

“Can I go now” I touched Nicola on her shoulder and pulled her away from her concentration.

“You know what please do, you've done my fucking head in all day. But you're staying for night shoots next week”

“Okay whatever” I turned quickly on my heel and rushed out of set. Swinging my brush kit almost childish like.

When I got home and I shut the door slowly. I lent on it and took a few deep breaths and tried to numb the sinking pain in my stomach. I'd fallen so fucking hard for this BOY that I was risking my professional career, something I'd worked REALLY fucking hard for. What I needed was a bath, some booze and a book. But not any book, insert favourite book.

This book got me through the hardest times, it saw me through beauty school, the loss of anyone I had loved. It was a crutch in times like these. I smirked softly to myself as I pulled it from the bookshelf in my bedroom. I had tied my hair up in a scarf and had got into my bath robe. I just hoped this would get rid of that sinking feeling, that feeling that I may never find anyone that makes me feel the way Joe does again.

The water filled up the tub steadily as I poured my self a glass of goodness, watching the steam rise from the water I glanced at my reflection. They'll be another, there has to be.

BANG BANG BANG.

It sounded as if someone was trying to knock my door down. Instantly fear washed over me as I hurried to grab my baseball bat from under my couch. Completely disregarding the fact I was in a bathrobe and only a bathrobe I opened the door slightly; clutching my bat for dear life.

“Joe?” I just blurted out his name. As if it was the only thing I could say in the instance I saw him on the other side of my door. I pulled the door open the rest of the way still holding onto my bat. He looked me up and down.

“I feel like I had a dream like this once” He pointed at my bat, I threw it to one side as it crashed onto the carpet. I laughed nervously and pulled the robe around me tighter.

How did you find out where I lived?” Was genuinely my first question.

“I asked someone in your department; and they told me, like it was that easy, you should be cautious of who you tell that information to” I grimaced at the thought and moved on.

“Why aren't you out with Becky?” my next question. Only this time it was a little pointed.

“Who are you my Mother, I’m here aren’t I, not with her” He was so direct and blunt. I loved it. I invited him in and immediately remembered the bath I was running.

“FUCK” I screamed rushing to my bathroom. I turned the taps off just in time. The fucking thing was brimming with scolding water. I exhaled in relief and pulled the plug.

“I am so sorry, looks like you had some major plans” Joe had followed me into the bathroom, I sighed heavily then turned to face him.

“I needed a little reset. So one of these tends to do the trick...especially after I've been dicked around”  I pursed my lips in a cheeky manor. I wasn't sure if I was being conceited or flirting. At this point with Joe I just didn't fucking know any more! “I have to do night shoots with extras because of today, I'm still trying to figure out if it was worth it” I stormed past Joe and walked through to my living room. I felt him follow closely behind and I found myself standing next to my couch watching the man of my dreams lean on my bedroom door.

Joe just looked at me, or was it through me. I couldn't tell, I was still trying to process him even being in my apartment.

“Sorry...I....you just look so beautiful” his voice sounded like a wave of calm and warmth. SO naturally I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“Really? With my stained robe and lack of make up. Wow you really are a good actor” I joked; but after taking another good look at Joe, I could finally read the room. I was frozen as I watched him walk closer to me and pull the scarf off my head, letting my hair free. There was no way I could disguise myself trembling as he played with my locks. He took a deep breath in and smirked.

“You done talking now?” His voice had softened to a low whisper. I nodded. No matter how hard I should have tried to fight it, I just wanted nothing more than for him to plant one on me. And you better believe a fucking church choir sang to the heavens in my head as soon as Joe Mazzello pressed his lips against mine. It wasn't an overly long or explicit kiss. But it was enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up on end. He pulled away, much to my dismay.

“Oh wow” I exhaled with my eyes still closed.

“I heard what you said today To Nic...and I know you don't think much of me right now but I think the WORLD of you. You're the first decent person I've met in months, who has obviously been hurt in the past and I can't change that, and a few nights with me wont erase them from your memory. But I just want the chance to show you how good it can be” I couldn't stop the tears, they rolled down my flushed cheeks and dripped from my jaw onto my robe.

“I'm scared” I whispered; unable to hold back my emotions. He had stripped me down to this with just a few sentences, I felt foolish.

“I know, and I respect that, I respect you” Joe's hands cradled my face now. His thumbs clearing my falling tears. I let him continue, lost in his words.

“I...you know every time I take on a new project I always call my Mom, and I tell her about my first day, who I'm working with etc.  She told me I had mentioned Y/N 20 times....in one phone call. I'm super fucking professional and I won't let anyone tell me otherwise; but you got me running off set, day dreaming. Forgetting my lines. Y/N I am out of this fucking world into you” I guffawed in response. I sniffed unattractively and grabbed Joe's wrists pulling his hands away from my face. I just stared at him, wondering what to do with all of this...

[miceenscene]

N7 Month - Day 6

Reunion

G- If your face is feeling up to it, meet me in Afterlife. I’ll buy you a drink. -S

The overwhelming irony of what he was doing was not lost on Garrus as he walked into Afterlife (the bar) to meet up with Shepard (somehow alive… again). His face still dully throbbed with pain, understandable given it met a rocket within the last week. The pain wasn’t unmanageable, but it was certainly unpleasant. The loud music pulsing through the club seemed to be in time with the beats in his head.

Shepard was sitting at the far end of the bar. She’d even saved him a seat just like he always thought she would if he got the chance to meet her in the actual afterlife. He sat down next to her; his knee accidentally brushed hers in the process.

He ordered and as the bartender walked away she asked, “Chakwas say how long till your face heals?”

“She said it’ll be a couple months, maybe even over a year before I can take the bandage off.”

Shepard gave a low whistle.

“But she cleared me for active duty starting next week.”

Shepard nodded. She shot back the rest of her glass, making Garrus’ throat burn in sympathy. But she didn’t react. She obviously had something on her mind. Some purpose to drag the two of them off the ship.

The bartender returned with his drink and another for Shepard. Garrus sipped and looked around. In all his time on Omega, he’d never managed to get into the upper room of Afterlife. Not that it was that much different or really any better than the lower room. He blinked in surprise when he realized that he could see Aria from where they were sitting. She was standing in a booth on the level above, surveying her kingdom and looking very pleased with herself. She looked down to Shepard and then she nodded at Garrus. He ducked his head. No sense drawing extra attention.

Shepard, however, hadn’t appeared to notice. She was idly twirling the straw from her drink between finger and thumb with a far away look.

“Shepard?” Garrus asked. 

She blinked a few times and her eyes focused on him. “Oh, sorry. Spaced out there for a bit.”

He couldn’t say he was the biggest fan of that phrase, but he pushed past it.

“So not that I don’t enjoy coming to a club where I’m a wanted man, but was there a reason we needed to come here? Joker said there’s a bar on the Normandy now.”

“The Normandy is bugged.”

“What? Where?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “There’s a few places I know for certain, but honestly, it could be everywhere. I wanted to talk with you where I knew the Illusive Man couldn’t hear.”

Garrus nodded and made a mental note to sweep the battery as soon as they returned to the Normandy.

“Out of curiosity, what was your plan back on the balcony?” she asked, taking a sip. “Not that I don’t admire the guts it took to goad the gangs into a stand off… but what was your exit strategy?”

“Ah.” He swirled the green liquid in the glass and considered how to answer. “It was… It was this. I was going to meet you for a drink.”

She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. Then it clicked. He expected to get some sort of disapproving glare, but instead she chuckled once.

“You know there are other tactical options besides Blaze of Glory sometimes?” 

A hollow laugh rumbled through his chest. “If you have suggestions, I’m open. I’d love to know what the great Commander Shepard would do if she was up in a balcony for five days.” 

She shook her head. “Commander Shepard wouldn’t have gotten stuck up there in the first place.” She grinned sarcastically. “She’s very smart, I’m told. Courageous.”

“Hmm. And humble.”

“That too.” 

This was good. This felt like it should, like he remembered. The banter flowed back and forth between them as natural as the tides, rehashing stories of missions gone almost wrong.

“Thank the Spirits Wrex was there to carry your almost corpse back to the Mako.”

“How was I supposed to know that you can’t fight a Thresher Maw on foot?”

“From the size of it, Shepard.”

But little things were out of place. Her laugh was harsher. Her quips were sharper. Her eyes never seemed to be engaged with the conversation. He didn’t want to notice. It’d be so much easier to just pretend that everything was the same, to just settle into this unexpected reunion and be grateful that the old times were back again. But after a few drinks he finally worked up the courage to ask, “So how has it been working for Cerberus?” 

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw moved side to side.

“It’s…” She huffed a sigh. “We’ve barely begun this Collector fight and everything’s already more complicated. When we took down Sovereign I was technically juggling the Alliance and the Council, but I felt like I could at least trust them both.

“With Cerberus… I know there’s an ulterior motive. There has to be. He and Miranda can spout their lines about elevating humanity all they want, but I know that they want me for something. Something useful for them. They wouldn’t have spent all the money on rebuilding me and the Normandy without some sort of point. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“How did they rebuild you?” Garrus asked.

“You’d have to ask Miranda for specifics. Most I know is it took two years and several billion credits, but in their eyes The Lazarus Project was a success.” She finished her drink and pushed it forward on the bar. “I guess in a way it was.”

 He noticed that there were dark half-circles under her eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were significant, but they gave him another reason for concern anyway.

“Listen,” she continued, “I know we saved you from almost certain death and then patched you back up, but things aren’t like they used to be. Are you still interested in joining my team again?”

“I’m almost insulted that you feel you have to ask.” He smiled a little at her, hoping to see it returned. But she just nodded.

“Then I have a favor to ask you,” she said, solemnly.

“Anything.”

“I need you to be honest with me.” He almost made a joke, but the look on her face made him keep his mouth shut. “I need to know that there is someone on my team that I can trust implicitly. You’ve been that person before, but I need to know explicitly that I can now.”

Her eyes were focused on him with burning intensity. 

He nodded. “Of course. ...Anything I should watch out for?”

She hesitated for a second. “Miranda says that they put me back together without making any changes. She says there’s not a control chip in my head…” she trailed off, her jaw clenched, the muscles in her arms tightened.

“You don’t believe them,” he finished for her.

“Would you?” He had to shake his head no. “I hope that time will prove me wrong. But if I’m not…” She didn’t finish her sentence. He could practically see the weight of the galaxy’s expectations settled on her. “I need you to watch my back, even from myself.”

“I will, Shepard. I promise.”

She relaxed and turned back to look at the bar top. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. The loud thumping base of the music filling the lack of conversation.

He looked down at her after a minute. “Can I ask a favor in return?”  

She looked up at him. “Anything.”

“I’d like you to be honest with me too.”

She sat up a little straighter. But then nodded. “Of course.”

Permission granted, he leaned in closer and covered her hand with his. The question that had been burning on his tongue since the moment he first saw her on the balcony could finally be asked. “Shepard, are you okay?” 

From the way she looked at him, he’d obviously caught her off guard. 

“You can tell?” He barely heard her above the noise of the club and the expression on her face--like an animal that knew it’d been caught.

“It’s not obvious, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he assured her. He just knew her too well to not see all the small signs pointing to something much bigger. Her apprehension eased off a bit, but she didn’t fully relax. “But are you okay?”

He studied her face. She looked from him down to his hand. He almost removed it but, surprisingly, she turned her arm and took his hand in hers. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Her eyes glanced up to meet his. It took him a moment to recognize the expression, he had seen it so few times from her. It was fear. “They woke me up early because the station was under attack. But I… I don’t think I was done. I don’t think I’m all the way here.”

As near as he could tell, Shepard had always been honest with the team, with him. As honest as any military leader could be. But this was more than just honesty. This was a vulnerability that he never expected to see. A reminder that she was just as mortal as he. He wondered just how few people got to see the cracks in her armor like this. It took his breath away.

“It’s not that I just look a little different, I feel different,” she continued in the same small voice. “I feel… numb. It’s like I’m trying to fight through a fog just to care about the simplest things. 

“Cerberus did what they set out to do. They raised a Shepard from the dead. One that can walk and talk and shoot a gun. Would they even care if they didn’t raise Jane?” She lowered her head and sighed. “Would anyone?”

“I would,” he breathed. 

She looked up at him with an unfathomable expression for a minute. 

“I would care,” he repeated in a stronger voice.

“You would,” she echoed quietly, looking down at their hands.

She brought her other hand over and covered his. Her thumb idly ran over the tough skin on the back of his hand. Everything else around him besides her dimmed. For a few minutes neither of them spoke, just remained in a quiet reminder that the other was still beside them. He would have lingered in that thought for the rest of the night if she’d let him.

She then exhaled and looked back up at him. “Thank you, Garrus.” She smiled gently and he was gratified to see that it reached her eyes. 

Unfortunately, the delicate moment between them was smashed when the bartender approached and set two drinks down in front of them.

“We didn’t order anything,” Garrus growled, his subvocals betraying his annoyance at being interrupted. Shepard pulled her hands back and frowned down at the drinks.

“What are these?” She asked.

“Dextro and levo Angel’s Delights.” The bartender gestured to the two glasses. “Compliments of Aria.” 

They both turned to her balcony and saw Aria. She raised her glass to them. Shepard looked quickly down at the glasses then back to Garrus. Angel’s Delights… very subtle, Aria. He suddenly didn’t feel quite as safe as he had moments ago.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” Shepard said, standing up quickly. Garrus glanced back up at the balcony. A grin spread across Aria’s face, exposing too many teeth for comfort. He managed to toss a scowl in her direction before he followed Shepard out of Afterlife.

Later that night, he was back in the battery. Shepard had been right, of course. Garrus found several bugs in this small room alone. Hopefully he’d gotten them all. He wasn’t sure whether he should destroy them or not so they sat in a neat little pile on the crate in the corner, underneath a folded blanket.

But of all the things they’d talked about, he hoped that her instincts were wrong about at least a few. If she was compromised--he stopped himself dead in his tracks. There was no need to go down that road until it was necessary. Until then, he’d follow Shepard into the abyss if she asked him to. 

Though, he quietly admitted to himself, he would rather just see her smile a real smile again. Make her face turn pink with laughter. Hold her hand and talk of old times.

He stopped. He harshly rubbed the back of his hand and forced himself to stop thinking. Things were already complicated enough in their lives. There was no need to bring any of that into what they had. He would have her six and she would have his. And that would be enough. It would have to be.

Ao3 Version

[honestandsincere]

viva las vegas

Ethan can’t feel his right arm. It tingles with the cool sensation of numbness, but it feels right. Her head rests in the crook of his elbow, her hair tickling his sun-kissed skin. He can feel the softness of her breath along with the almost inconceivable touch of her lips as they graze his forearm with each exhale. His entire side is aching, stiff against the carpeted floor. He has a pillow so his neck hasn’t cramped up completely, but the lack of mattress has taken its toll. They’re staying with a friend y/n made in college, her name is Natalie, whilst they’re in Vegas. He’d suggested a hotel, his mind conjuring images of silk sheets, room service, and a balcony overlooking an excessively flamboyant fountain. But, she’d told him that wasn’t an experience; having everything at your beck and call isn’t properly living, y/n wants to live. So they’re here, in the suburbs, sprawled out on Natalie’s Persian rug and covered by a blanket she’d handed them from her laundry cupboard. Ethan has a leg pressed between y/n’s, the curve of her spine flush against his abdomen. This position is gorgeously familiar, he’s held her innumerable times in his life, except this time it feels so much more intimate. He’s only thinking about now, not what’s going to happen within the following minutes or hours. Lying on the floor, his body hurting in a sweet way, is the first time he’s felt truly relaxed in months.

Y/n shifts, twisting around in his grasp, screwing her eyes shut as if willing sleep to last a few moments longer. Ethan smiles at her, watching her nose that’s dusted with freckles wrinkle a little. She whines and throws her leg over his hip and he automatically reaches down to brush the smooth skin of her thigh. “Morning,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she burrows her face into his neck, “Sleep well?” “The best,” y/n murmurs, “considering we’re on the floor.” Ethan chuckles and pulls his arm from behind her head, fearing it may actually fall off if he isn’t careful. He props up his chin on his palm and watches as she nestles into him, inhaling the remnants of his cologne. She’s so peaceful, so comforted in his embrace and he feels so at home holding her. Having her to hold is something that cannot be taken for granted or overlooked.

Light filters through Natalie’s blinds as they skim the dusty windowsills of her living room. Ethan guesses that it could be around eight in the morning or maybe even noon, he can’t seem to tell the time around his girl. Moments bleed into memories that are so vivid that weeks feel like days and hours are mere seconds. Spending the day on y/n’s friend’s floor feels like a twisted kind of bliss, but Ethan knows y/n came to Vegas to play. Life in Los Angeles had become stagnant. She's finished her classes and is as close to free as she can get for the summer. Ethan's work commitments seemed to consume every facet of his life, work becoming the only focal point of his existence. They needed to escape the confines of the city that refuses to sleep, take a trip somewhere without a fully conceived concept of where they might end up. Several rollings of dice and blinded stabs of drawing pins onto a map later, they settled on Sin City. Ethan thinks about Grayson at home, imagining him waking up to the hum of his phone's alarm, reveling in the fact he has the house to himself. Grayson's abandoned work for a little too, focusing on some DIY projects he'd intended to pursue months ago but had been discarded due to professional responsibilities. Ethan needs his brother like he needs his right arm, but he can’t help but think that his twin is relieved to be alleviated of y/n and Ethan’s relentless displays of love. The younger twin can’t seem to catch a break living in close quarters with the non-fictitious version of Romeo and Juliet, minus the tragic ending at least. Y/n presses a kiss to the base of Ethan’s neck. “What do you wanna do today?” he asks her. “What is there to do in Vegas?” He pauses for a second, moving his hand to her hair and weaving his fingers through its strands. With a gentle tug, he pulls y/n’s gaze to his so she can see his creased brow in its expression of faux-pondering. “We could go gamble all of Grayson and I’s savings in a casino, take a coach trip to the Hoover Dam-” “San Andreas,” she says with wide eyes and a small shake of her head. “Excuse me?” “You know the movie with The Rock about that huge earthquake and the dam explodes?” “Oh right, fair enough. We could try and sneak into St Mark’s square at the Venetian? Steal a gondola or something?” There’s a pause and Ethan watches as her eyes dart around his face. She absorbs his every detail; from the burgeoning scruff adorning his jaw to his unjustly long eyelashes that graze his browbone. He pouts his lips - an invitation. She places a chaste kiss on his mouth and he hums in contentment. “We could get married?” y/n shrugs, still watching him intently. She feels Ethan tense a little, his jaw slackening in surprise, “Only if you want to, of course.” Ethan’s mind begins to twist into a kaleidoscope of incomprehensible thoughts. This girl is the love of his life, he may be young but he knows this. There isn’t a being or thing or concept that could make him feel the way y/n does. She is unparalleled in the way she loves him, so fiercely and wholeheartedly and not once has he ever doubted that she’d ever stop loving him. Ethan loves her with such an intense passion it’s impossible to verbalize, sometimes even transcending his own comprehension, verging on unfathomable. He burns with the thought of y/n, a deep feeling settled in the pit of his stomach telling him that nothing has ever been more right. Nobody knows him the way she does, it’s different to the way Grayson knows him. Y/n reaches parts of his mind that Ethan has been too scared to visit himself. She brings out the best in him, as cliche and trivial as it sounds. Nobody can make chai like her, with enough honey to leave a sweet syrupy thickness at the bottom of his mug. Nothing will make him laugh the way she does when she trips over her own feet or makes a snide remark that isn’t intended to be funny.

Spending the rest of his life with her feels like a logical progression of their relationship. Ethan is certain that she’ll be the best mother; he’s conjured an image of her, round-bellied and glowing despite her swollen ankles. He sees her cradling a tiny creation in her arms, whispering lullabies in the early hours, her face illuminated by a tiny nightlight. Quiet nights with her, sipping tea and flipping through his mother’s collection of film photographs, spotting resemblances in chubby baby Ethan and their own babies. He wants to travel with her first, before they settle down properly, take her around Europe so she can visit every gallery she’s ever wanted to. Ethan aches to watch her bask in Italian sun or dust Bondi sand from the soles of her feet. Everything that life could offer him, he wants to experience it with y/n.

“Marriage?” he asks her, shifting his hand to her jaw so he can press the pad of his thumb onto her plush bottom lip. Y/n nods her head, “When in Vegas,” she speaks against his finger. “Yeah ok,” Ethan whispers. “Really?” “Do you not want to now that I want to?” he jokes. “No! God, Ethan I’d marry you in a heartbeat. I just didn’t think you’d wanna go through with it.” “Why not?” “I don’t know, people aren’t here with us, y’know like people that’d actually wanna come to our actual wedding. I swear Grayson’s written his best man speech already.” Ethan laughs because this is probably true. He pulls her closer to him, wanting them to be inseparable. Of course, he’s worried about Grayson too. They’ve done everything in tandem since the day they were brought onto this Earth, but he knows his brother will understand. Grayson can appreciate the unadulterated spontaneity that pulses through Ethan’s veins, he feels it himself sometimes. He’ll know that if Ethan is going to dedicate his life to any other human being, he’s not making a mistake. Nothing about y/n could ever be deemed a mistake. “It’s just a piece of paper, E,” her hands slip into his hair, dexterous fingers twisting tresses. “Yeah but it says I love you. Properly. I want to do this,” he says, kissing her nose.

“Ask me then.” “What?” “Propose.” “Oh shit!” Ethan untangles their limbs and moves to sit cross-legged on the floor. His bare chest is littered with goosebumps as the covers slip from his frame. Y/n joins him, mimicking the position he takes and smiling at their childlike innocence. Their youth. He takes each hand of hers into his, linking their fingers. “I don’t really know what to say, I mean ideally I’d have time to plan some kind of elaborate speech or something about my undying love for you. But, I don’t so I’ll improvise,” he takes a deep breath and looks at her. He studies the way her hair is disheveled and her lips slightly chapped, “I’m so in love with you, y/n. You’re so in love with me. Let’s get married, I love you and I wanna stay with you. So if you wanna be my wife, I’m down if you’re down?” Y/n grins and nods her head, “As if I’d say no. I’m down.” ---- A few hours later, they’re stumbling out of Natalie’s house having left her a note of thanks and the bottle of wine they’d bought for her the night before. Ethan can’t take his hands off her, consistently stealing glances at her as they drive into the city, a huge grin plastered over his face. Y/n’s on his phone, Googling the nearest thrift store. They find one eventually, after a series of wrong-turnings and frustrated giggles. She clambers from the Jeep excitedly jumping from one foot to another. Ethan wraps an arm over her shoulders, tugging her to his side and kissing her temple. “You get a dress and I’ll go grab some rings, ok?” She bites her bottom lip, trying to suppress a smile and nods before heading to the first aisle of the store. She settles on something whimsical, wanting to feel like some kind of ethereal goddess. It’s a cream colored tea dress, decorated with lace over its bodice. Y/n knows that it doesn’t really fit her, it’s a bit too loose in some areas and too tight in others, but she loves it. If she’s going to marry Ethan in anything, she’s going to look like the pixie dream-girl she’s always wanted to be. Her fiance is on the hunt for rings, studying the selection of costume jewelry on show in the glass display cabinets. He asks one of the older ladies working there to open it up for him, to let him see them and feel their weight in his palm. None of them are what he’d like to give y/n, nothing like the hefty gem he’d imagined that would grace her left hand. He finds two simple silver bands that look like they’d fit their fingers, one considerably wider than the other. They meet at the entrance of the stoor, y/n carrying a paper bag in her arms and Ethan keeping his hand in the front pocket of his dress pants to ensure he doesn’t lose the very symbol of their union. “Ready?” he quirks a brow at her. “Always.” “Let’s go make you a Dolan.” The chapel they choose is arguably the trashiest of the selection available to them. Y/n said she likes it that way, that they’re doing the Vegas wedding the way it should be done. Neither of them have told anyone, not a text has been sent. It has to be just them, no outside world, just them. Ethan fills in the necessary paperwork at the front desk, gushing about his girl to the secretary, whilst y/n is in the bathroom changing into her thrifted wedding dress. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he chuckles. “It’s not too late to drop out, kid,” the older woman that smells of cigarettes and perfume croaks. Ethan shakes his head adamantly, “Not a chance.” He signs his name along a dotted line and waits for y/n to do the same. He wonders if this will be the last time she’ll ever use her last name before it’s changed to his. She emerges from the cotton candy-colored door, a sheepish smile on her face. Ethan looks upwards at the sound of her entering the lobby and he can’t fight the pounding in his chest. Y/n’s gorgeous, always has been and always will be, but there’s something about her now that knocks the air from his lungs. She twirls for him, letting the skirt of her dress dance around her thighs and a perfect trill of her laugh leaves her lips. “Like it?” “Love it. Love you,” he can’t seem to formulate any other words. “Let’s get married, baby!” ---- “Let me get this straight, you have a wife?” “Yeah Gray, we got married.” “Like officially?” “It’s all legal, bro.” “Not a prank.” “He wishes it was, G!” y/n interrupts as she focuses her eyes on the road ahead of her. They’re leaving Vegas, headed God knows where, happily married. The service was quick and admittedly underwhelming, deprived of the Elvis impersonator y/n was so looking forward to. “We just wanted to let you know, Gray,” Ethan says, fiddling with the ring that rests so prettily on y/n hand that’s resting in his. “Yeah, just in case you freaked,” y/n laughs, “I don’t wanna come in between you guys.” “Jesus y/n, I’m so happy for you! Like so happy,” he sighs over the phone, “I haven’t lost a brother, I’ve gained a sister.”

Ethan is beaming, every ounce of his being buzzing with acute happiness. He was blind before he met her, stumbling through life. He’s still stumbling, but it’s with her now, falling into her and falling for her. They’re so infatuated with one another. Life feels good. Love feels better.

----

Here ya go angels! Admittedly, this is a little rushed and a bit all over the place but I wanted to get something up for you guys! Hope you enjoyed it! Lots and lots of love, -K x

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 24--Unsettled

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unsettled.”  Troubled by the lack of purpose, Ienzo attempts to dispose of papers of the past, only to end up caught within it.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

---

Ienzo was feeling restless. This was not an unfamiliar feeling, but rather one that had snuck up on him with increasing frequency. He felt as if he were at his wit’s end.

The garden was done, finished, left behind were empty gaps that made him realize that after all this time he still wasn’t sure who he was. It was something like existential agony. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, yet sleep eluded him. So did any notion of rest. He found himself, again, missing the days when thoughts would unravel so cleanly; he felt nothing but tangles, and his feelings resembled even less.

I feel as though I’m back at square one, he wrote early one evening. This sensation stuck with him. What awful, horrifically boring waffling.   It certainly didn’t make him good company. Worse still than was that everyone else seemed to be in good spirits. He found himself dealing with another type of illusion; feigned laughter, a neutral expression, cheer and chatter where there should be none.

Not many seemed to notice this shift, and for this Ienzo was both incensed and grateful. Only Demyx did, but he was far too busy and exhausted from his own work (oh, to have the certainty of a calling); Ienzo just said that he was tired and that was all.

It did not feel good to lie to him.

But truthfully, how did he define this feeling? Was it the weight, the numbness of depression? He wasn’t so sure. Mostly, he felt the slickness of anxiety, like acid along his veins despite medication. He felt trapped within his own heart, within a remorse that was supposed to have eased. Would he carry this his whole life?

Did he want to?

Ienzo wanted to live more than anything. It was a desire that was nearly painful. He needed to get this feeling out of his body somehow.

“I don’t suppose you have anything you seek to get rid of?” he asked Even. “I was purging my papers in an attempt to get organized.”

“What are you disposing of?” He seemed distracted; he had a new project to keep him occupied, studying the long term impacts of darkness on trauma and the body. It was worthwhile work, and seemed to have reconnected Even with the real world.

“Nothing that hasn’t already been digitized and archived.”

Even gestured vaguely to a pile of file folders in a crate by the door. “I suppose you must need something to fill your days now, then.”

Ienzo paused, and just barely turned back. “That,” he said, “is putting it mildly.”

“Why don’t you continue your studies? It’s been a long enough time. They’ve kept you busy with such frippery.”

“...I would not call it that.”

He shrugged. “Most people your age seem to get caught in crises of existence. I should hate to see you become stagnant.”

Ienzo considered the irony of this. “I won’t--no less than you, anyway.”

Even scowled. “Go on then, will you? I need to concentrate.”

“Certainly.”

He took his papers to a courtyard, one shielded from the wind. What was left didn’t seem like much; Ansem had already shredded a majority of it, and the strings of paper sat heavily against the stone. For a moment he ran his thumb along the matchbox in his pocket. What was the point of this? He withdrew his hands and looked at them. It took a little bit of doing--magic was so much harder than it used to be--but before long he held a small flame in his palm. He studied the color of it, the bright red and orange. He picked up one of the pages and held a corner into his hand, watching it disappear into smoke.

It didn’t take long for the mess to burn. Curious, how quickly things could be destroyed. Ienzo watched the flames, perched on the lip of a derelict fountain. It didn’t make him feel much better, but it made him feel no worse. He nursed the brunt of a headache idly.

“...An attempt at catharsis?” He heard over his shoulder. Ienzo turned and saw Dilan facing him, his face alight with bemusement.

“I suppose. I figure there’s no need to keep this all, not when we have it in the computer.”

To his surprise, Dilan sat next to him. “Is it a pleasure to burn?”

Ienzo rolled his eyes at the reference. “Not quite. Good to know that I have some magic left, however small.” His head ached dryly, insistently. There were a few moments of silence; the fire cracked and popped a little, emitting some sparks. “You needn’t worry, I’ll clean up all the ash once it’s over.”

“...Saves me a bit of work. Yes. Our list of tasks seems to grow by the day.”

Ienzo glanced over to him. “...Does it?”

“Someone’s got to make this place habitable. And that committee is scattered enough as it is. I’d hoped Demyx’s membership in it would garner us some resources, but they seem to never have anything to spare.”

“...Well, town is growing. This place isn’t exactly a priority when we're the only ones who live here.”

“It was once beautiful,” Dilan said. “A shame, all of this finery, crumbling.”

Ienzo blinked quickly, feeling a touch dazed. “...Like so many things,” he mumbled.

“Are you alright?”

He forced a smile. “Oh, yes. Magic tires me. That’s all.”

“Are you certain? I know there was some--hesitation, as to whether or not to let you--”

“I am a grown man. Demyx and Even do not make decisions for me.” His tone came out sharp.

Dilan pursed his lips. “Of course you’re right.”

Ienzo shoved his hands back into his pockets, feeling cold now. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m more tired than I thought.” The pain in his head throbbed in time with his pulse. “This has nearly burnt itself out. I'll get to it in a few hours when it's all cooled.”

“Nothing nearby to burn,” Dilan said. “It feels nice to sit, admittedly. I feel as though I haven’t stopped moving all morning.”

He stood, and had to fight not to stumble at the sudden wave of dizziness. He clutched his head, felt at the space under his nose. No blood. Surely there must be something else wrong with him?

He heard gravel crunch as Dilan stood. “Ienzo?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but it sounded weak. “It’s just a little--”

Abruptly, his knees gave out, his vision darkening for a moment. When he came to, Dilan’s jacket was under his head. “Yes, you’re just fine, aren’t you,” he spat. “Do you always feel this need to lie?”

Ienzo was still reeling. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Someone has got to take a look at you, and he seems to know what he's doing. You’re not well.”

He tried to sit up, only to have Dilan ease him back down. “He’s going to kill me,” Ienzo said dazedly.

Dilan laughed. “Nothing like young love, is there? Ienzo? Ien--”

The smell of something bitter, and a touch of something cool on his cheek. “Oh thank god,” Ienzo heard. His eyelids felt leaden. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes…” He mumbled. He forced his eyes open. Demyx was crouched over him, one hand taking Ienzo’s pulse. He looked flushed; he must have ran here. The pain in his head was so intense as to be almost unnoticeable. “I… I’m sorry.”

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I… I cast one small fire spell… that’s all.”

Demyx rested a hand against his forehead. “You’re stable,” he told Ienzo. “It seems that the magic triggered a migraine--”

“Oh, is that all?” Ienzo muttered.

“When Dilan said you blacked out I--I figured…” He turned redder. “You’re going to be okay. Drink this.” He offered him a canteen. Whatever was inside was sour, and he flinched. “It’s for the pain.”

It did seem to help, but made everything a bit foggy. “Do you need help with him?” Dilan asked.

“No, I got it.”

Humiliation washed over him, and he felt his eyes water. “I can walk.”

Demyx hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes… just let me--” He sat up, the dizziness worsening.

“Oh, no. Let me carry you. I’m sure you can do it, it’ll just suck major ass when you feel like this.”

“No,” he snapped. “No.”

Demyx blinked. “Ienzo--”

Something was unraveling, a hot stab of nausea almost making him double over.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Ienzo pressed a hand to his face, feeling the tears spill over against his will.

“Baby…” Demyx trailed off. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it.”

“...I shall… leave you some privacy,” Dilan said. “Call if you change your mind.”

Demyx pulled Ienzo close. He felt like he could barely breathe, clinging to him with a pathetic sort of desperation. Demyx stroked his hair. “What’s really going on?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Ienzo insisted. “That’s the issue, there’s nothing wrong and I still feel this way.”

He kissed his cheek and handed him a handkerchief.

“I feel… purposeless,” he said. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m lost… I’m so used to… moving forward, to having a goal.”

Demyx wiped a tear from Ienzo’s face. “Do you think this could also be some kind of sadness?”

He sniffled. He was a bit woozy. “How so?”

“It’s… weird,” he said slowly. “Maybe this is how you’re letting go of it.”

“By feeling like garbage?”

“You took on so much pain that wasn't yours. Mine, the Heartless'. It has to come out sometime. Using magic could've triggered it.”

Ienzo touched his chest with a trembling hand. “...You may be right. These emotions… didn’t feel connected to me.” Such strange permutation of power.

“Let it go,” Demyx said gently.

“Cry it out?” he asked bitterly.

“If you have to.” He sat and crossed his legs. “Come here.”

Humiliation broke through the weird cool stillness within him. He let himself be pulled close, breathing in Demyx’s smell and the scent of ash, water oozing down his cheeks. “It’s been months,” he hiccuped. “I haven’t the slightest idea why this is happening now.”

“You’re good at pushing things away.”

“Deluding myself, you mean?” He was trembling.

“Maybe you weren’t ready.”

For a moment anger nearly broke through him, but he deflated. “...Maybe not,” he conceded. “It is so… strange… I feel like I’ve made some leaps and bounds, and yet, my heart is so tender… infantile, if you will.” He hated the way he sounded, thick and poorly. A thin, sharp pain redoubled behind his eyes. “You know I used to feel them, when I was younger.”

“The victims?”

His body was leaden. “Yes. I could hear them, even when I was nowhere near the lab. For whatever reason, I always had an acute sensitivity to darkness. Is it because I was nearly one of them?”

Demyx’s arms around him tensed just the slightest. “...You were?”

“Yes. I never… told that story?” The tears continued to run, cool and distant. “They were… keenly interested in the hearts of children. And I was… there. You have to admit it’s quite utilitarian of them." The ache in his heart was lessening, bleeding out. "I think this connection is fading.”

“Good,” he said woodenly. “But they… they never--”

Ienzo took some of his own weight back. He shook his head. “We became Nobodies first.” He touched his chest, the space above his heart. “I suppose that in and of itself was an experiment.” He could taste salt, when he spoke. “The slightest twitch of power, and it all comes up,” he muttered. “I am so very… tired. Demyx?”

His jaw was clenched tightly. He grit his teeth.

“Don’t hold it against them. We’ve all done bad things in our lives.”

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“...I’ve spent enough time dwelling on it,” he said tiredly. “What good would anger do? They’re in pain as well.”

Demyx took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he seemed to have composed himself somewhat. “Do you want to go home?”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

---

It took a long while for the tears to stop and the ache to fade, but once it was all over he felt lighter. He figured that settled it. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and move on. The past was the past; nothing left to be done. He would study, pull the pieces of himself back together one by one. And then whatever happened next. No point fretting about it. Easier said than done, Ienzo knew, but at the same time it was completely necessary. Once he was feeling more himself, he might work with the committee. One day.

But all there was was the present.

[zweiginator]

Good Company- Part Seven

read the other parts here

Summary: After an unexpected bout of morning sickness, the possibility of pregnancy causes untold feelings to bubble to the surface.

Word Count: 6.4k+

Warnings: ANGST, some cuteness and extreme jealousy

Brian sat on his knees behind you, pulling your hair behind you shoulders. His fingertips were warm against the back of your neck which was veiled in a wash of cold sweat. Your skin was blanched; it was as if your veins were sucked dry from any blood, but your tongue felt drier, and unthinkably heavy in your mouth, which tasted of bile--acidic and bitter at the back of your raw throat. Your hands shook against the edges of the small trash bin you had pulled from underneath your cluttered desk. Brian’s keys had fallen from the wooden tabletop of it, and the jagged edges of his house and car keys poked against your knees.

“Brian, pick your keys up.” You lifted your head and turned around to see Brian’s eyebrows knitted together, worried-looking even though the dark hairs pointed in every direction, a side-effect from sleeping on his face. Some drool was dried on his cheek, which he covertly picked off with a painted nail. His eyes were droopy and puffy, his straightly pointed eyelashes only accentuating the sleepiness that bled into wide yawns and heavy eyelids.

“Sorry, do you--” He rubbed his temple, scooting forward so his outstretched fingers ghosted over your waist. “Do you need some water? Do you feel sick?” He shook his head, his curls swaying away from his face, brushing against his chin, darkened by a shadow of stubble. “Of course you feel sick, but do you know why? Did you eat something?”

You flinched away from his touch, grasping his fingers and tearing them away from your skin, even though his calloused digits brought you a deep, indescribable warmth and comfort that your body was craving. “How am I supposed to know, Brian?” You snapped at him, regretting it as soon as the words left your mouth--serrated and impertinent and stinging in Brian’s ears which were already ringing and pounding from his hangover.

“Do you need to go see a doctor?” He crossed his arms, suddenly more sullen but still worried about your well-being. His hand hovered over your lower back, and you felt his sniffling breaths fan over the nape of your neck. He wanted to smooth your hair down and pull your back flush against his chest--but he refrained, opting instead to feed into the resounding silence that pervaded the room, lit by the amber afterglow of the sunrise.

“I’m not seeing a doctor, Brian.” You scoffed, tying your hair back with a rubber band that hung around your wrist, a little sore from Brian’s head resting on it for the entirety of the night, which only made you more annoyed at him and his presence in general. “I’m fine, we all get sick sometimes.” You knew this wasn’t normal; none of the circumstances in your life were. It was almost scary how not sick you felt; it was more like a dull ache in the pit of your stomach, like you just had to rid yourself of toxins and that was that.

“Okay!” Brian stood up, grabbing his keys from the bed where he had set them before, twirling them between his fingers nervously. “I’m just concerned. Excuse me for caring.” His tone had a bite to it you had never heard from him before. When you turned around, he was pulling his socks on; you could tell they were on inside-out but you didn’t say anything.

“You’re just so clingy and overbearing lately! Why would you come here when you know we’re supposed to keep our relationship under wraps? You’re always whining about something, Brian. Always.”

Brian pulled his button-up over his shoulders and lined up the two sides, fastening the buttons quickly. The shirt was taut over his torso; Deaky must have washed it incorrectly, so he left a few buttons undone as he lifted his hips to slip his trousers over his semi-numb legs. “What the fuck do I have to do with any of this? Why are you twisting my caring about you into something I’m flawed with?”

“So you’re perfect, Brian?” You rolled your eyes and straightened some makeup on your desk, focusing intently on a tube of deep red lipstick so you didn’t have to watch Brian’s eyes grow darker, more intense, more attractive. Everything he did drove you crazy and you didn’t want to cave, even though you knew this argument was unwarranted and completely immature.

“Now you’re putting words into my bloody mouth, Y/N. Never did I say that!” He sighed from deep in his chest and you finally turned around, meeting his almost bronzed eyes, framed by dark lashes that extended around them. His jaw was tensed, spasming as he crossed his arms. “You’re projecting something onto me, you can tell me what’s wrong. You know that, right?”

Tongue in cheek, you sat down at your desk chair, the leather sticking to the backs of your thighs as you lifted them to cross them over each other. “Projecting? Really? Stop with the smart-boy psychological lingo, Brian. You’re so annoying.”

“Annoying?” He lowered his voice, realizing how early it was, and then how disruptive you both were being to your roommates, who he desperately wanted approval from. “I’m annoying because I asked you if you were okay after you threw up just now?”

He was right; you were being irrational. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he was irking you, tugging on your metaphorical leash that was choked around your neck, suffocating you. And it wasn’t that he was being clingy or overbearing as you said; it was simply because you loved him more than you could even fathom. He permeated your thoughts like a pungent smell among a crowded room. But it was a beautiful scent; a buttery vanilla that was easy to take in, impossible to stop thinking about, and ever so pleasant. It scared you how easily you had fallen in love with him; every other time you had felt anything even remotely comparable to these warm, all-consuming feelings you had for Brian, you had had to work at it, to convince yourself you were in love, as if you thought you loved them enough, it would act as a placebo, your body following along with your thoroughly tricked mind. But with Brian, it was too natural, the way you meshed with him effortlessly. He was able to say whatever he wanted to you, and you felt the same; you had spent many nights tipsy on wine on your couch, weaving through embarrassing childhood memories to repressed traumas. You had seen him cry, shoulders heaving, sobs choked, eyes glassy. You’d never done that with Roger, not in the year--over a year--that you had been with him. And it scared you that the mere blossom, the root of a tiny tendril of your relationship had your heart skipping a beat when his fingers twirled with your own, or his knees nudged against yours.

“You’re just--” You rubbed your eyes with the heels of your palms, biting your lip. Your mouth had an insipidly bitter taste to it, and you swallowed, grimacing as it slid down your raw throat. “You’re always here. With me.”

“But I’m not!” He ran a hand through his hair and stood up, before he dropped to his knees in front of you, grabbing your hands in his own much larger, much warmer ones. His thumbs rubbed over the back of your hands, tracing over the tendons, feathered over with blue pebbled skin. You were shivering, and Brian wanted to cover you with a blanket, but tears were beginning to prick at your eyes and he decided it might not have been the best time. “I’m not here that much. I don’t see you much at all and not to sound cocky, but you say you miss me just as much as I say it to you!” He bit the inside of his cheek, sighing as you looked down at your feet. “Plus, you just said you wanted us to tell Roger. And now you’re back to keeping it on the down-low?”

You sniffled, wiping your tears away with your hand, hating yourself for manipulating Brian’s feelings like this, but you couldn’t stop, it was a commandeering force that maneuvered you in the opposite direction you wanted to be going in. “I changed my mind, Brian.” You fixed your posture, feeling nauseous again, but you suppressed the feeling, focusing on a breathing pattern you remembered Brian taught you. It made you mad almost, how he had such a tight hold on you; he was always with you in some odd indirectly confusing way that was oppressively uncomfortable, although it wasn’t really his fault in the slightest. But in a way, you wanted the chase. You wanted to know you were--wanted. You needed him to miss you; you yearned to keep him guessing, no matter how hurtful and awful that sounded, and you wondered if Roger’s coquettish nature blighted your ability to trust--to love.

“I don’t get you, Y/N.” His chest was blotched a deep, almost violent red, his cheeks wet with a coat of sweat that seeped into the tears spilling down the soft skin. He slung his coat over his arm, squeezing his keys hard enough so that you could see the veins pulsing in his forearms and down his agile fingers. He was seething with anger, but he kept himself collected, tensing his jaw repeatedly, to the point that it locked for a second. He brought his hand to the protruding bone, massaging the skin as he stepped closer to you, close enough so you saw the speckles of amber and deep greens marbled in his honey eyes. You could see his tanned skin, smooth and pebbled with the beginnings of a new beard. “Last night you insisted on fucking me in the bathroom; you told me sneaking around was hot. Then I come over and you’re fine with it, cuddling with me and telling me we should be public; and now you’re saying I’m annoying and that you can’t stand me being with you all the time?”

You were silent, swirling your tongue around a piece of skin you had bit from your bottom lip, the bitter taste of blood relieving you of the putrid taste in your mouth.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” He zipped his coat up, grabbing a clean tissue from your desk, leaning over you for a split second. The mere shadow of him made your heartbeat quicken, and you shifted uncomfortably in the red leather chair, pulling your knees to your chest. “We need to talk when you’re up for it.” He padded quietly out of your bedroom, and you heard the almost imperceptible sound of your usually clamorous front door clicking shut a minute later.

__

“What was that all about?” Alice peeked into your room, yawning into her tightened fist. Jenny pushed the door open wider, the waves of her chocolatey brown hair making the tears pool in your eyes, red around the rims and irritated from the salty pang.

“What’s wrong? Or should we leave you be?” Jenny pointed a thumb out the door; they were both only halfway inside of your room, wrapped together in a sky blue blanket which had a perpetual home on the living room couch.

“No, no come in.” You moved to your bed, laying down as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“We heard Brian--” Alice faltered, looking over at Jenny who sat at the foot of your bed as your other roommate plopped on the chair you were just sat in, her fingers mindlessly playing with the brass studs that kept the leather tight across the seat. “Yelling.” Jenny finished. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“You’d be surprised by a lot of things with him.” You tucked some of your hair behind your ear and sat up, leaning against the headboard. The pillow next to you had a few of Brian’s shedded hairs, deep brown against the white pillow case and tightly coiled. Your voice cracked as you began to cry again. “He’s just,” You began. “He’s just always there. He never leaves.”

“What do you mean?” Alice leaned forward, crossing her hands over her lap. “Where did that even come from?”

“He’s not clingy. He just--” You swallowed. “He’s always in my thoughts; I mean he’s done so much for me and every time I stop thinking about him I think about how I stopped thinking about him, you know?”

They furrowed their eyebrows and looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders, their hair falling behind their shoulders simultaneously.

“And it isn’t a bad thing really.” You sniffled and sat up straighter. “I love thinking about him; Brian’s great. In every single way, he’s great. I mean there isn’t really a single flaw that’s actually truly a flaw.” You knew they didn’t understand; you couldn’t even decipher your feelings; it felt like an outside force was shoving words into your mouth and watching them tumble out, non-cohesive and intelligible. “It’s just like, he’s too perfect. And I fell in love too easily, and too quickly. There has to be a catch.”

“There is a catch, though?” Jenny handed you a tissue. “You dated his best friend for a year. That’s the catch.”

“No.” You shook your head, blowing your nose briefly. “I meant, with him. And his personality. It’s just too good to be true. I mean, look at him!”

He wasn’t there, of course, but you needed to make your point, whatever that was. You held a finger up and leaned over to reach into a small drawer on the side of your desk. You sifted through half-empty perfume bottles and tangled necklaces, finding a wide polaroid picture of Brian, the night he took you to the dilapidated barn to stargaze. He sat on the uneven wooden panels at the edge of the barn, his feet poked through a jagged hole in the side of the building, so his feet rested on the grass, still frozen-over from winter’s toll. He was leaning on his hands; the veins in his arms were prominent, his cheeks a deep red-violet, partially from the frigid temperature outside, but mostly from fervid kisses. His shirt was unbuttoned, but he wore a velvet blazer over it, and you could see his collarbones poking from skin marked by your lipstick. His hair was soaked through from the rain, his smile lazy and crooked, his eyes semi-closed from the flash. You held the photograph to your chest, and your roommates pried it from your grip, wanting to see for themselves.

“It has always been Brian, Y/N.” Jenny grinned at the picture, wiping a dust particle from the glossy surface.

“What do you mean?” You took the photo back, tracing your finger across his forehead--as if that would be comforting. Instead, it only emphasized that he wasn’t there.

“I mean, yeah you dated Roger, but Brian was always the one for you. You and him always clung to each other; every one noticed. I mean, at concerts, you always stood on Brian’s side of the stage and you never really looked at Roger’s playing.” Alice commented, raising an eyebrow, poking your nose lightly.

“The guitar--”

“The guitar is better my arse. You’ve seen hundreds of girls drool over Roger and those drums. They find their favorite boy and cling to them. That was always Brian for you.” Jenny stood up from the bed, opening another drawer, a wider one that extended across the desk. It held a few photo albums; you had had a phase of photographing Queen’s gigs at the beginning of your and Roger’s relationship, and it had lasted for a good seven months. “Flip through these albums and show me one photo that isn’t focused on Brian.”

You yanked the leather bound album from her hands, the thick ivory ribbon becoming untied as you pulled at it. “He’s at the front of the stage!”

“So is Freddie. So is John.”  They added. “Listen, we’re not judging you; Brian is a great guy. He’s hot and you’re right--he doesn’t really have a discernible flaw about him. Roger knew you loved him from the beginning; but you didn’t.”

“You guys are just like him!” You dropped the album on your bed, hitting your head against the headboard as you crossed your arms, uncrossing them as soon as you remembered Brian had done the same before he stormed out. “Always pointing some shit out about my unconscious or whatever. I loved Roger!”

“Why does it matter if you loved Brian while you were with Roger though?” Alice grabbed your ankles, leaning forward to emphasize her point. “You’re with Brian now! You can say if you loved him before, but you’re not because you’re scared.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Jenny acted as the mediator, nodding at Alice’s words but defending you nonetheless. “I just--we just--don’t want you to sabotage this relationship because of whatever you’re feeling right now.”

You inhaled deeply. “Maybe it’s just because I’m sick. I should probably just sleep it off. Plus, I think my period should be starting pretty soon, too.”

“You’re sick? Since when?” Alice felt your forehead, handing you a glass of water as an offering.

“Just this morning, I don’t know--” You grabbed the sheets, and a static grey fizzled in your ears, becoming a deeper, charcoal ember that burned through your arms and legs and ignited in your stomach. You felt as if you were burning from the inside out, and you gulped the water down quickly, slamming the cup back down onto the desk. “Oh my God.”

“Do you think you might be?” Jenny flipped through a small calendar that hung on your bedroom door, her fingers hovering over the square designated for a Friday, circled in red, the eighth of March. It was the seventeenth.  

__

Brian trudged through makeshift mountains of melting snow, the ice soft and pliable against his shoes. His socks were soaked through with frigid water and he could barely feel his feet as he pushed through a wave of tourists, hugging his arms to his chest in an attempt to make himself at least partially warm. He couldn’t stop thinking about you--about what had happened. He had walked past his flat almost six times and was opting to walk in circles around the vicinity of his home instead of actually going inside; he wasn’t ready to face any of them--especially Roger. He knew that even if by some off-chance they all didn’t know about you and him, that Brian’s reddened nose and tear-stained cheeks would give it all away. Brian was excessively predictable now that he was with you; his emotions were almost tangible--he never held back anymore. You made him unafraid to cry, to laugh, to joke, to be angry. And he was always someone who cried into his pillow or plastered on a fake smile even if he was seething under the seemingly tranquil surface of himself. Brian stood in front of the apartment building, shaking his shoes off on the limestone steps. A few teenage girls walked past him, giggling with each other, their arms linked as they watched Brian take his clogs off to pour the icy water out of them. He shrugged his shoulders and gave them a tight-lipped smile.

“Oi! Brian get up here! We’ve seen you walk around the bloody block for an hour now!” Roger yelled out of his third-story window, his arms crossed against his chest. He was wearing a hoodie of Deaky’s and some loose boxers. His hair was a dirty blond from the winter, and fell in loose waves around his face. He moved his arms so they were extended, and he gripped the window pane, cocking his head as a signal for Brian to come up. A few strangers had stopped to look at the exchange, and Brian was embarrassed at Roger’s utter lack of care; he would say or do anything without even batting his oddly large eyes.

Freddie came up behind Roger and rolled his eyes as he nursed a small cup of tea. He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip and sighed. “Brian, sweetie. We know what you did, so let’s talk about it!” He set the cup down on the windowsill and Roger grabbed it, shoving it back into Freddie’s hand.

“Don’t put it there, you imbecile.” Roger shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

Freddie scoffed. “Don’t be a dick, Rog.”

“Stop it!” Brian craned his neck and shushed them. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“This isn’t all about you, Brian. My God; you’re forgetting that I dated her for over a fucking year!” Roger pointed to himself, digging the tip of his pointer finger into his sternum as he leaned further out of the window.

“Christ, Roger get inside!” Freddie pulled his hood and yanked him back.

Brian shoved his numb feet back into his shoes and climbed up the steps, pulling the heavy oak door open with such force that it slammed against the doorframe as the wind blew it closed. Long strides took him to the third floor within thirty seconds. Deaky must have watched him run inside; he heard the lock click as soon as his heels clicked upon the floor on the other side of the door.

“Please be civilized.” Deaky ushered Brian inside, where Roger sat on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table as he pretended to be focusing on a black-and-white movie that was playing at a staticky low volume. Brian peeled his socks off and pushed past Freddie to get to his room.

“Where are you going? We have to talk about this!” Roger yelled, leaning forward to project his voice as Brian got further and further away.

“Can I change my fucking socks?” Brian sat on his bed and pulled on some thicker, woolen socks that were bunched together at the foot of his bed, which looked much more cluttered than he remembered leaving it. His drawers were all opened and his books were piled on the floor. His lamp was teetering on the edge of his bedside table and mounds of dirty clothes were scattered in islands across the expanse of the room.

“I have a question for you, Brian.” Roger was being passive aggressive, giving Brian the most sweetly facetious smile he had ever seen. “Why do you have multiple pairs of Y/N’s knickers in your drawer?”

Brian stood up, bending down to put the sea of clothes scattered around the floor in the laundry basket by his bed. “And why are you looking through my room?” He countered.

“You didn’t come home last night!”

“So that means you can search through my personal belongings? Explain that to me, Rog. I’m having trouble finding the logic here.” Brian popped his jaw, raising his eyebrows at the blond, who stood at his doorway.

Roger was silent; he knew he was wrong, but he would have rather broken both of his femurs himself than admit to Brian that he was mistaken.

Brian opted to break the silence, digging through the top drawer of his dresser, where he found a pair of your underwear; they had black lace along the hem and were silky against Brian’s thawing fingers. “Why do I have these, you’re asking?” Brian found another pair, holding those up as well, but these were white, cotton ones, and Roger’s heart felt heavy and dejected in his chest. He had never seen you wearing any cheap underwear; you must have trusted Brian more, must have been monumentally more comfortable with him. “Y/N and I are together, Roger. You’ve had to know this for months. But you’re dragging it on and on and on, and for what?”

Roger began to speak, but Brian cut him off, pushing himself off of his bed to stand in front of him. “You fucked up, Roger. You cheated. You flirted with other girls. You broke her trust. This isn’t my fault. It’s not my fault I’m in love with her. It’s not my fault--”

Roger pulled at his hair, leaning forward enough so Brian could smell his breath; it was a mixture of peppermint and beer. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re just her rebound? That she’s using you because I fucked up and she just wants to make me fucking suffer?” Roger was crying now, and beads of his spit flew upon Brian’s chin. “Because I’ve never felt fucking worse! I love her! I was going to ask her to marry me--”

“No you weren’t!” Brian ran a hand through his hair and pushed Roger’s chest so he wasn’t so close; Brian’s breaths were becoming shallower and his head was light--too light--so light, that he had to sit back down on his bed and rest his head in his hands. “You would never marry her. You can’t commit for shit! You fucking cheated!”

“I know I did! I know--” Roger pulled the hoodie over his head, leaving him in a thin t-shirt. “I was thinking about it. And you promised me you wouldn’t date her. You said it to my fucking face and then you did it. Just to spite me.”

“Just to spite you?!” Brian laid down across the bed and hugged a pillow to his chest. “Falling in love with her isn’t to spite you! This isn’t about you--her and me.”

“You know, Brian, you always act like you’re the sensitive sweet one, but you’re a fucking dick! As soon as I was happy with her you always had to butt in and flirt with her and be all charming and bat your eyes and be the good guy!” Roger spat. The veins in his neck were pulsing, angry and blue beneath the perspiring skin. “I’ve always been jealous of you, Brian. Maybe I can get the sex, but you’ve always taken the good ones. You’ve always gotten whatever you wanted at the end of the day!”

“Why are you always victimizing yourself! You’re not fucking jealous of me; that’s a blatant lie, Roger.” Brian threw his pillow against his headboard and kicked some textbooks across the floor. “I’ve worked hard for what I have, Rog! And Y/N isn’t property! If she wanted you back you would be with her right now, and I would be back to wishing I were you, like I did for fourteen fucking months. I loved her since before you even spoke a sentence to her, and you knew that.”

“How would I know that?” He slammed the door shut as Deaky and Freddie appeared there, and the sonic boom echoed throughout the flat. “I can’t detect your feelings!”

“You just said I flirted and was charming! I don’t do that to every bloody girl I meet,  unlike you!” Brian’s voice was cracking, and he took a sip of stale water from a plastic cup by his bed, wincing at the chemical aftertaste it left on his tongue. “Y/N and I are fighting anyway. You should be ecstatic to know that.”

Roger was tired of screaming too, and he sat on Brian’s bed, nudging his shins so he would make enough room for the smaller man. “What are you fighting about?” Roger rolled his eyes and tilted his head back, leaning it against the wall. His adams apple bobbed along the column of his throat as he awaited Brian’s less-than-eager response.

“She got sick this morning, and I asked her if she was okay and she just got pissed at me and called me annoying and clingy. I’m not quite sure.”

“Brutal.” Roger smirked but bit his lip to stifle the laugh that was creeping up his sorely abused throat. “What kind of sick? Did you guys get shitfaced last night?”

“That’s the thing.” The air was calmer now, and the blood in their ears had settled; their faces were only partially flushed instead of feverish and red all over. “I did, but she didn’t drink anything--not that I know of. She just threw up this morning.”

“Oh, fuck.” Roger pinched the bridge of his nose as a knock sounded at the front door. Roger and Brian heard hushed hellos and the rustling of your winter coat, an occasional sniffle.

“They’re both in Bri’s room.” Deaky’s voice was muffled by the door that acted as a partition between you and the two people you wanted to see most--and least--in the world. Roger bit his lip; he wasn’t ready to see you and Brian in the same position you and him were in only months before. He had done nothing but think about the prospect of you in his arms, of you kissing his temple, your fingers running through his hair. Of his best friend’s hands running down your chest as he kissed your neck. And now, with the possibility that you were carrying Brian’s baby, he was livid. He picked up a heavy physics book that was obscured halfway underneath Brian’s bed as you walked in, shutting the door swiftly behind you.

“Roger!” You yanked his arm back as he was about to throw the book at Brian’s face; it was at least five pounds, dog-eared and yellowed at the edges. You remembered seeing Brian hunched over the same book the first time you came over to see Roger, how your stomach felt as if the paper-thin wings of a million butterflies were beating against it. You felt your heartbeat hammer against your chest, and it even felt as if your lungs were beating against your ribcage as you climbed onto Brian’s bed and grabbed his cheeks, sticky from dried tears, kissing his mouth firmly. Brian turned his cheek, and you held his chin--stippled with rough stubble--and tilted his face towards your own.

“I’m sorry, bub.” you peppered soft kisses on his jaw and he sniffled, his hands ghosting over your waist. “I’m sorry for calling you annoying. For pushing you away.”

Roger cleared his throat, wondering if this was how Brian felt when you and him were dating; like an unseen spector watching his dreams vicariously from afar. “Are you pregnant, Y/N?” He kicked a pair of Brian’s trousers underneath his bed.

“I don’t know.” You didn’t; but you had bought a pregnancy test in a small convenience store a block south from their flat, and it sat in your purse, immense and massively heavy although it couldn’t weigh more than a couple ounces. You fished it from your bag and unraveled it from the small plastic sack it was sheathed in.

Brian gulped. “If you are, then it could be--”

Roger shook his head and heaved out a choked sigh. “No! It would have to be mine, right?”

“Not necessarily.” You mumbled and read the fine-print instructions on the box of the test.

“You--” Roger scoffed and cracked his knuckles one by one as he hovered over the bed where you and Brian sat. “You didn’t let me--until almost six months in!”

You were livid, that Roger was continuing to make this about himself, and in the most selfish and irrelevant of ways. “You’re mad because I let Brian do that earlier than I did with you? That’s why you’re mad right now?”

“Do you want me to be pissed about something else, then?” He asked, his blue eyes a stormy navy, speckled with charcoal greys that radiated seething anger. “Maybe the fact that you moved on so quickly from me? That you fucked my best friend and now you’re supposedly in love and possibly pregnant with his--or my--child?” He was screaming, and his voice sounded like someone had scratched a machete over his vocal chords.

“It’s probably not your fucking baby!” You shoved him away and got up, grabbing the pregnancy test and locking yourself in the closet-sized bathroom across the hall. The mirror was fogged from Roger’s earlier shower, and you felt nauseous smelling his aftershave, when at one point it would have made you utterly weak at the knees. There were four personalities shoved into the tiny space, in the form of four types of hair products and four scents of colognes. But they each shared the same toothpaste and they each left the bathroom a complete mess. Your fingers trembled as you took out the test and assembled the odd contraption; you had never had a pregnancy scare when you were with Roger, so you didn’t really know what to do.

You heard a soft knock on the bathroom door, and Brian’s even softer voice, as his head rested against the cracked wood. “Can I wait here?” His voice cracked, and you heard labored breaths fanning through the tiny crack where the door met the frame, which was a tad too wide.

“Brian, please come inside.” You blew your nose in some toilet paper and closed your legs, feeling colossally vulnerable; your pants were pooled around your ankles, you wore no makeup, and your hair was frizzy from the wind and the cool mist that sprinkled outside.

“Are you sure?” He mumbled, his hand splayed across the door. You could hear the soft tinkle of his pinky ring against the hollow wood. You nodded--then remembered he couldn’t see you.

“Yes, please come in. I need you.”

A smile tugged at Brian’s cheeks at those three words, almost more than when you said a different trio, I love you. You needed him and he needed you; you two were each others’ complement, a symbiotic pair that couldn’t be separated by Roger’s discontent, nor the daunting possibility of a baby. Brian wasn’t even reluctant to admit Roger was right as he opened the door to the bathroom and leaned his back against it. You were always his love, even if it were platonic for over a year. Always.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Brian bent down in front of the toilet and took your hands. Your eyes were averted to the pregnancy test that sat on the counter, by the half-used roll of toilet paper that Roger was forever too lazy to put on the holder.

“I’m scared.” You squeezed his hands, tracing your thumbs over the veins that fed into each other beneath the soft skin. You could feel his pulse racing at his wrist, and you sighed. “You are too, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“What if I am?” You let go of his right hand and took the test into your own hand, realizing that that plastic contraption would literally predict your future.

“Then we’ll figure it out.” He was genuine; his teeth poked out from between his lips and his eyes crinkled, his nose widening and cheeks lifting. “I promise, I’m not leaving.”

“What if I am, and it’s Roger’s?” Brian’s grip tightened at the mention of his name, and you felt terrible that you had rendered their once trusting friendship into the mere smithereens of acquaintanceship.

“Then we’ll figure that out too.” He pressed a kiss to your hand. “Now, I don’t mean to be pushy, but I feel like I may throw up, so let’s take the test and get it over with, yeah?”

“Okay, okay.” It was a bit uncomfortable, holding one of Brian’s hands as you peed into a plastic cup.

Brian squinted at the instructions, holding his other hand out. “Give me the cup.”  

“You want to handle my cup of pee? I can do it.” You rolled your eyes and he blushed, taking it from you.

“What? I’m a scientist. This is kind of like a mini lab, you could say.”  He took the small plastic dropper from the kit and dipped it in the cup.

“You’re a nerd.” You kissed his forehead as he used the dropper to put some liquid into the odd contraption that sat by the sink. “How long does it take?” He was trembling with nerves as he washed his hands, you even more nervous, pulling your jeans up your legs.

“Two hours.”

Brian didn’t want to leave the bathroom until a conclusive answer had been found, and neither did you. “Then I guess we’ll need to distract ourselves for a couple of hours.”

Brian nodded and held a finger up, giggling as he pulled a deck of cards from underneath the sink. They were dog-eared and water-stained, but still readable, although the ink had bled through each card just a little bit.

“Why do you have cards under the sink?”

“Kind of funny,” He shuffled the cards expertly as he leaned against the door, trying not to look at the test that sat--idle and untouched--so close to you both. “I used to come in here and play solitaire when you came over. I didn’t want to hear you and Roger.”

You closed the lid to the toilet and sat down, smiling at the innocence of the prospect. “Were we that loud?”

“No, and it wasn’t just sex.” He said, sitting down on the ledge of the bathtub. “I didn’t want to hear any of it; I wanted you so bad. I would come in here and play and listen to music for hours. Sometimes I would fall asleep in here. You reached forward and touched his knee, remembering a time you had sleepily walked to the bathroom while you stayed the night in Roger’s room and found Brian asleep against the wall, his mouth parted as he snored softly. You recalled leading him back to his room and covering him with a soft blanket and feeling guilty when you kissed his forehead.

__

“Has it been two hours?” You dealt the cards out for what was probably the twentieth time, handing Brian his stack.

“A little over, actually.”

You and him had been talking mindlessly for the entirety of the waiting period, your knees touching as you used them as a makeshift table for your game. “Should we look?”

“I can’t do it.” He shook his head, intertwining his fingers as he looked at his lap.

You stood up halfway, just enough to see inside of the plastic box where the reaction had been taking place for the past 120-something minutes.

“Are you?” Brian mustered, standing up and wiping his clammy palms on his jeans.

“No. I’m not.” You felt a pang of emptiness as you said it, even though you were nowhere near old enough to have a child; even though the negative implications of being pregnant greatly outweighed the positives.

“Oh. Okay.” Brian glanced at the kit, to confirm to himself that it was, in fact, negative. It was.

“Are you alright, Brian?” He looked pale, and thoroughly disappointed.

“Is it weird that I wish you were pregnant?” His eyebrows knitted together as he shoved the cards back into the box, unlocking the bathroom door. “With my baby of course.” He added, as if that would soften the blow.

__

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[fantasiesxwritten]

Sex in the City

It was a beautiful day in Chicago and I was taking advantage of it; out shopping in the downtown area. I had my right arm loaded with designer shopping bags as I struggled to keep my arm up, my other arm held my Hermes Birkin bag along with my Starbucks Mocha Frappe. I walked swiftly down the street, pondering on if I could stand to go into another store and add one more shopping bag to my already weighed down arm. I decided against it, as I walked further to the parking garage where I had parked my car. I neared the entrance as I sipped the last of my frappe, going to toss in a nearby trashcan. I just so happened to look across the street and as I did I spotted something delectable and tall staring in my direction. From where I stood, I couldn’t make out much about him, I needed to get a closer look.

 I started to walk closer to the parking garage, glancing across the street occasionally and seeing that he was following me. He crossed the street now and came over to where I was, walking directly behind me. I walked into the parking garage and I could hear that he was still on my heels, causing me to smirk. Something about this whole scenario was sexy and daring to me; I didn’t know who this man was but the excitement of what could possibly occur was doing more than enough for my libido. I walked up a little more, heading in the direction of the second floor in the garage before he called out to me. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around now to see what this mystery man looked like. I was stunned to see that he was more than attractive - brown skinned with light brown eyes, a goatee that seemed to fit his oval face so well, a strong jaw and plump pink lips. My eyes scanned down the rest of his body to scope out the package; his build was every bit of scrumptious as I had spotted from across the street. His defined arm muscles showed eagerly and his short sleeved shirt clung to his ripped stomach for dear life. I looked down at the center of his cargo shorts, but was unable to determine the girth of what was packing below, but that made me all the more anxious to know. I noticed him checking me out too and grinning; assuming he liked what he saw. We hadn’t even spoken any words yet, but the looks written across both of our faces spoke volumes, even through our silence. I had never done anything like what I allowed my mind to think of doing right now; but there’s a first time for everything. I wanted this nameless man to take me in this parking garage and fill me up, sending me home with one of the best shopping experiences to remember. His tongue skimmed across his top lip slowly and he finally spoke. “Don’t get me wrong, but you are stunningly beautiful. And I-” I didn’t even let him finish his complete thought, because I knew he wanted the same thing I wanted. “Yes, I want you to fuck me.” I couldn’t believe I’d actually said the words, but now that they floated out there in the air, there was only one thing to do from here. He smirked so sexily as I saw his pearly whites and that he had one dimple in his right cheek. This man moved in closer to me, making me back up into the car that I stood in front of. “Well in that case, turn around.” He demanded so aggressively, making my pussy instantly moisten. “Yessir.” I spoke lowly as I dropped my shopping bags where I stood and put my Hermes bag in one of the less full ones. He pushed me from behind onto the hood of the car suddenly, my palms falling flat onto the car. He got up close behind me as he let his hands roam all over my body, feeling my curves through my asymmetrical maxi dress. Rubbing himself up against me from behind, his hands traveled up the front of my body; gripping both of my breasts in his hands and rubbing them gently before squeezing them both. He pulled the front of my dress down along with my bra, exposing my breasts and rubbing over both my nipples with his thumbs. “Mmmm.” I moaned out lightly, biting my bottom lip softly and pushing my ass into him. Slowly grinding myself against him as he got my nipples erect underneath his thumbs, he backed away from me just enough. Removing one of his hands from my breasts, he undid his cargo shorts and pulled them down just enough to release his dick from his boxers. He let go of my other breast now as I looked behind me to see him reaching a condom out from his wallet and opening it up with his teeth; removing the condom and rolling it onto his dick from the tip on down. I still had my palms planted on the hood of someone elses car as he lifted up my maxi dress slowly, until my bare ass was in view; I had gone commando today. He grunted out at the sight of it, as he slapped his hand down on it, making it jiggle. “Climb up there and get on your knees.” He told me. I climbed up on the hood of the car; on all fours now. “Squat down. I want to slide right up in you.” I squatted down like he asked me to, sliding back some so my ass hovered right over his dick, I could feel the tip already pressed up against me. He held his dick in his hand and rubbed it over me, letting my pussy get the tip wet; then he brushed it over my clit repeatedly, teasing me. “Yesssss.” I hissed out lowly, letting my body come down a little lower. He teased my clit a little longer before he slid his dick back to my opening and forced himself into me long and hard, entering me entirely. I moaned out as I slammed my hand down on the hood of the car from the intensity. His height made it easy for him to stroke up inside of me, slowly at first; making me feel every single inch as he did so. He placed his hand on my lower back and pushed me down onto him harder, bouncing my ass. Moans were just coming from between my lips as I threw my head back, bouncing my ass off of his dick now. He grunted while his hands found their way to my waist, where he pulled my body backwards, literally sliding me on his dick smoothly. The wetness that my pussy was making had him entering me faster now; filling me up with his thickness. He wasn’t too big, but he was perfectly big enough; as I rolled my hips and dropped myself back onto him over and over again. “Ahhhhh shittttt.” I screamed out after he rammed himself up into me, making my titties bounce in front of me. I gripped as best as I could onto the hood of the car, letting him stroke my pussy deeply. “Fuck.” He muttered followed by a groan, as he picked up the pace even more now, continuing to pull me onto his dick. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He began slamming me down onto his dick now, with me looking over my shoulder at him. “Fuck me.” I demanded to him, only making him grow more aggressive with his strokes. I squinted my eyes for just a second as I felt a slight pinch in my stomach from the hard thrusts he was giving to me now; when I opened my eyes I saw an Asian group walking by and watching us with shocking looks on their faces. I could hear them speaking in their native language as one of them even snapped a picture. Being watched was turning me on even more; I could give a fuck right at this very moment, all I cared about was this stranger fucking me until I came all over him. “This-hard-enough-for-you?” He spoke out in between grunts and hard strokes. I ignored him, and kept throwing it back on him while tightening up around his dick. Just as I did that and he felt it, he slammed into me relentlessly, groaning from the pull I was projecting onto him. “Oh myyy fuckkkk. Yes! Yes! I feel youuuuuu!” I moaned out loudly, with a hint of a whine to it. I couldn’t keep quiet now even if I wanted to. His hands moved from my hips and landed on top of my ass as he forced it down, with me unable to move now. He kept me in this position as he drilled into me, going fast and hard. His dick was massaging my g-spot now lovely, forcing me to scream out obscenities; only motivating him to keep up his current strokes. I could feel my pussy throbbing now, and swallowing his dick up inside me; his grunts became more frequent as his breathing followed out shallow. I knew he was feeling the exact same way I was and I was so ready for my body to release. Pumping into me harder and faster this last time, still holding me down so I couldn’t fuck him back; it was driving me crazy because of how good he felt as he entered in and out of me. I closed my eyes tightly, feeling myself about to let go for him, all over him. He groaned out, taking me all the way there as he brought himself there as well. I collapsed onto the hood of the car, with my ass propped up all the way in the air now, my chest flat on the hood. He smacked my ass one last time, causing me to quiver and shake; cumming all over him as my voice cracked from the endless moans that now left my mouth. “FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKK!” I screamed out, followed by loud moans and then, “FUCK THIS PUSSYYYYYY UPPPPP!” He pumped in me steady, not slowing down just yet as he released himself into the condom, inside of me. “Ahhhhhh shiiiit, fuck.” He moaned out along with me, squeezing my ass into his large hands and pulling me onto his dick still. As he finally began to slow down, I felt his dick twitching inside of me, releasing the last bit of his load. He pulled out of me slowly, backing up and removing the condom off of his dick and tossing it between the cars. I slowly climbed down from the hood of the car, my legs completely numb and weak; stumbling once my feet touched the ground. He caught me as I fixed my dress, pulling it down and pulling my bra back up along with the front of my dress. I turned around to face him, seeing sweat beads along his hairline and a satisfied grin across his face, while he tucked his dick back inside of his boxers and pulled his shorts up all the way; buttoning and zipping them. “Wow.” I stated, smiling and giggling a little; catching my breath. “Yeah, that was…” He started. “Amazing!” I finished. “But make no mistakes, I don’t usually do stuff like this.” I assured him. “Neither do I. But when I saw you-” Again I finished his sentence, “You had to have me, right? I felt the exact same way.” We both gazed at each other; post-sex smiles still smeared across our faces. I turned away shyly now, reaching down to grab up all my bags in my hands. “Well, this has been great.” “It has.” He nodded, still smiling. “Will I see you again after this?” “Uhhh, I doubt it.” I spoke softly, beginning to walk off. “I don’t even know your name.” He called after me. I smirked and turned back only slightly, “It’s not important.” I walked off, up the rest of the way to the second floor of the garage where I had parked my car. All I left behind me was my body’s imprints on someone elses car, a used condom and a fine man who was stuck wanting more and wondering why.

Author | Kierra Posted | May 2012

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 24

Read Ch. 23 | Masterlist

Hope everyone had a good holiday season and a great New Year! The next few chapters will be posted sporadically. I need to concentrate on finding a new job the next few months.

As fun as it is to write “Blink!”, I’ve been finding the lack of motivation to post since it’s not getting much reads. This was to be expected considering it’s not a reader insert and it takes place in S4.

The grandiose ball room was brightly lit with a crystal chandelier at the center, with decorative sconces symmetrically placed on every wall that wasn’t a full on window with breathtaking views of the Tokyo nightscape. Waiters dressed in white jackets and black vests served glasses of champagne, cocktail and hors d'oeuvres to the self-important adults chatting away incessantly with some top tier heroes and other ambassadors. A live 3-piece jazz band could be heard playing to give the party some ambiance. Ren spotted her mom talking with Aizawa and two other unknown faces.

“I guess I should go say hi,” Ren sighed. “Let’s meet back at this spot in an hour, then we dip. I really want that ramen.”

“It’s a plan.” Seri gave her a thumbs up and all the luck, watching her friend walk off.

“Kubo-senpai...” Todoroki softly called. “About what we were talking about before...”

She looked up at the red and white haired boy, her gaze falling more on the cautious side.

“While it’s true I need to sort out how I feel about Ren-senpai, please know I intend to be honest and the last thing I want to do is hurt her in any way. And… I really do care about her. It’s not much, but that’s the most reassurance I can give you at this time.”

Seri softened her expression at Todoroki and sighed, closing her eyes in understanding. “You two really are alike. She’s doing the same with you.”

“Is… she?”

Seri watched Ren’s side profile in the group of adults, looking attentive to their conversation. “So, does she know your story?”

“The timing was never there,” Todoroki said. “But I get the feeling she knows some parts already based on what I could tell her.”

“It should come from you, not from her assumptions.”

“Seri. There you are,” a man’s deep voice called, making her let out a soft, tired breath from her lips.

“The shackles are here in the form of my father,” the owl-faced girl lamented. “See you in an hour, Todoroki-kun.”

And then there was one.

Casually walking around, he grabbed an hors d'oeuvre from a moving platter and took a small bite, immediately grimacing at the sudden taste of freezer burn. Quickly finding a napkin, he vacated the vile item from his mouth onto it and balled it up in his fist. He now understood why both his upperclassmen were looking forward to ramen. Looking around the room, he recognized a few heroes, even though they weren’t in costume.

Was this what being a pro hero is?

Rubbing elbows with powerful people who do nothing but desk work and mindless chatter?

No wonder his father didn’t like coming to these events.

Having other important government people and heroes approach him in the span of half an hour, he politely excused himself and made his way out to the restroom to center himself.

He is representing Endeavor, the number one hero of Japan, after all; he’ll have to be at these events again when he’s older. As annoyed as he was to be here, at least he’s able to get some form of experience from this. Plus, the company helped.

After a series of extremely mind-numbing adult conversations about the current state of government policies on heroes and such, Ren was able to recuse herself to get some air. The moment the door gently slammed shut, she walked a few steps and let out a huge breath while taking off her draped blazer and slid down the wall.

Were she to do this for another second, she’d literally suffocate. She was mentally reminding herself she’s doing this for the ramen

 And it was damn well worth it.

“Senpai?”

She looked up to see Todoroki.

“Are you okay?”

“Just taking a breather.” She patted the carpeted floor to get him to sit next to her, to which he did. “How are you doing?”

“The food is horrible and these shoes pinch my toes,” the bi-colored haired boy groaned out.

“Tell me about it.” She lifted her right foot up to show her 3-inch pumps.

The two chuckled listlessly and sighed, letting the serene silence sit. The two closed their eyes.

“Ren-senpai?” “Hm?”

“If you’re not too tired tonight, do you have some time… to talk?”

Ren slowly opened her eyes to turn her head to Todoroki, who still has his closed.

“Um… sure.”

A short beat soon after, he slowly stood back up and patted his backside off from any possible dirt from the carpet.

“I guess we should head back in.”

“Do we have to?” she whined and slowly made moves to stand. The duo-quirk wielding boy held his hand out for her to grab for support, to which she accepted.

“Unfortunately, yes. They’ll notice we’re missing.”

Standing back up with a short grunt and feeling the pressure on the balls of her feet, she dusted herself off before thanking him. As they turned to go back in, a deep voice called out to Ren.

“Shit...” she mumbled out and furrowed her brows with drooped shoulders before turning to meet three tall and sharply dressed boys who looked older than her.

“You know them?”

“That’s… one way of putting it.”

“Thought that fine ass was you, Takahiro,” the boy with messy black hair and glasses arrogantly belted out and looked her up and down with lecherous desire. “Damn, you filled out nicely.”

“And hello to you too, Edogawa,” the pink haired girl greeted in a terse, monotone voice.

Behind him stood two more boys; one was tall and boxy with his brown hair done up in a pompadour, the other a slender build with his blue hair in a swooping quiff. They were all wearing expensively tailored black suits with their own accessories. “Goto, Hattori. You two look well.”

Hate is often a very strong word she would never use other than on Chisaki Kai; but she hated these three boys with a passion.

Edogawa Ken. Goto Daiki. Hattori Kyosuke. The sons of three high-ranking embassy officials. Having been childhood friends, they were thick as thieves by the time they could walk, talk and quirk. Some would say they were the male counterparts of her, Seri and Tomoe; only difference was they were extremely rich assholes.

Todoroki was quick to catch on as to who they were: The Preppy Posse.

“Heard you got into U.A., Takahiro,” Hattori remarked with a snobbish tone. “Tryin’ to be a hero with that weak ass quirk of yours?”

“She’s already one,” Todoroki stepped in to defend her honor. “She has her provisional license.”

“Oh, my apologies then, Miss Taka-hero,” the blue-haired boy mocked with a bow and chuckled at his own pun.

“Wow, they really give that shit out to anyone nowadays,” Goto sneered and crossed his arms. “The pro heroes must be desperate since All-Might retired, huh.”

Ren quickly gripped Todoroki’s forearm as he tried to lunge at them. He quickly turned to look at her lightly shaking her head, reminding him to not engage.

“You… Two-tone boy.” Edogawa took three steps toward him, analyzing his face. He put his hand up to cover up his right side and focused on his left only.

“Holy shit,” he chuckled out in disbelief and took two steps back. “You’re Endeavor’s kid.”

“And if I am?” His voice was deep and rough through gritted teeth. The gentle hetero-chromatic eyes Ren was used to seeing were now intensely harsh and cold, glaring at the ring leader.

“Bro, no disrespect.” The black-haired boy held his hands up in neutral. “Just an honor to meet the son of the number one hero, is all. No need for the fire, my dude.”

He held his hand out to shake as a friendly gesture, only to come up empty from the dual-quirk wielding boy.

“If you have no more business with us,” Ren quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation, keeping up with the curt act. “We really should be getting back to the party.”

As she spun and grabbed Todoroki by his wrist to make their escape, Akahiro immediately stretched his arm and grabbed her waist, yanking her away from the bi-colored haired boy. She forgot his quirk was Nobi Nobi* and inwardly cursed at herself for it.

This was going to be troublesome.

“Ah-ah,” the messy jet-black haired boy tutted with a menacing grin on his thin lips. “Actually, we have business with you. Personal. Business.”

He leaned in close enough to Ren to shy away to gain what little personal space she could get, catching a whiff of her sweet perfume.

“Ooh hoo, you even smell nice,” he growled out and flashed a toothy grin at her.

He hungrily licked his lips as his free hand stretched around and caressed her backside, forcing her closer to his body and felt something halfway hard press against her thigh. Todoroki was seething with rage.

“Let go of her!” he growled out and summoned ice in his right palm.

“Todoroki, stop,” Ren commanded. “Just stay calm.”

She made solid eye contact with him, mentally projecting him to trust her.

“Yeah, Todoroki. You should listen to her,” the boy jeered with venomous elation. “We’re in the Embassy building at the heart of Tokyo. You let your quirk loose here, your hero career will end faster than you can apologize. Not even your dear ol’ dad can help you out.”

Clicking his tongue in anger, his logical side kicking in to assess the situation, released the ice in his hand.

“What a good boy you are,” Edogawa commended in a vindictive manner before turning back to Ren, leering at her through half-lidded hungry eyes. His gaze then went further down and leered at her breasts, imagining all the things he was going to do with them.

He tilted her chin up at him and spoke softly in his deep voice. “Now, if you don’t want your mom to get in trouble with, say, having your asylum status revoked, you’ll be a good little kitten and come with us.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she arrogantly stated with a matching smirk.

“Oh?” His interest was peaked. “And what makes you so sure?”

She leaned in and whispered, “Because I know about ‘Remedy.’”

The boy’s grin immediately dropped to a scowl. The hand wrapped around her back slipped to the front and roughly slammed her onto a nearby wall by her neck, knocking the wind out of her lungs and grunted.

“Senpai!” Todoroki exclaimed. As he made moves toward her, Goto and Hattori stood in between.

“Not so fast, lover boy,” Hattori tutted.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled out with dark, angry eyes. “How the fuck you find out ‘bout that?”

“Oh, I have my sources,” she laughed wryly through strained breath. Her rebellious hazel-green eyes didn’t leave his and saw panic flicker in his irises for a second. “You’ll let me go right now if you don’t want it leaked by accident at, say, an important event where mommy and daddy are at tonight.”

Growling with dissatisfaction at the fact this nobody damaged his pride, Edogawa crudely released his grip.

“We’re leaving,” the boy hastily barked. “They’re a waste of our time.”

Edogawa stomped off angrily, with Goto and Hattori following not too far behind. Todoroki immediately ran up and held onto her for support as she placed a hand on her chest and gasped out loud, lightly wretch coughing.

“That was reckless,” he scolded. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…” she wheezed out and rubbed her neck. “Guys like that… You gotta use your brain rather than your quirk to beat ‘em.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I know something that’ll get him into a lot of trouble. Call it insurance.”

“Senpai… I’m glad you’re on our side,” he blurted out. “You’d be a pain to deal with as a villain.”

“I almost get choked out and that’s what you say?”

Ren could only chuckle as Todoroki huffed a sigh of relief from his lips and slowly drew her into a one armed hug. Her limbs stiffened up at his touch, stunned by his action.

“I couldn’t do anything to help...” he spoke into her shoulder, feeling his hot breath cascade down her arm. “I’m sorry...”

“But you did.” Ren relaxed and reached her right hand up to pet the back of his head, consoling him. “You trusted me.”

Before they could continue with their conversation, they were interrupted with someone clearing their throat. The two turned to see Seri staring intently at them with her yellow and black owl-like eyes with her hands on her hips. She was clearly unamused.

“This isn’t a love hotel, you know,” she flatly pointed out. Realizing how close they were to each other, Todoroki suddenly released her and looked away shyly, remembering their talk earlier. The owl-faced girl then noticed the now formed bruise on her right forearm and red marks around her neck.

“I-I’m gonna use the toilet real quick,” the pink haired girl muttered and sped walked into the bathroom.

“Todoroki...” Seri spoke in a growing dark voice. “What did you do?”

He inwardly panicked as her eyes started glowing and felt his body going numb.

“It’s not what you think,” he calmly explained. “The posse approached us.”

The girl immediately stopped and asked him to explain while Ren was fixing herself up to look presentable again.

“Those bastards...” she angrily hissed out as their friend emerged from the lavatory. “Ren, let’s go fuck ‘em up.”

“We don’t need to,” she calmly replied and went to pick her blazer up off of the floor to dust it off before draping it back on her shoulders. “I got collateral on one of them.”

“What kind?”

“I think I heard her say something called ‘Remedy’?” Todoroki spoke up.

Her eyes grew went wide when Ren’s train of thought quickly hit Seri.

“I hope you took extra precautions, you idiot,” her snow owl friend scolded.

“Of course I did,” Ren defensively huffed out as a matter of factly. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’m sorry.” The red and white haired boy interjected in confusion. “What are you two talking about?”

“Ren-Ren used the Dark Net to obtain her information,” Seri revealed and crossed her arms. The boy quickly glanced over at his upperclassman in shock. “Talk about high risk.”

“It was a calculated risk and it paid off,” she briskly corrected. “Would you rather have me end up being their plaything and calling ‘em ‘master’? I sure as hell don’t.”

“So what is ‘Remedy’ exactly?” Todoroki asked. “And why was Edogawa so scared by it?”

“Our lovely stretchy worm has been secretly investing in overseas quirk-boosters and playing the black market,” Ren explained in a hushed voice. “And here’s the kicker: the money’s partially from his inheritance to which he laundered through ill-gotten gains in other drugs and firearms. I’d say the only smart thing he did was doing it through an alias, but little did he realize the money trail he poorly covered up.”

“So why can’t we report him now and have him arrested?”

“Diplomatic immunity. That’s why,” Seri bitterly spat out and crossed her arms. “We need substantial physical evidence to catch him.”

“Gotta love government loopholes,” Ren irritably lamented and sighed. “You’ll learn quickly not everything’s black and white in their eyes, Todo-kun. As much as heroes think they’re in the right in dealing with villains and doing a service to law-abiding citizens, there are situations that call for dirtier tactics to justify the means. I’m sure Uncle All-Might and even your dad’s got stories to tell you about.”

“And this is the stuff school tries to shelter us from to prevent cynicism from spreading in the budding hero community,” the owl-girl mentioned. “It was inevitable for us due to our upbringing.”

“So why tell me about this?” the bi-coloured haired boy finally asked.

“Because you’re capable,” they both said in unison.

“You’re the type who calmly analyzes a situation in order to decide the best course of action,” Ren praised. “Like you did before with the posse.”

“And you’re well aware of your status so you don’t act brashly,” Seri added.

“You speak too highly of me.”

“You have two of your senpais acknowledging your intelligence, Todoroki-kun,” the snow owl girl firmly stated with a small smile. “Now’s not the time to be humble.”

“Anyway, we should head back in,” Ren finalized. “I’m sure our respective parents would’ve noticed we’re gone by now.”

“Hurray,” Seri unceremoniously cheered and rolled her eyes.

The boy stood by himself for a moment to collect himself from their words of encouragement, watching the two girls walk back to the ballroom entrance. Ren stopped in her steps and turned back to him.

“You coming?”

Rejoining the group, the three re-entered the ballroom without fanfare.

“Ren! There you are,” her mom called and walked up to her daughter, noticing the marks on her neck. “What happened there?”

“Huh? Oh! I think I may be allergic to the perfume I’m wearing,” she quickly fibbed. “Couldn’t stop scratching.”

“Be sure to get that checked out tomorrow okay?”

“’Course mom.”

“Seri,” Ren’s mom warmly greeted and drew the girl into a hug. “You doing well in U.A.?”

“Of course, Aunt Victoria,” the owl girl responded with a small smile after releasing. “Who else will keep Ren-Ren out of trouble?”

“I’m actually offended you see me as a problem child,” Ren feigned betrayal by splaying her right hand over her chest and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Oh and who may you be?” Victoria turned to Todoroki and asked. “I didn’t see you on the video call last time.”

“I’m Todoroki Shouto, ma’am,” he politely introduced himself with a light bow. “I’m here in representation of my father Endeavor tonight as he’s still recovering from his injuries. Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Takahiro.”

“No need to be so formal, Shouto-kun,” Ren’s mom disregarded with a wave of her hand. “Victoria’s just fine.”

“T-Then I will greet you as you wish.”

“How is your father by the way? The injuries he sustained looked pretty serious,” she asked with genuine care in her tone. “I do hope he’s not pushing himself too hard.”

“Thank you for your kind words, but my father will be fine,” he reassured in an almost robotic manner. “He’s gone through worse scrapes.”

“While that’s true, I still do worry about all the pros out there...” The elder Takahiro trailed off and looked at her daughter. “You all put your lives on the line everyday and anything can happen that’ll turn a minor situation into a major one.”

“It’s an occupational hazard, mom,” Ren stated and rolled her eyes. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“I know but I still worry,” Victoria firmly stated and drew her kid by her waist to hug her.

All her daughter could do is sigh, knowing anything she’d say wouldn’t quell her doubts. As conversations continued, Ren noticed something amiss from her peripheral. Hattori came in stumbling about like he drank too much whisky; he was sweating profusely and tugged at his tie to get air, his eyes bloodshot. She quickly scanned the room and the other two were no where to be found. To prevent making a scene, Ren excused herself and stealthily approached him from the side.

“Hattori,” she called softly to catch his attention. “You okay there?”

All he could hear was gagging and she looked down to see his form hunched over and foaming at the mouth. She pulled his collar down to see a reddened puncture wound at his jugular and pulled him up to support his heavy frame.

“What did you take?” she whispered. “Get it together, man.”

“I-It’s a-a-all your fa-fault, Taka...hiro,” he stuttered out and slowly turned to meet her shocked expression. His eyes started gradually glowed red and charged up.

Oh shit.

She pushed him away in time as his eyes shot out lasers that hit the hangar loop of the chandelier. The decorative centerpiece snapped and made its way down, drawing party goers to run for cover as it crashed down with scattered crystals flying across the marble floor.

“This… is your doing, Takahiro!” Hattori huffed out and stared at her with glowing red eyes and shot at her again, not caring about the patrons around. The moment she dodged, Todoroki quickly created an ice wall in between the startled guests to absorb the laser attack. The slender boy roughly gripped his now messy blue hair and screamed, peeking the tip of his now blackened tongue.

She tapped her bangles to transform into T-clubs on instinct.

Seri immediately jumped to her left side and asked, “Hattori, is he...”

“He’s boosted,” she huffed out, watching the boy’s form wreath in pain and clawed at his chest.

“Leave this to us,” Aizawa came up from behind them and prepared his Capture Device. “Help with the evacuations.”

“He’s after me,” Ren stated. “I should take respon–”

“That doesn’t mean you ignore your other duties as a hero,” the ebony haired man firmly lectured and walked past her to shield the three U.A. students. “We’re the pros here, not you.”

Before the pink haired girl could even move, Hattori charged at full speed toward her, only to be intercepted by one of Fourth Kind’s brutish strength from two of his four arms.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, young’un,” the four-armed hero gruffly spoke and rebounded his body back.

“Be careful of his quirk,” Ren warned. “His ability is to absorb attacks and recoil it in the form of kinetic energy through his eyes.”

“You kids and your troublesome quirks,” Aizawa blurted out and clicked his tongue. “Thanks for the intel. Now go.”

Ren knew they could handle it and gritted her teeth. Both Seri’s and Todoroki’s voices brought her back as they ran to assist Gang Orca and Kamui Woods with clearing the building before it went on lockdown. Within the maelstrom of panicked party goers, Ren found the back of her mom’s head.

She was safe.

One less thing to worry about.

Moments later, they were all out in the main driveway of the embassy building, all looking up in hopes of seeing what’s going on. Ren could only wait with baited breath and scanned the growing crowd for two certain boys.

“Ren,” Seri called with a hushed voice by her side. “Goto. Four o’clock.”

God bless Seri’s owl quirk. The pink haired girl gingerly moved backwards to not attract attention and immediately teleported behind the person of interest. He let out a light gasp upon feeling her locking his left wrist.

“Move and I snap it,” Ren spoke in the shell of his ear in a low voice. “You will answer my questions in the form of head nods. We clear?”

Goto swallowed thickly and nodded, with beads of perspiration rolling down his temple.

“Is there a booster in Hattori’s system?”

Goto nodded once.

“Did he inject it in himself?”

The stocky boy shook his head furiously.

“Is Edogawa still here?”

He hesitated to answer and saw his shoulders visibly shake.

“Is Edogawa responsible for this?”

The brown haired boy bit his lower lip and clenched his free hand into a fist, fighting crocodile tears. They were both his friends. He couldn’t possibly out them! A sudden thought crossed her mind: Could Hattori be involved with Remedy and this was a fallout situation?

“Goto, you need to tell me now,” Ren’s growled out. Her patience was running very thin. “The longer you hesitate, the more danger Hattori’s life will be in; he can die.”

The boy finally conceded and choked out, “After we left you, Ken… checked something on his phone. He was pissed about something he read and popped some kinda pills before getting into it with Kyo,” Goto whimpered. “Said something about being snitched on.”

“So he thought Hattori betrayed him.”

“Kyo didn’t know what he was talking about and next thing we knew, Ken...” He stifled his words and softly dry sobbed. “I’ve never seen him this angry before. The drugs he’s been taking’s been making him more paranoid than usual.”

“Do you know the booster dosage that’s in Hattori’s system?”

Goto furiously shook his head no.

“L-Look,” he stammered out. “I-I’m sorry for all the shit we said about you, but please...” The boy desperately pleaded. “Save Kyo. Because I can’t. Not with my quirk.”

Goto Daiki’s quirk is Machina, where he can communicate with and fix anything machine-based. As much as he hated it, it’s been proven useful in becoming the go-to I.T. person in his circle of friends and family, albeit annoying and tiresome. However, he can only activate this only if there’s something wrong with its functions and can’t hack.

Releasing his wrist, Ren said nothing more and zipped away from him to regroup with Seri and Todoroki. She didn’t like the boy, but you can’t fake that kind of desolation.

“Did you get anything out of Goto?” Seri hurriedly asked.

“Hattori and Edogawa had a fallout. Stabbed a booster in him, so we’re on borrowed time,” Ren summarized.

The penthouse windows immediately shattered, raining glass down below. Todoroki summoned a giant iceberg to shield the people from being hurt as they ran further away from the entrance. They saw a small dot jump out with the debris; it was Hattori.

“How are you at using your flames, Todo-kun?” Ren quickly asked.

“Not good enough to propel us mid-air to catch him.”

“But you can get into air?” Seri chimed in.

“Halfway.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

“Seri! You will stay here,” a booming voice rang out. The three turned to see a tall, portly man glowering down at them. It was her father.

“I don’t care what you think of my choices, father, but there’s a life that needs saving right now,” the owl-faced girl angrily snapped. “I need to be a hero.”

“Where you need to be right now is safe and away from harm,” he firmly demanded.

“Mr. Kubo, with all due respect, I need Seri,” Ren cut in. “Time’s of the essence and she’s essential to our plan.”

“Ren, let’s go,” Seri dismissed her father’s request and sped walked away to Todoroki’s side. “He’s too stubborn to understand.”

Her pink-haired friend stood stationary for a beat, facing her friend’s dad.

“Ren?” she called.

“She’s not as weak or fragile as you think she is, Mr. Kubo,” she softly spoke within an earshot, firmly meeting the man’s aged brown eyes with determination. “Watch her.”

Seri’s heart swelled with pride and purpose hearing her best friend’s praise. Rejoining the group, they made their way to the curved frozen structure the two-tone hair colored by created before. The two grabbed onto Ren’s shoulders and teleported them halfway up the ice.

The grayish white-haired girl closed her eyes and took a breath, spreading her arms out as they transformed into white spotted owl wings; her hands morphed into sharp, black talons. Reopening her yellow tinted eyes, they were focused and ready to go.

“That never gets boring to watch,” Ren gushed with a smirk. “Let’s go, Hedwig.”

“The name’s Athena, zippy,” she blurted out and flapped her wings a few times to prepare for take off. “So what’s the plan here?”

“Todo-kun’ll use his ice to restrain his movements and eyes while I try to knock him out cold. Your job’s to bring him down safely,” Ren briefed and tapped her bangles to transform them into T-clubs again.

“How will you get down?” she asked with concern.

“I’ll figure something out. He’ll be with me.”

Seri took a running start and flew up at an incredible speed, causing blow back from her wings. Ren shivered slightly only to feel something warm immediately envelop her.

“Your lag will get bad if you’re too cold right?” Todoroki held his flame engulfed left hand out to her. Ren hastily rubbed her hands and hovered over it.

“I’m good now, thanks.”

“Hold on tight,” he instructed as he turned his hand back. She gripped onto his torso, with his right arm snaked around hers. “I can’t do it like Bakugou or my old man, but I’m gonna try.”

Torquing his fire to near maximum output, Ren and Todoroki blasted up into the air at an awkward angle and neared Seri’s flying form. As planned, he cut his fire as Ren zipped across the sky like a zig-zagging shooting star to get close to Hattori’s falling figure. The dual-quirk user immediately gripped his shirt and encased his body in ice and let out a white breath from his lips. Ren released her grip and struck the laser eye boy at the base of his neck, knocking him unconscious. Seri then swooped on by and caught him with her back with a soft grunt before making her way down to the ground.

The spectators screamed as they watched Ren and Todoroki free fall at an alarming speed. The two strained to grab each other’s hands before succeeding seconds later. Unable to see where she could teleport them to safety due to the blistering cold G-force winds blinding her, the dual-haired colored boy angled his right hand down and conjured ice from his palms, creating a makeshift bumpy slide. They roughly landed on the slippery surface and descended at an alarming velocity. The boy then created an ice cushion at the bottom and grabbed Ren to shield her with his body from the collision. They hit the ice wall with a thud and knocked the wind out of his lungs.

The two heavily panted and felt their hearts pound out of their chest from the adrenaline; their hair a disheveled mess from the wind and fall.

“You okay?” Ren finally spoke between breaths.

“Yes...” Todoroki swallowed hard and gulped up air, releasing a large white breath from his lips. Parts of his arms and face had remnants of ice lingering. “You should plan better next time.”

“Noted.”

They gingerly got off of the ice and back up on their feet to make their way to Seri, who was with an unconscious Hattori by her side. Todoroki walked up to him and shielded his eyes with ice in case he woke up and went berserk again. Moments later, Aizawa and Fourth Kind emerged from the crowd to take care of the rest with the now arrived authorities. Goto could be seen with his parents and talking to detectives. Todoroki melted the ice he used to restrain Hattori before he was slapped with a pair of cuffs and goggles on the gurney before tending to the other structures he made. Edogawa was still no where to be found.

“Ren!” her mom cried and ran at her to tightly embrace her daughter. “Are you hurt anywhere?!”

She released and looked at her mom with a small smile of reassurance. “I’m fine. Todo-kun used his ice to cushion our fall.”

“Never scare me like that again, you hear me?!” Tears were flowing freely from her aged green eyes and drew her back into a tight hug before making her way to the bi-coloured haired boy.

“Todoroki-kun, thank you.” She firmly gripped both his hands into hers. “You were brilliant.”

He shyly looked down with a matching blush and softly smiled.

“It was Ren-senpai who came up with the plan–”

“But you saved her,” Victoria added. “Knowing my daughter, I’m sure she didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Wow, you guys are just on it with the insults tonight,” Ren blurted out with exasperation and crossed her arms.

Their celebration was short lived and sensed something launching in their general direction. Ren immediately tackled her mom to the ground to shield her. Todoroki ducked below and was on high alert. The police and other pro heroes jumped out and aimed their weapons at the hidden assailant.

“You… You fucking told them didn’t you?!” a hoarse voice shouted from the shadows and out emerged a disheveled looking Edogawa. His hair was a mess and his once neatly tied tie disappeared. The boy obsessively clawed at his own throat and smiled manically.

“You bitch, you did this...” he muttered out and dryly laughed to himself. “You’ve ruined me!”

“Stand down, Edogawa,” Aizawa told him and prepared his device in his hands. “You’re surrounded by cops and heroes. There’s no where for you to run.”

“Oh, that’s where you got things wrong, hero,” he tittered out in frenzy.

The boy took out a vile of black substance from his jacket pocket and aimed to stab it into his neck. Ren teleported over just in time to hold his wrist back by force and twisted it far enough for him to loose his grip on the booster. Aizawa timed her moments perfectly and used his quirk to disable the boy from using his.

“Whatever’s happened, it’s not worth your life.” Ren tightened her grip on his wrist, her eyes focused only on his bloodshot ones. “Not like this.”

Edogawa could do nothing but whimper and collapse on his knees, completely breaking down. As the authorities closed in on him, she held out a hand to stop them in their steps. This wasn’t what he needed right now. She released her grip on his wrist and knelt down beside him. Fourth Kind slowly approached her and placed one of his hands on her shoulder, allowing him to take over.

“He’s… fragile right now,” she softly spoke to the four-armed man. “Take care of him.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Not particularly,” she flatly blurted and took a few steps away. “But he still deserves some kind of sympathy.”

Slowly making her way back to her mom and friends, Ren suddenly got hit with an overwhelming sense of vertigo and staggered. Unable to control her motor functions, she fell into Seri’s feathery arms, who rushed in on time to catch her. Victoria and Todoroki followed not too far behind.

“Ren!” The owl girl gripped her friend tightly. “Did he do something to you?!”

“Think I… “She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, letting out a light, shaky breath. “I overused… my quirk...”

“My God, woman. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” Seri let out a sigh of relief and gently set her arm around her shoulders for support.

“But did I die?” she lightly scoffed.

“Part of me thinks you’re only alive for the ramen.”

“Damn right.”

[soldierkeeponmarchingon]

Aftermath

authors note: this was something my friend wanted me to do and I love her for it. its probably incredibly ooc but it was a nice side project for the bigger things im working on

Warnings: panic attacks and dissociation written from personal experience, rly shitty angst, shitty in general, done on mobile for the majority sooo

Word count: 1k+

tags: @derpydanandphil

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He remembered so vividly..  Having left him.

"Markus, there's nothing we can do! We can't take the risk!"

He remembered being handed a gun, and the intention behind it making him sick. He remembered looking into blue eyes filled with anguish and dread.

"Simon.."

"I-it's okay, Markus. Just- just get it over with,"

His hand shook, the gun weighing heavy in his hand as he tried to lift it to aim at his.. his-

"No! No.. I won't... I.."  I can't...

He fell to his knees in front of Simon and forced himself to look up. They stared at one another for a moment before Markus was pulling the fatally damaged deviant to his chest for a long and heartbreaking moment. The gun was discarded to his side. The pair took in the presence of each other for a moment longer before the latter pulled back ever so slightly to press his lips to the former's hairline. He pulled the rest of the way back, reaching for the gun to hand to Simon as a knowing look passed between them. Knowing that he probably won't come back. Knowing that he may have to end his own life… Knowing that they were more than just friends. Knowing that Markus was trying so hard not to fall apart.

"Be strong, Simon." He heard North address him distantly but his eyes were trained on the ground. He wanted the color of icy-violet to be his last memory of him. Not crumpled and slowly dying in the snow.

So yes, the fact that the boy was standing right before him during his never-ending mourning was quite heart stopping.

"Simon…?"

"Hey.."

Suddenly there was this huge weight that Markus felt lifting from his shoulders. He hadn't realized it was even there. His LED burned like a yellow flame whilst Simons was a feeble red, quivering with anxiety. Anxieties that elevated as Markus stepped closer, they were quickly dispelled as he felt arms close around him. He returned the embrace and didn't hesitate for a moment to bury his head into Markus' neck.

The hug started gentle but quickly escalated into something more desperate and passionate. Fabric was balled up under Simons' hands and he pressed himself farther into Markus as if trying to completely block out the rest of the world. Markus was squeezing him to death in waves upon waves of protectiveness and relief and pure love that Simon could practically feel it radiating. Skip to only moments later and He can feel the skin beneath his face turn damp and he pulled back a bit.

"S-sorry-"

"Sh-sh-shhh, it's okay... I-it's okay,"

At the comment and the warm hand tracing patterns into his back he only cried harder. His body shook and his chest hurt from the little air making it to his artificial lungs. He didn't necessarily need it to breathe but, it maintained his comfortable temperature and without it, his stress levels rose dramatically. He could feel himself overheating and his head grew fuzzy. It got worse when the arms he was depending on to keep him safe began to pull away. He was hyperventilating.

"H-hey, Simon? It's alright... it's okay.. everything's fine, see? Hey look at me,"

Simon lifted his too-heavy head to look up at Markus' mismatched eyes.

"Your safe.. everything is gonna be okay" Simon nodded vigorously, eyes shutting tight and trying to get himself to calm down but to no avail. The hand that appeared on his cheek was frightening but they way it held his face made him feel just a bit better. Despite the available grounding points around him, he could feel himself slipping away with each passing moment, drifting farther and farther into the clouds. He ignored the body on the ground that was being held by the other in an attempt at comfort. He ignored the other body shaking his companion on the concrete far, far below. He just let himself float into oblivion as the body on the ground sat pale and numb and still struggling to breathe. Alive but not willing to live.

"S-Simon? What's wrong? C'mon, can you hear me?"

The voice threatened to pull him crashing back down and he let out a whimper. He wanted to stay floating, forever disassociating from the world that has caused him so much pain.

"Simon, can you hear me?"

He wanted to pull away but he knew that alone would call him back.

"I know you're scared, but I'm right here!"

He didn't want to be hurt but, that voice was stabbing him in the heart even in his numb space. His intense breathing became louder and louder as he felt himself coming down from his deadly high.

"Please say something!"

Markus didn't quite understand what was going on, all he knew was that Simon was hurting and he was trying desperately to fix it. He didn't understand panic attacks, despite his deviancy he still had plenty to learn. He reached out to stroke a thumb across his cheek when the eyes of the other snapped open.  "Mar-Markus?"

"Hey, hey buddy, it's alright. You with me?" A nod. More sharp intakes of breath and small mumbles in between. "Can I hold you?"

"N-no! No.. I-no.."

"That's alright," it hurt, but he didn't want to make it worse. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't- I don't know! I don't know what's going on-I don't like it!" He was far past hysterics and it was scaring the pair out of their minds.

"Can.. can you tell me our friend's names?" He hoped Simon would be desperate enough not to ask why, because Markus figured that maybe giving him something to focus on would distract him from whatever had triggered.. this.

"U-um... You, Josh-Josh, North… m-me"

"Yeah, good. Now, can you tell me when I found Jericho?"

"That was.. three- three and a half- a month ago? I-I think,"

"Mhm, you're right. Can you tell me what your favorite thing is? It can be anything,"

"My fav- favorite thing? I-" pause to cough " I like to sing.. with you and- and look at stars w-with you and.." At this point, he had calmed down considerably without fully realizing. Though whatever he was about to say next sent a few more shaking breaths and he covered his face in his hands.

"Hey, Si.. don't get yourself worked up again.." He took in a small puff of air and pulled crystal doe-eyes back to Markus. "That's better, right? Can- Do you want a hug?" Simon nodded and let himself be held. He melted into Markus' side and sighed heavily. His synthetic eyelids dropped and he dimly noticed a little notification in his peripheral, telling him that sleep-mode was imminent. He tucked into Markus' shirt and slipped away to a far more peaceful place, in the arms of someone he loved.

Markus rested his chin on Simons fluffy blonde hair and found his own artificial body aching for rest. Careful not to wake him, he heaved him and Simon off the ground to head back to what the survivors had dubbed ‘New Jericho'. Markus had an apartment at the very start of the town and that's where he was heading now, somewhere warm where he could ensure Simon's safety. He paused at the door for a moment to figure out a way to open it, then headed straight for his bedroom. rA9 forbid he make the poor boy sleep on the couch.

"Mmph... Markus..?" Shit. So much for not waking him...

"Shhhh, go back to sleep,"

"Where are we?"

"My house, try an' get some more sleep okay? Do..do you want me to sleep in the other room?"

"..No! U-um... Can.. can you stay? Please?" Markus didn't need to be told twice as he slipped into bed beside Simon.. who was shivering.

"Do you want me to turn the heat up?"

"Uhm…" He blushed and looked away but Markus just smiled fondly.

"C'mere," He inched closer to tuck him back into his arms, burying his face in soft, sand-colored hair. He heard the other sigh with contentment and decided that everything was alright, at least for the time being. They mumbled their goodnights and I love you as they fell into a comfortable sleep, knowing full well that tomorrow was going to be a whole ordeal of confusing feelings.

But that's a story for another time...

[bambyeol]

This Band (p.4)

B.A.M SEQUEL now updating daily! (double update today to make up for yesterday!)

pairing/s: band! park jihoon x oc ; band! bae jinyoung x oc ; doctor! hwang minhyun x oc

character/s: park jihoon, park woojin, bae jinyoung, ong seongwoo, kim jaehwan, ha sungwoon, lai guanlin, kang daniel, yoon jisung, hwang minhyun

genre: angst, fluff, music (band)

summary: never date your band mate.

warning : a sequel so I’d appreciate it if you’ll read B.A.M first. though you can always live dangerously and read this immediately.

This Band (p.1) This Band (p.2) This Band (p.3)  This Band (p.5) This Band (p.6)  This Band (p.7)  This Band (p.8)   This Band (p.9)  This Band (p.10)  This Band (p.11)   This Band (p.12)  This Band (p.13) This Band (p.14)  This Band (p15) This Band (final)

B.A.M p1 // B.A.M p2 // B.A.M p3 // B.A.M final

wanna one masterlist

song inspiration : Fight Day by Bolbbalgan4

“You’re the same as other guys You only choose the wrong words and send them to me.”

----

“Did you plan this? It just so happens that you have an injured ankle when you came back from who knows where to your ex who’s a hospital employee?”

Seulla, amused with the turn of events and the situation she was now  in, teased Jihoon who was now her therapy patient.

“Why would I plan to hurt myself?”

Seulla eyes him knowingly, a silent exchange of thoughts between the two. She rolls her eyes at him and gets back to the x-ray plates she’s been studying.

“So it’s all set then? Your therapy is 11 am and Riseul comes in at 12 so you’d be finished just in time for the start of her shift. If she asks you why you’re here just point to me. And the rest is up to you.”

“What if she avoids me?”

“Of course she would. That’s a given.” Seulla answered briefly, giving no possible intervention, whatsoever. You’re on your own now, bud. He seemed to hear masked from her words.

"Why did you agree to this? Telling me where she is, letting me meet her again.. She'll be mad at you if she realizes what you've done."

"She’ll know. I mean, if all this was just a miraculous coincidence, I’d advise you to go play the lottery. Who knows, maybe with your luck, you’ll get the winning numbers? Anyway, you do you, I do me. She’ll be mad but I can handle it. I do that on a daily basis.” Seulla raises her thumbs as an assurance.

"You’re really helping your best friend’s ex..."

"Helping you? We're not that close for me to do you that much favor, Jihoon. I'm doing this for Riseul. But if you want some wise excuse from me.." her finger trailing on her mouth.. “It is every doctor’s duty to tend to the wounds of their patient. Right around here,” she pricks the knees of Jihoon causing him to wince.

Pointing then to Jihoon’s chest, “Might as well help in healing your heart in the process.”

"Did you seriously say that? Wow that was so cringy. I forgot you were a romantic."

"I forgot that you're still tasteless in your fashion. You’re at a hospital, not a gym.” Seulla points to his trainers and baseball cap. ________

After a few therapy sessions, it was safe to say that bringing Jihoon in proximity to Riseul was barely a fraction of the work. First, there was the intensity of her shifts. And then there was the unfamiliarity of the maze-like hospital hallways. Lastly, and most importantly, there was the invisible wall that was her cold shoulder.

He caught her eye once. Although it was Seulla that made her look, he detected the masked surprise in her eyes which she later on passed as an acknowledgement of her best friend’s sudden presence. He was invisible to her.

This is no time to feel pathetic. He had to whisper a few times.

His first few sessions consisted of him barely paying attention to Seulla, his mind playing out all the wrong ways he could strike up conversations with Riseul. After all, was there even a right way to do this? Does he start with a compliment? No, she would think he was beating around the bush. Does he cut to the chase and tell her he simply needs another chance? No. This could strike back fast. But no matter how much he tells himself to take their reconciliation slow, he still feels like he’s running in full speed and the destination is still far from sight.

That’s why it was to his greatest surprise that Riseul herself approached him at the hospital lobby, nothing less than an extremely reluctant expression drawn on her face.

“Jihoon-ssi.”

His back was to her but he’d know that voice anywhere. She stood in front of him beyond reasonable distance of two people talking. She looked at her wristwatch.

“I’m giving you exactly a minute. Nothing more. 60…59...”

“Seulla talked you into this didn’t she?”

“Doesn’t matter…57...56…”

“So you finally got that white coat, huh? You look good.” Jihoon smiled at her, trying and failing to soften her up.

“55...54…”

“I don’t think a minute is enough. And in the first place...I don’t really know how to express everything.”

“Jihoon… If you don’t have anything relevant to say--”

“Just hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me. Punch me. Just...whatever. I deserve it.”

He stepped forward and braced himself for some kind of impact, his eyes shut and his arms open.

“Yeah, because a doctor punching someone inside a hospital is such a common sight.”

“I can take it.”

All he got was a sigh.

“Go home.” With both hands inside the pockets of her coat, seeming all calm and collected, she set off again. They did talk for a minute, less even.

He had his head down when she walked away five years ago, hearing only her footsteps as it got softer and softer. But this time around, he saw it all. He figured, this must’ve been how it looked; the mere shape of her exuding an aura as cold and as bitter as when she walked away the first time. It was nostalgic in the most painful way possible.

Back in the break room, an expectant Seulla sprung up from her seat, not even trying to hide the fact that she’s been waiting for the outcome of her little project.

“How’d it go?”

“Not how you wish it would have gone.”

“Come on, Ri. I hate seeing you like this.”

“You really thought bringing him near me would make a difference? Seulla, I really appreciate you and I know you only have pure intents. But I personally believe we’re beyond repair.”

“I just-- I don’t want you to get through your days running from it, you know? Closure would be the best for both of you. I’m probably not in the place to push you to do this but…”

“I’m so sorry. I really, really tried but I just couldn’t do it. Not without my heart beating out of my chest and tears threatening to spill out anytime.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Seulla gestures to the couch in front of her, to no avail. Riseul’s restless self just wants to run away.

“I hate that after everything I’m still not numb to this. It’s ridiculous. I don’t want to look--”

“Weak. You don’t want to look weak anymore.”

“Weak and fickle. I’m afraid that this would end up with me suddenly…wanting to bring it all back.”

The two just let the silence consume them, knowing that it can communicate so much more than words can.

“I’m sorry.”

“I am too.”

“I’ll see you around.”

[karrista]

These Gilded Chains...

   Tara'lena exited the gate, ice cold frozen wasteland replaced by a breezy warm woodland.  Karrista was a step behind her, following as if an extension of her body.  She came to a stop at the gate steps to the front patio, resting a hand on a pillar.  Her body trembled slightly and she closed her eyes.  When the expected touch never came, she turned to look behind her.

    Karrista was on her knees barely three feet away, looking down and waiting on Tara'lena.  Her Mistress was hurting, and it was her fault.  Not only could she not keep her mouth shut, she had infected her Mistress with the same annoyance.  The safest thing right now was to do what she was told, to be the obedient pet.  Despite the numbing warmth such a position gave her, she heard a voice calling to her.  A beacon through a comfortable fog.  She looked up to see red drips from black eyes.  The cracking sensation in her chest cut through the haze.

    "...not my pet.  You are making me feel things I have forgotten and it hurts.  I can not deal with them myself."  Tara'lena crouched down, taking Karrista's head in her hands.  Thumbs brushing her cheeks, tracing the warmth beneath the flesh.  Even the possessive part of her was quiet in the face of her awakened need.  She explored the bond between them, trying to find her mate.   "Please come back Karri."

    Karrista moved her hands slowly, reaching out to Tara'lena's body.  The feeling felt vaguely like subspace, only far deeper and stronger.  Her talons curled against the armor and she pulled herself against Tara'lena.  "Tara, I'm sorry, I don't know what happened."  She moved from her kneeling position and placed herself straddling Tara'lena's crouching lap.  She kissed her mate's tears away slowly, still feeling the lethargy of the leash around her.

    "Shhh, do not talk, I just need you right now."  Tara'lena's voice trembled with unfamiliar emotions.  Karrista's lips moved from her cheeks and latched onto the still pulse point on her neck.  She felt the briefest of kisses before her mate began nuzzling her.  Tara'lena tangled a hand in Karrista's hair, while the other held her hip.

    "Take your own advice, my Love."  Karrista gave the pair a gentle push with her feet, sending Tara'lena sprawling on the ground.  She followed with her, not breaking her affectionate nuzzle, remaining on top.  She draped herself over Tara'lena, her arms resting on her chest.  She kept herself fitted to Tara'lena, breathing evenly, eyes open and watching.

    The pair remained in the close contact for almost half an hour, savoring each other's presence in silence.  Tara'lena was the first to speak.  "We need to address this bond.  You were gone."  She kept one hand gently moving along Karrista's back, never letting her hand steal too much heat from one spot.

    "It wasn't like anything I've felt before, subspace but more."  Karrista's voice was quiet, her lips still against Tara'lena's neck so she didn't need to be loud.  The elephant in the room had decided to pass gas.  "I'm not just your bound demon am I?"

    Tara'lena shook her head, on reflex.  "You were moving as if an extension of my will.  Any gestures I made were for others to know.  My control over you is..."   She let out a soft sigh and closed her eyes, the unfamiliar pain in her gut made her shift.

    "Absolute.  I know."  Karrista moved from on top of Tara'lena to beside her on the ground.  She never broke the closeness despite the shift.  "It goes both ways, remember when at the Marche?  I made you punish me.  Harshly."  Karrista moved one hand down to Tara'lena's belly.  "Guilt?"

    "I think so.  I told you that you were infecting me."  Tara'lena's eyes opened slowly and looked over to Karrista.  "No, you did not control me, I was scared, angry, and I could feel your need compelling me to punish you.  You needed it, and I gave into the impulse.  I know what you are feeling, what you are doing, like it is a part of me."

    Karrista leaned up, breaking the nuzzle to kiss Tara'lena on the lips softly.  "Okay, so we can mark down that while I can compel you, you can..."  She paused slightly, not quite willing to use the D-word in this context.  "..control me.  There is also an empathic link that works both ways."  She resumed her place nuzzling into Tara'lena's neck.

    Tara'lena licked her lips after the kiss.  "An empathic link requires emotions, and I do not..."  She was silenced by a soft finger on her lips.

    "You're feeling again aren't you?  The emotions beaten out of you are coming back."  Karrista's grin was both sympathetic and proud.  "That's what you meant by 'infecting' isn't it?  The binding has allowed my emotions to leak through to you."

    Tara'lena's shoulders slumped slightly as if releasing an invisible tension.  "Yes.  It is like the fact it is you that I am bound to, a succubus that is amplifying it."  Her hand stilled on Karrista's back, looking like she would sigh if she needed to breathe.  "As if the sheer intensity of your emotions is making me remember my own through the pain."

    "Just my emotions?"  Karrista's eyes lit up with amusement.  "What was that whole thing with 'jus primae noctis'?"  She began tracing her finger along Tara'lena's lips.

    Tara'lena let out a good natured growl before biting Karrista's finger, letting her teeth scrape against the talon briefly.  "Your desire is leaking through too."

    "I'm not opposed to it, just make sure you don't bite him."  Karrista let out a purr and nipped at Tara'lena's jawline gently.  "And Teren is not going to be happy about that either."  Karrista was quiet for a moment, thinking other recent things in her mind.  "You're infecting me to.  Your coldness, your brutality."

    Tara'lena sat up slowly, pulling Karrista's arms from around her, taking her hands in hers.  "Is this the project with Darsa?  The one I need to keep secret?"

    "Yes.  That's another thing..."  Karrista shook her head and gave Tara'lena's hands a squeeze as she sat up with her.  "I should be enjoying it, what I'll be doing, but I can't help but want to feel nothing.  Like I am putting down a rabid dog or a lame horse."

    Tara'lena laughed softly, genuinely, still unfamiliar to either woman.  "You do not know enough to make a personal investment do you?  It is just a job and what you do know, does not inspire your sadistic passions."  The silence from Karrista told her she was on the nose.  She thought she knew more, but it was elusive, like it was being hidden from her, or more like she did not want to look for it.  "You can affect my memories."  She stated clearly.

    "You can change mine."  Karrista responded clearly.  "That game night with Teren, I am missing entire gaps.  I know the things I need to know, but there are things I don't."  She turned to face Tara'lena, draping her legs across Tara'lena's lap.  "Like if I don't need to know, I can't remember it."

    Tara'lena's eyes narrowed briefly and turned to Karrista, thoughtful, resting her hands on Karrista's legs.  "Do you want to know?"  The shake of Karrista's head confirmed her guess.  "You trust me?"

    "Unconditionally.  You?"

    "Absolutely.  I believe it is a matter of trust and willpower.  The secrets we keep from each other are not our own.  The bond I believe enforces that when it comes to sensitive knowledge."  Tara'lena bit her lower lip, looking into Karrista's eyes.

    Karrista blinked once, enjoying Tara'lena's gaze.  "Because you know that whatever I can't remember from that evening is something that I don't need to know, I don't remember it?"  The look on Tara'lena's face made her think quickly.  "Or access it?  We don't know if it erases the memories, or just blocks them."

    "Or perhaps it suppresses the desire to try to think about it?  Either way, it is something to consider, but not immediately?"  Tara'lena closed her eyes and looked down to her lap.

    "Add it to the list.  We'll have to compare it with the notes we have on the binding, and talk to someone who knows more, I'm thinking Ync."  Karrista closed her eyes and rested her head on Tara'lena's shoulder.  With a sigh, she shimmied into her mate's lap fully.

    "Do not forget, you need to 'speak' to Lady Bethiloch."  She looked to Karrista and placed a finger on her lips before she could speak.  "I know you mean to raise a little hell, put the fear of Lilith into her, and keep up appearances.  I shall accompany you, if only to watch the farce, and to bail my little hellsprite out when she kicks you."

    Karrista tensed up, the mental lists growing in her head, almost weighing down on her physically.  "It just feels like so much.  I need...something...today has been crazy..."

    Tara'lena glanced up briefly, as if listening to something.  "What does Malura say?  A girls night out?  You, me, Bronna, Stormwind brothels?"

    Karrista's eyes widened as if it was Winter Veil Morning.  "Really? You'd do that for me?  With me?"  The shocked distance gave way to a tight hug as Karrista nuzzled her mate's chest.  "You really have changed haven't you?  I love you so much."

    Tara'lena chuckled softly, patting Karrista's back as she was squeezed.  "I am not the only one who has been changed by our love.  We will figure this out just like every other challenge we have encountered.”

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