#press F to doubt for warp though

[s7arcr0sser]

I'm probably not gonna post for a while, I'm not gone, I'm just, y'know, working on stuff

In the meantime

Has anyone done this already?

[what-the--curtains]

The Salt and the Sea

Chapter 11 - The Knife Edge

(Finnick Odair x bi!f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Time warps, and reality melds into dreams. Between torture and physiological experimentation you can no longer trust yourself. Will you inability to separate fact from fiction end up costing you everything, or will you manage to beat Snow at his own game?

Authors Note: Whoop a new chapter! Sorry it took so long existential crisis hit hard this week!!! Thank you for sticking with me, this chapters a lil brutal but theres fluff to come soon💕💕 let me know if you want to be tagged😊

Tw: Torture, psychological manipulation, brain washing, scars, starvation, drugging, physical assault

Word count: 3.9k

Tagged: @tomihoeka @abaker74

Playlist

Outfits

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blood drips slowly down your chin as you're dragged back towards the basement, ankles hitting against every step. Bright light and the familiar smell of death confronts you as rough hands push you into your cell. Having fallen to your knees, you look over your shoulder.  Your laurel glimmers momentarily in the fluorescent lighting before the door closes leaving you in the dark. You chuckle as you push up from the ground, wiping the dirt and blood from the once pristine dress. Wandering around you trace you hand against the cool metallic walls, eyes adjusting to the darkness. You stop, raising your hand, pausing momentarily before tapping loudly against the metal. It takes a moment, but a weak tap echoes back in the darkness. Alone no more. Pressing your back into the wall you slide down to the floor and rest your head back, as a shiver runs up your spine. 

Rest was necessary if survival was to ensue, so you close your eyes, but they open quickly as screams pierce the air. They never falter over the course of the hour, only stopping when you hear the adjoining cell open. Radio silence offers another opportunity to sleep, but a sudden influx of light fills your room, and no matter how hard you squeezed your eyes you could not block it out. Two days pass, the lack of food or water makes you wonder if Snow really did intend to kill you.  Though there were faster, more efficient ways to kill you than dehydration. Loss of nutrients and sleep leaves you feeling muddied, and your thoughts become increasingly abstract as the hours pass. Fleeting thoughts ponder why you'd remained untouched, but you find no reason for it. Perhaps Snow believed mere deprivation of basic comforts would break you. Perhaps he’d always underestimated you. Perhaps that was your way out.

You jolt as the door opens and a faceless guard throws a metal canister in your direction. Lazily, you crook your neck to avoid it. It rings out against the wall before falling to the floor with a thud. You look at it, then to the guard and shake your head only leaning forward once the door is closed. you doubted the canister was benign, but death by dehydration was not the way you wanted to go. You unscrew the lid and gulp down the fluid. Your moment of relief disrupted as the walls around you begin to melt. The warped sound of doors sliding open and approaching abstract figures are the last things you know before blacking out. You wake up in your cell, your gown replaced with a loosely fitted, pale grey jumpsuit. You roll up the sleeves and trace along your arms noting the faint injection marks. You strip naked and examine yourself for any damage. Scrapes and bruises on your ankles, and a fresh surgical scar running vertically up your side. You trace along the ridge, that's what you get for taking from the Capitol. You redress and return to the floor bringing your knees into your chest as you try and piece together the gap in your memory. 

“Are you ready to comply?” the guard asks, tray in hand. You stand and walk towards them, stopping a metre away and spitting, the glob landing at their feet. They drop the tray food spilling out as it clammers to the ground. You walk past it and press back into the wall staring at the guard who closes the door. You refuse the food as long as possible, but survival outweighs better judgement. You eat slowly, intermittently hoping to keep any side effects to a minimum. You feel the effects take hold and you brace yourself as the world around you begins to spin. This time you wake in a chair, arms and legs restrained despite the drug induced paralysis keeping them still.  A screen and blurry image in line with your vision. 

“Put her back under, it won't take otherwise,” a distorted voice drawls, and the screen blurs as you sink back into unconsciousness. You drift between images of men in grey suits, and bright flashing lights projecting images of your past. Your house, the ocean, your family, Shri hanging. Your family is hanging beside her. You shoot up, sweat pouring down your brow, the heat from the lights suddenly unbearable. You tap against the wall, and someone taps back. You steady yourself. 

“Shri is dead. Snow killed her. My family is alive, they are safe.” you repeat over and over, until they once again become true. Such images would plague your dreams for an extended period of time the length of which you could not decipher. A week perhaps? Maybe more. Time did not exist down here. Not beneath the constant glare of the lights. Every night new images would weasel their way into your subconscious, ones seemingly planted during your blackouts. It started with Shri, then your family, dead behind the eyes, cool and uncaring. It was how you knew they were lies, despite their increasing clarity. So clear they felt like memories, dangerous ones you continued to dispel as you rocked back and forth in your cell.

You identify the drug in your food as tracker venom or at least some variation or it. You’d experienced the hallucinogenic effects once before after mistakenly eating a dish laced with it. Its recreational use among the Capitols elites was well known, well at least to everyone but you when you had first arrived. You don’t remember much of the experience, though Finnick had told you he’d stopped you from idly placing hor d'oeuvres into passerbys pockets. He’d intervened just before you stuffed a deviled egg into the governor of finance’s pocket, reasoning that he needed it back. When pressed for an answer apparently you had stated because it has his exact likeness. This was early on in your friendship, still tenuous, but that was the first time you’d seen him genuinely smile. The drug's effects then weren't all together displeasing, but at a higher dose they were increased ten fold. They were now impacting your memories, disrupting them and morphing them into images that tried to convince you of an alternate truth. If Snow was trying to disrupt your memory of your family  it wouldn’t work, you loved them, and they loved you that at least was real. As real a memory as you had. 

Your refusal to break leaves your captors scouring deep into your subconscious, trying to find a weak spot to exploit.  Your nightmares shift from home and you’re plunged back into the arena. The concrete love you knew with your family was lost, all relationships surrounding the games flimsy at best.  The faces of those you had killed haunt your sleep; frozen figures of Dio and Lux, Azlon with his throat opened, Pearl and Marlin shredded beyond recognition. Those memories you couldn’t verify. They were wounds left over from acts committed by your hands. Their presence lingered long after you had woken up leaving you exhausted in their wake. Slowly similar images of supposed allies came to fruition, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, even Finnick, each one blurred but clear, cruel and unfeeling, abusive and persuasive. Each horrific nightmare lasted a lifetime and then you'd wake up in your cell. It feels like months have passed but it can't be? Can it. Memories were becoming harder to untangle. You’d lose them and then yourself if you were kept here much longer. 

Even the return of complete darkness dosen’t grant you rest from your psychological torture. At first the depletion of light felt like a gift, a much needed break from constant assault of light, but it quickly soured when It returned. The reanimation of your fellow tributes had brought It to the forefront of your mind. The first night of darkness you were idly tracing the fresh scars along your back, as the door opened. An ominous feeling fills the room and a chill runs over your body when a growl fills the room. Metallic joints stalk forward and you freeze when hot air hits the back of your neck. You remain as still as possible, eyes wide against the wall, body paralyzed in fear.  Whether it was there or not is up for debate, but you were not sure enough to risk it. It leaves and the lights turn back on , but it returns again, leaving you at your wits end. By the fourth day you pray for the drugs, anything to blackout again. Your prayers were answered that night. 

“She's ready for phase 3” one of the surgeons mumbles as you stir awake, still eating intermittently  in hopes of gaining information.

“Then It’ll be ready to be tried on the boy” another states, as a burning pain shoots up your spine. 

“What?” you mumble through the pain, but they administer another dose and you wake up back in your cell. It stopped as suddenly as it started. Water came and you drank it, food came and you ate it but your world remained intact. The effects of the tracker venom had worn off, unfortunately so had whatever pain medications they had been administering. You shiver in your cell, pain shooting throughout your body as you pick at the vines adorning your wrist. Haplessly working to remove them, as you try to separate truth from fiction. The door slides open and you press feebly back into the coroner as the guard approaches. It takes all your energy but you spit at them, and you flinch as they raise their fist.

“No, no,” Snow states, and the guard stays their hand.  “We won't be doing that today,'' he says, kneeling down to meet your gaze. “ I just thought I would ask, before I proceed, what Finnick Odair mean to you?’ he asks, and you throw your head back laughing maniacally.

“Come on Snow you really fell for that shit? I thought you were smarter than that,” you laugh, your voice taking on a demonic flair now it was no longer used to conversation. 

“Well then it makes no difference that he’s to be tried for treason,” he echoes solemnly, as you smile widely, chuckling as you lift your neck up. 

“You don’t have Finnick,” you say, shaking your head, “if you did you would have marched me out to gauge a reaction, not be down here sitting in piss and shit with me” 

“Perhaps, but ask yourself, are you willing to stake his life on it,” his eyes bore into yours and your smile falters. 

“Prove it,” you taunt

“Very well,” He says, as the guards lift you to your feet. They parade you out past the tools still stained with your blood stopping stop in front of two way glass. The light flicks on, and you step forward placing your hand on the glass. 

“Finnick?” you whisper, watching as he moves expressionlessly around the cell. Was this another trick? Something about him was off, vacant, though if he was drugged it would explain his dispondance. 

“How?” you ask, gaze remaining forward. 

“ A raid on district 7, he was with Miss Everdeen, but it seems he wasn’t worth saving, he was picked up in the aftermath,” he states. 

“How did you…” you start

“Cameras we have them everywhere, they picked them up the second they arrived,” he replies

“What are you gonna do to him,” you whisper, trying to remain level. 

“Treason demands retribution in the highest form,” Snow replies

“The people love him,” you reason

“Not so much these days,”

“And what if you gain a willing spokesperson, my compliance for his life,” you bargain looking up to him. 

“I cannot set him free,” He states. 

“I know that,” 

“ I will not harm him if you comply. Do we have an agreement?”

“Do I have a choice?” 

“You always have a choice, it’s the consequences you should worry about, what was her name?  Your first consequence”

“Don’t, don’t say her name. You don’t get to say her name,” you snarl lunging towards him , he almost flinched, but the guards pulled you back, forcing your gaze forward as Finnick doubles over in pain

“Finnick!” you shout, “I said I'll do it,” you exclaim furiously,  as tears fall from exhausted eyes,

“Take her to her room, call in the team, make her as presentable as possible. The cameras will do the rest. Editing is amazing you can make almost anything look real these days” he whispers in your ear. The guards press you out from the fluorescent chamber and back into the warm glow of the mansion. The sickly sweet scent turns your stomach.  You’re shoved back into your original room and you turn to face Snow.

“How do I know you won’t hurt him,”

“I'm not the one who has failed to live up to promises,” he remarks, and the doors close leaving you alone. You walk past the mirror, not daring to look up, and flop down into bed, but you find no rest in the plush sheets. After a few hours, you toss a pillow down onto the floor and pull a sheet off the bed curling up on the cool marble. No creature comes for you, no tormentors and somehow, sleep finds you. Light shines through the window stirring you awake and illuminating the damage your body had sustained. You push yourself up, weakness apparent in your immediate exhaustion from the simple task. You exhale heavily as you stumble towards the door, and to your surprise the handle turns. Perhaps you were stronger than they thought.  You push out into the hallway, making it all of three steps before running into Snow. Whose surprise shows through his grimace. 

“I want to see Finnick,” you state quickly. 

“After the announcement,” he replies, haste in this voice. 

“Why?” you question.

“Why do you think?” he replies irritably. Your response is cut short as Peeta emerges from the interview room, dressed in white, and looking just as depleted as you.

“Miss Aalto!” Snow exclaims as you step towards Peeta smiling, but he remains stone faced until he passes you by. His eyes meet yours; glossy, and pained, the only indication he was the same person you’d spoken with in the gardens. 

“What did you do to him?” you whisper. 

“Need I remind you of the stakes of your current situation? ,” he snips, and you do as you're told. The door locking behind you. Another night passes, but the rest leaves you more confused than clear. You stir out from your makeshift bed just as an Avox enters to change your sheets. He startles back when you emerge from the pile on the ground. 

“That bad?” you sign and he gives you a small smile. 

“No,” he replies

“I thought you weren’t supposed to lie here” You responde knowing you looked so dead, even the Capitol’s finest cameras would struggle to fix it.

“It's all they do.” He responds, quickly looking from side to side before continuing “Their lying to you,” 

“It's not him?” you utter aloud, but the avox bows out leaving you to ruminate in the new found information. Was this another of Snow's tricks? Or was he an ally amongst liars. Your head throbs desperately trying to sort the distorted information swirling around your brain.  You smack the side of your head in an effort to get it working as the style team enters. Your self-inflicted pain quickly stopped as a guard cuffs your arm to a chair. You’re reeling as the make-up team does their best to make you look human. Your eyes fixate on the injection sites around your tattoos,  some were fresh, though you had no memory of them occurring. Snow's words come to the forefront of your mind “Anything can be edited these days.” Did that include people? Who was in that cell. If they had Finnick, they would have Katniss as well, she wouldn’t leave him behind. If they had her, they had 13 and logically the war would be over. Though when has there ever been logic in war? You’re uncuffed and they pull a long white skirt around your body, the weight of it causing your knees to buckle. The young man steadied you before moving around to tighten the corset. You cough as it restricts your lungs and you catch a few droplets of blood in your hand. Where it came from was anyone's guess. 

“I'm sorry” the young man whispers, placing an elaborate crown atop your head, your neck straining beneath the weight, but you would not falter yet. Not until you were sure. 

“It's not your fault,” you reply clearly, wiping a tear off his cheek. He meets your gaze and you turn walking barefoot down the hallway, too weak to walk in anything else. Even with the layers of makeup and perfume the stench of decay clung to you like clothes left out in the rain. You turn the corner and come face to face with the pristine interview room, a small gathering of internal reporters and journalists. You could hear the crowds of people outside, the mansion awaiting your address. 

“Don’t play me for a fool, we both know how it’s worked out for you in the past”, Snow whispers as he passes by you. You enter the room and see Finnick in the corner still staring blankly ahead. A gun held against his head. There was no warmth in his features, his entire energy was cold, plastic, like a vacuum to the world around it. The images of your destroyed family come to mind. Even Peeta felt like Peeta when he passed by you in the hallway, still there behind the drugs and the pain. You look over Snow who raises a glass of champagne, toasting to his victory.  Your brow furrows and you open your mouth to call Finnick, but you're quickly pulled behind the camera and your speech appears on the teleprompter before you. 

“President Snow…” you start swallowing, eyes flicking over to Finnick when a headache hits you. The pain was overshadowed by the sudden disappearance of Finnick from where he just stood. You blink feverlently until he reappears, and the longer you stare the more clear it becomes. Snow was still playing the game, and he would win at any cost. 

“Preseident Snow…” you start looking back to the corner, Joannas words come to mind “ they got out, don’t tell them a fucking thing”. They got out, or was it only she? It didn't matter, whatever that was standing up there, it was not Finnick and of that you were certain.

“President Snow is lying to you,” you state clearly, eyes fixed on Snow as you hear a gunshot ring out and a body thudding to the floor, but it wasn't really him, was it? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s going to kill her, Katniss! He’s going to kill her and for what? Why would she say that,” Finnick screams in the dining hall. His mental stability was more than up for question these days, many people walking on eggshells around him since your disappearance from the Capitol’s broadcasts. You had finally returned only to plunge him further into darkness. Aside from the words spoken, he saw what you looked like, technology in 13 worked to undo the edits made in the mansion. You were dying, and this was your final goodbye, the one last act of defiance you'd always had in you. Did you stop to consider the cost, or the toll it would take on those that cared for you. He hates you for a moment, for being so selfish, for giving up, for not complying, for not waiting until he could find his way back to you. Anger quickly gives way to deep rooted sadness, and how he had never gotten to live up to all the promises he made you. Katniss escorts him out the room quickly noting the heads turning towards them.  

“He's not going to kill her. It doesn't make sense. Hes just torturing us, he wants us to pay, and its the only way he knows how,” she soothes. 

“He’ll break her though,” he whispers, eyes watering as he turns to Katniss “and that's worse. I've heard things, Katniss, things about the experiments done by the Capitol. What they can do to a person, she’d be better off dead. I wish she was dead. I wish we’d all died in that arena,” he relays, hand idly fidgeting with the ring you'd handed him the last day he'd held you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t allowed up after that. There were no more negotiations, no Snow would not be made a fool again. He left you to the mercy of the guards and experimental doctors. You knew only beatings and hallucinations. Your reality had melded seamlessly with your dreams and you could no longer be trusted to tell what was real and what was fake. You could no longer trust your memories. Finnick was dead, or maybe he wasn’t, you were sure before, so sure. But now, now you doubted. If he was still breathing you hoped to grant him the last of your strength when you finally departed this world. He would need it.

Eventually the experimentations stopped, beatings filling the hours of the day. With every lash, every scream, every needle and permanent scar a piece of you left your body, leaving behind a fragmented creature no longer recognizable. It hardly took a genius to see you werent long for this world. Eventually, even the most sadistic guards lost interest in beating someone who couldn't fight back. They were leaving you to rot and every minute you felt yourself take one step closer towards death. Whoever was in the cell next to you stopped tapping back, though you knew Peeta and Joanna were still alive. Their screams had imprinted on you like the footsteps of family members moving about a house. A fourth voice had appeared tormented as the rest, Enobaria had fallen out of favour as well, likely a result of something you had done. She was far too smart to end up here by her own volition. You kept waiting for something, for the dice to fall one way or another, but they never did. There was no escape, no grand plan, no final act of valour. You would die in a dank, shitty, bloody cell of your own creation. Snow always loved a metaphorical ending. 

Your mind drifts to your family frequently as you wither away. You prayed Cecelia had fulfilled her promise. Maybe Haymitch had tipped her off. Maybe they were long gone, hiding from war in the deep woods of a world long forgotten. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe they were all dead. Maybe it was better that way.  You blink slowly, haggard breaths pass through your lips as you stare at the faded metal lining your cell. You keep your eyes open, eagerly awaiting a nightly visitor that had been coming to you as of late. She had blurred over the years, the edges around her fading, but it was still her. It was still your Shri. The last time she’d appeared was when you fell through the ice. Death had chosen your guide then, and she was coming back to you now. Coming to take you home. Her outline forms parallel to where you lay and you reach out, but she disappears at the sound of the door unlocking. With the last of your strength you push yourself up turning towards the door squinting into bright lights of militarized weapons pointed forward. You straighten your back, and lift your chin, closing your eyes in preparation. They open as the light moves off you, the silhouettes weapons now lowered. 

“Miss Aalto? We don’t have much time, we have to go. Now,” the modulated voice says, and a hand extends out to you.

[tarithenurse]

In the eyes

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader Content: Feels. Angst. Loss. Love. Reference to killing (war and murder). Captivity. Sorrow. Hope. Anger. You name it, it’s there. A/N: I just want to say in my defence that this story isn’t my fault. Blame @maladaptive-ninja-returns​...it’s her birthday present (yes, I’m late)!

In the eyes

The steam is long gone together with your interest in the drink when you drain the cup of tea as the black-haired man gets up to leave. The cape hides what he’s missing – if only it was his leg instead – that way you wouldn’t have to keep the distance to the bare minimum, constantly risking him discovering that you’re following him. It doesn’t help to complain, though: he’s alive and mobile...and you have to watch your every move.

Volunteering for the assignment has probably been one of the more masochistic choices you’ve made, but you just couldn’t let the last Uchiha go yet.

For years, watching the kid grow older had kept a wound alive that no one knew about. It festered, saturating you with a sickening, rotten, sadness that never washed off but wasn’t detected by your peers. You should have let it heal. Should have moved on. But there had always been something keeping you from accepting what everyone else had decided must be true.

You weren’t the only one dealing with grief, of course. The life of a Leaf ninja was to say goodbye too soon and then to live with the numbing ache, renewed each time memories stirred.

Before the fourth war, the newfangled gossip of the dead returning was treated as ghost stories by most people until the climax of it all, when too many stood face to face with loved ones. Lost ones. And you were too weak to prevent the hope from being rekindled, so once peace was a reality and all the shinobis prepared to celebrate in the chaotic haze of the aftermath, you made a decision.

That is why, three seconds after the door closes behind Uchiha Sasuke, you get up...

...and sit right down again to avoid pressing against the sharp blade of the person suddenly appearing beside you.

The newcomer’s face is hidden partially under the wide-rimmed hat and the rest behind a dark and tattered cloak. Glancing down, a hand with purple-painted nails slips the kunai into the darkness of the cloak, leaving you with the knowledge that it’s there.

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is a shinobi. Where did you come from? Admittedly, there are others frequenting the little tea house because it’s a popular stop at a major crossroads...even if it mainly services those without national affiliations. None of the rest of the clientele reacts to the scene unfolding discreetly and you have no wish to catch their attention before you know what and who you’re dealing with.

“What do you want?”

It takes a second before you realize the question isn’t asked by you. Another one to recover from the smooth dusk that is the stranger’s voice. A voice with a hint of familiarity in the timbre which you decide must be your mind playing games.

“Nothing. I’m no enemy of yours,” you try to placate them, silently counting the seconds worth of head start separating you from Sasuke, “and I hold nothing of value...you should let me go.”

The tickle of a laugh surprises you. “If I’d wanted your possessions, they’d already be mine. I want answers, Konoha-girl.”

The headband you carry is hidden under your clothes, well out of sight from any prying eyes. Finally giving up on stalking your initial target, you turn your undivided attention to the person who has seated them-self before you.

The little skin you can see is pale, and a few black strands have escaped the slack ponytail and fallen in front of the face where only chin and jawline is visible. As if knowing your annoyance, the head is tipped slightly, allowing you to glimpse soft, gently smiling lips. Kissable. The thought jars you.

“I recommend you give up that wish.” No one should be able to hear the nervousness in your voice...but the stranger smirks. “My business is my own.”

“Not when it involves him,” they says, inclining the hat towards the door where Uchiha left.

You’re out to get him? You almost feel sorry for this fool who clearly doesn’t have a clue about the one-armed ninja’s identity.

“Don’t be mistaken,” the person smiles as if reading your thoughts, “I know who he is and what he’s capable of, after all...he’s my brother.”

Calmly meeting your gaze, the eyes meeting you flash red.

...

“Don’t look an Uchiha in the eyes”. It was the warning that was whispered into your ears as soon as you were big enough to run errands on your own. Naturally, you had to do it, and what met you was not as demonic as the warning stories had made you think – rather, they were kind, and wiser than the smooth face hinted at – although you never looked another Uchiha in the eyes just to be on the safe side.

It was impossible to discern the colour. Some days, they seemed leaden as if the rain clouds were gathered inside the boy too. A few times, in the morning when he watched where his fists struck the wood, the sparks from the cozy fire of the evening before still lingered in the warmest of black. What you loved the most, though, was when the gaze was locked onto infinity and they were soft like liquid.

...

Everything is different: the stuffy tea room with its noisy patrons has been replaced by somewhere deserted that seems to be carved out of grey stone.

How did I get here? Careful to move as little as possible, you take in the new surroundings only to find the place empty and with only one way in and out. A dull cold has already seeped into your feet as you stand there, lost as your bearings have nothing to latch on to – the only light is a torch in a wall sconce to your left.

Feet. They are bare, and a quick pat-down reveals that all of your weapons, your belt, and your headband have been stripped from you too. The sensation is uncanny, akin to nakedness. The logic behind it is obvious as it reduces the chances of a successful escape even if you were to make it out and establish a route.

On the other hand: you’re unharmed and unbound.

Turning, you have no doubt that the wooden door is locked but of course you go over to try, heart frozen near your throat when you push against it with your shoulder. Surprisingly, it does open and the screaming hinges sets the tiniest hairs on your body on end.

“Not wasting any time, Konoha-girl.”

You recognize the voice and the decorated nails on the hand that appears to pull open the door completely, and not just from the rest stop but from years of aching recollections that have been warped by watching Sasuke grow up with this man’s shadow lingering over his life. Over your life.

No. There’s no way. He died. Now your heart jackhammers a frenzied rhythm.

It’s a fool’s hope that powers the jab towards his neck. An idiot’s dream urging you to sprint past him. At least I tried, a bitter thought comments the moment both attempts are thwarted as a rib-crushing kick sends your tumbling backwards and you land sprawled in the middle of the room.

The ceiling is still spinning, it seems, when you sense the man’s presence loom over you. The fingers are cool (and surprisingly gentle) as the curl around the back of your skull, fingers digging into your hair to grant a tight grip to pull you closer by. Very close. A hand’s length separates the tips of your noses and you want to be oblivious to the way his mouth curves softly.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispers, “until I say so.”

Feeling and strength are beginning to return to your arms, including a sharp ache in your chest that grows with every shallow breath which you try to ignore. Should have restrained me, fool...and the thought dies there as everything shifts and the ground swallows your limbs.

“N-no...how...? No!”

He watches your struggles lazily before releasing his grip and sitting down next to you on the hard floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you did. Wait...no! You haven’t...it wasn’t you...it can’t have been...

“You lie about your identity,” you scoff, regretting the outburst immediately as pain stabs coldly into your side, “so excuse me for not trusting you on this either.” There is a little smile there on his lips, full of sadness and regret that makes your insides cringe momentarily until you have the breath to explain to him (or yourself) why it can’t be true: “Uchiha Itachi has been killed!”

“Yes...and then I was brought back.” He’s impossibly calm as though he’s simply discussing the weather. “Twice.”

Double reanimated? As if! The war had been a horror to live through and would have been without people facing their deceased comrades and family members on the battlefield. However, once destroyed or sealed, none of the animated dead had walked again and all of them had been dealt with properly in the end.

Looking at the ninja, none of the signs of reanimation are prominent. On the other hand...even if they had been, you might not even notice it now that you meet the man’s gaze and the liquid infinity there.

“I could show you...but I’m afraid your mind can’t take the strain in your current state,” the so-called Itachi explains.

Mind, your aching heart still reels from fear of being broken once more, this is all in my mind.

Zoning out everything else, you focus on the flow of chakra within. Calming it, soothing it, until abruptly forcing the flow to revert. It feels as if your very soul drops for a second but the moment it returns to its place, the world is no longer made up of lies and imaginary sensations...and you’re still lying on the ground in a room made of stone, your ribs feeling as if they’re speared by frost. The only improvement is that at least your limbs are free.

And Itachi? Yes, you have to call him that because deep within you can’t deny it any longer.

The official reports hadn’t been released by the time you left Konoha and you’re not high enough up in the ranks as a shinobi to get the juicy information unless it’s necessary for a mission – and since your missions tend to be B or simpler A rank...well, I guess my current mission’s a bust but this is an important discovery!

A silky chuckle refocuses your attention. “Very good...I suppose I must strengthen my genjutsu against you.”

He’s so close, you could touch him. Shifting to lean against the wall, he rests his arms casually on the knees and begins to pick at the chapping nail polish.

“No need to,” you bite back a groan as you roll over to sit up, “I take it that’s how you got me here?” Pretty eyes are watching your every move as he nods in agreement. “Hm. It’ll probably be useless to ask where we are, so...why? Why show yourself now?”

Sitting cross legged, you find the pain lessens if you pull your clothes and arms tightly around your torso, restricting the depth of your breathing. Broken or bent ribs? Not that it really matters. First of all, he would be able to beat you in a fight anyways; secondly, even if you got out of here you wouldn’t know where “here” is; and third (but not least), you don’t really want to run from him.

Rather than answer, Itachi stands up and holds out his left hand for you. Puzzled, you take it. Soft fingers curl around yours and he pulls you to your feet, studying your movements and the twisting facial expressions.

He doesn’t let go.

Not when he guides you out the door and into a hallway shaped of the same kind of stone as the room was made of. Carved from.

Not when he slows down at the sound of the squeaky breathing the pace forces from you.

There doesn’t seem to be many rooms along the winding path. Here and there a door bars the way or you catch a glimpse of a dead-end that looks as though the excavation was abandoned or even disrupted by cave-ins.

You do your best to memorize the path, but frankly, your mind is getting fuzzy from pain and exhaustion. You have no sense of time, just hunger and tiredness weighing you down to indicate the loss of many hours.

“Just a bit longer, [Y/N],” Itachi soothes.

When did I tell him my name? You want to ask or at least protest, but it would be a choice between talking or getting to wherever he’s leading you...and you doubt he’ll let you pause.

A few dozen steps later and a short flight of stairs up, he ushers you through a door into a room that looks like a mix between a kitchen and work station. A fire is the only light and heat source (the smoke venting up through a chimney too narrow to be an escape route), casting a warm glow over the solid wooden table and chairs. Everything else is hewn from whatever mountain you’re inside.

“Sit,” your captor finally releases the grip and points at a chair near the fire and you obediently do as you’re told.

There are shelves and niches almost hidden in the dancing shadows at first holding with boxes, bundles, and various utensils. He knows where everything is, grabbing a few items before returning and laying it out in the light. Bandages. His movements are fluid and elegant, just like you remembered.

He motions towards your upper body, then turns to tend to the fire. “Strip.”

“That’s really not -”

“Some of your ribs are broken. Restraining them will minimize the pain.”

He’s right. Of course he is.

With clipped movements, you pull off the layers until you hesitate at the poor excuse of a bra. Despite the now roaring fire, the cold from the stone still seeps into your body and raises waves of goosebumps and tightens your nipples. It would be easier to apply the bandages correctly without the last bit of clothing in the way, but right now it feels like the only shield left at your disposal as Itachi turns back to you.

“We’ll work around that,” the man offers softly.

He works quietly at first. Hands winding the linen bandages around you adeptly, pausing each time the ministration intensifies the pain and causes the discomfort to escape as stubborn hisses. The purple nail polish is mesmerizing – simultaneously a contrast to the horrific stories of a killer and perfectly fitting the pretty, nearly feminine, traits you see. Especially the eyes. Sure, they’re filled with a bottomless sadness that you don’t feel comfortable acknowledging, but they’re beautiful. Haunting.

“You’re staring,” he hums without looking up.

Shit. “No. I just -...let’s say you’re who you claim to be,” you try to recover, “why’re you back?”

“To be his watcher.”

“Says who?”

This time, he stops and looks you dead in the eyes. “Otsutsuki Hagoromo, the Sage of Six Paths.” There are very few proper comebacks to that, so your captor continues without giving you a chance to think of something, “Otsutsuki told me about the bonds of families and that it can transcend blood. He knows hatred can cause – and has caused – too much harm...but something rekindled his hope that it can be overcome.“

I don’t have an eye on Uchiha constantly, but... “Does Sasuke know?” Returning to his work, Itachi avoids your gaze. “He doesn’t...”

“He’s finally found peace and is on the right path...I can’t risk undoing it.”

Bullshit! “Or you’re a coward who doesn’t have the guts to fa-” the rest is cut off as soft fingers tighten around your throat.

Blood-red eyes pierce your mind, numbing you for an eternity or a millisecond.

...

They were a means to reach the goal but their words still hurt as you followed meekly in their footsteps. Snobbery. Disdain. Considering how proud your two team members clearly felt, they had very little to show for their reputation as Uchihas and frankly, it was your skills rather than theirs that ensured successful missions and still, you never once looked them in their face. Instead, you kept an eye out for two other of the clan.

Where one was, so would the other be. Thick as thieves, the boys had found a companionship that complemented their differences in the same manner as the sun and the moon. But as opposed to your teammates who swooned at the brightness of the sun, you were drawn to the night and the calmness it brought whenever that boy was near – each time he met your eyes, time became meaningless.

...

The two of you sit in silence as the steam from the soup caresses your face. Your mind is blank, slowly starting to pick up on the absence of stone walls – wood has replaced the cold surfaces, making it almost unbearably warm with the bandages underneath your layers of clothes – and a plethora of questions begin to press against your conscious only to be held back as most of your thoughts get derailed whenever you look at the man before you.

Without the hat and cloak to conceal him, it’s impossible to ignore all the details you’ve nurtured in your memory for ages, such as the slight pull of his lips as he thinks or the elegance of his movements now that he gets up and refills his bowl from the pot hanging over the fire.

“Why are you following Sasuke?”

You should be diplomatic. “I could ask you the same.” You’re not.

“I already told you,” Itachi shrugs.

“Well I...I don’t believe you.”

But you do. There’s no denying anymore that this man is who he claims to be and so, why would he lie about his purpose? The sad smile. The quiet mannerisms. The idea that Itachi would somehow transcend death to watch over his little brother? That’s a mysterious intricacy that fits with your memories of him from before that night.

“You do...but something else is bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Am I not what you expected?”

No, you’re not. However, he’s what you remember with a layer of sorrow added on top. He doesn’t get to be sad. The little spark of anger is what you need. You nurse it, feed it until it flares up hot and bright and consumes your regrets and self-pity.

“Expected? I don’t know what I expected from someone like you!” Your voice is rising, shaking with years of frustration. “Clan killer. Murderer. I never told anyone but I was in love with an Uchiha! That night, I’d gone to bed, finally sure that I was gonna tell him but when I woke up...” Something inside you had broken that day and it still hurts now. “They told me how you’d left Sasuke alive...but the boy I loved was gone and no one knew I was mourning. Each time I saw him -” you can’t hold back a strangled sound and you realize, you’re crying -”I saw the ghost of...” The bowl of floating vegetables looks blurry until you blink angrily. “Ugh! But what does a teenager know of love, right? They’ll grow up. Get over it. Except I knew you were out there still and that you had all the answers. Why? The Itachi I remember wasn’t a mindless monster! I was told a story, but it doesn’t make any sense. If all the monster wanted was power then why spare Sasuke? Why did everyone else have to die?”

The inhalations are shallow and rapid, making you dizzy as you cling to the table and the spoon. It burns in your lungs and cheeks.

“I am sorry for the pain, I’ve caused you.”

Your gaze snaps to his face and you know he’s speaking the truth but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You don’t get to be sorry! I missed y-...the boy, I loved was gone and it took ages before I could let go and stop mourning, finally accepting the truth had died with you and now...now you’re here? And it’s all back and I don’t understand! How could you?” Itachi doesn’t flinch as you launch the bowl towards him – he doesn’t have to because your aim is off and it clatters to the floor in a shower of shards and wasted food after hitting the wall behind him. “How? The boy I loved was not a monster! He wouldn’t do what they s-”

The echoes of your wheezing shouts ring through the room after the abrupt stop. Holding your breath, you wait for the ground to swallow you whole or for the man at the other end of the table to react and the fear is colder than the burning in your chest.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” Itachi eventually whispers, “they were just people who had been wronged and misguided until their arrogance made them blind.”

What? That’s not exactly what you had expected. Without explaining further, your captor gets up, handing you his bowl of food before beginning to clean the mess you’ve made.

“Don’t...I’ll get tha-” you begin.

He only has to look at you.

...

The dew had soaked your toes, cooling and soothing them after each kick that you landed on the wood stump. Pine. The new splinters refreshed the scent as they fell to the ground and you knew that birds would rummage through them in the hope of finding a morning snack once the training grounds were free of people again – they were already gathering at the edge of the clearing except for where Itachi stood.

The realization made you stop mid-kick, gaze locked with his and heart fluttering in your chest. How long had he stood there?

“They’re wrong.” You could barely believe he was talking to you. “Your teammates...don’t listen to what they say.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Itachi was gone and maybe it had all been your imagination running free.

...

Sitting up abruptly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the low light of the dying embers. Where am I?

Salt and drying seaweed is heavy in the air, somehow worming its way into what appears to be yet another room of stone. No...it’s a cave. You’re sitting on a bedroll splayed out onto the sand filling the place and you have no memory of arriving.

The dark form on the other side of the fire pit makes no move as you slip a hand underneath your shirt to confirm what you already know: the bandages are gone and there’s only a muted tenderness as you prod at the ribs. How long has it been?

“You’re safe,” Itachi’s gentle voice assures, and you feel your pulse slow despite the ominous situation, “go back to sleep.”

Yes. Sleep...hang on! Shaking your head, you fight the urge to succumb to the fuzziness that weighs your thoughts. “Why’re you doing this?” you mumble.

It doesn’t make sense why the man wouldn’t simply get the answers he want and then dispose of you or at the very least leave you locked up somewhere while he keeps following Sasuke from the shadows. Instead, your captor has put an effort into keeping you comfortable. Feeding you.

“I remember you.” His eyes reflect the red coals as they burn into your soul all over again. “Memories don’t do your justice, though.”

...

There is no world beyond the walls of the garden but a red sheet of sky dotted with storm clouds. The sliding doors have been pushed aside, opening the hallway to the view, and you know the wood beneath your bare feet should be silky from decades of use. You can’t feel it. There are no scents either, no breeze to toy with the soft fabric of your yukata, nor insects clicking from the rhododendron.

“This isn’t real.”

“No,” Itachi confirms from behind you, “but here I can create what you need. Who you need.”

Turning at last, there’s no reason to shy away from meeting his gaze even if it matches the fake sky. He looks real – as opposed to the familiarity of the home of your childhood that surrounds the two of you – and the ghost of a smile kindly tries to hide the sadness.

“...need. For what?”

The black strands falling into his face are strangely dull in the nightmarish light. “Closure.”

“That’s not possible.”

Wanting to leave, to run away and avoid what Itachi intends, you find yourself rooted in place by an invisible force. Even turning your face away is impossible and you pray that he doesn’t understand the well of emotions he must be able to see in your eyes.

“This is a chance for you to say goodbye to the one I killed. The one you...love,” he pauses to scrutinize your expression and you try to remain neutral, “because you do. You still love him.”

“You have no right...” swallowing hard, you fight to keep the words back, “no right t-to claim to know what I need!” Finally, you manage to close your eyes but they snap open again at the touch of his fingertips on your forehead. “This isn’t something you get to fix like -”

...

The world has shifted again and you’re back in the ocean side cave. You can feel how uneven the sand is under your knees and shins even with the bedroll to soften the press and some some the grains have found their way in between your toes...but none of that matters because Itachi is still right before you, his fingers gently resting on your brow.

A pop-and-crackle from the fire pit is the only sound other than your shallow breathing. You know, he knows. Eyes widened in nigh-comedic understanding, it’s as if he sees you for the first time.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N].”

You barely manage to whisper, “for what?”

His fingertips send shivers along your spine as they trace a path, allowing him to cradle the back of your neck in his palm.

“Everything” Itachi’s lips brush your cheek, “for breaking your heart in so many ways and for making you think your love was unrequited.”

[danddymaro]

Temptation | Claude Faustus x Reader

This is the original  [ HERE ]

It is pretty different and changed up. Heck, now that I'm re-reading both , I kind of don’t recognize much of the original. I like this one more, since its more recent and edited. I had actually written that one when I was younger and posted it up much later on that site... but I feel like I’ve done better now, like I’ve vastly improved. I guess cause I like having more details now, Idk about anyone else.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count :   6335

Temptation

"Don't cry..." she cooed softly, all whilst petting the young boy, her hand gently running over his blonde, silken hair, combing it down with her small raking fingers to soothe him.

"Shh...it'll be alright young master," she assured him, her voice sweet, almost saccharine as she spoke to him, "I'm here...I’m here... And I'll always be here," she said yet again, repeating the words over and over, chanting them to him in a low, melodic tune that only she could produce.

- And it wasn’t just for that night she had made such a proclamation...

To always be there; to never leave him...

‘Never leave me...Never abandon me (f/n),’ He thought to himself, silently ordering her.

She so often assured him there was nothing in the world more important to her than he was, feeding the desperate young boy with everything he wanted to hear, not because it served to her benefit, but because he needed it.

-Because she truly loved him.

"It's so dark..." Alois whispered back to her as she sat on the large bed with him, satin sheets draped over both of them as they stayed huddled close together.

He had insisted she crawl in there with him, and of course, she wouldn’t dare dismiss his request, not when his blue eyes were nothing but melted ice, overflooding, and momentarily causing streams of sorrow down his young face.

His arms then wrapped around her with a sudden quickness, surprising her enough to put a halt to the gentle strokes she had provided on the fair-haired youth.

“It’s so dark...” He said again as he clung to her tighter, his face pressed against her left breast like the needy brat he was.

At his desperate hold, she too held him close, quickly coming down from the light start he had given her, holding him tightly against her and keeping his trembling body near her.

‘I see....it is expected,’ She mused to herself.

"The darkness is what you fear the most, yes master?" she said softly, embracing the poor child, knowing how frightened he was of not just the loud clapping sounds, but also the blackness surrounding them.

She was aware of just what the harsh sounds of chaos outside did the boy, and moreover what the lonesome void of light caused within him.

She knew him through and through, or at the very least she believed she did...

She knew what made him sorrow-filled, becoming familiar with what made him angry, as well as taking into account what unnerved him.

However, she hadn’t a clue as to what lay in his past, because he never spoke of it, but of course, she could more or less figure. She knew, of course, the world was a cruel place, and even then she was still surprised at man’s corruption where not even a child was safe.

She could put pieces together, ones that created a dreadful puzzle, one that made her weep at times.

Admittedly she had shed tears for Alois, and she wouldn't ever hide the fact, because she wasn’t ashamed to let it be known that she loved him.

‘I know what matters young Lord,’ She thought to herself, ‘ I may not know everything about you, but I don't need to...’ she added with motherly love.

‘Because that’s all that matters now...’ She reasoned, ‘ Nonetheless, I'm here now...I’m here now young master... and I won’t let you be harmed. I won’t leave you in the dark.’

“I know it is,” she voiced, “ But no worries young master,” she assured him. “You should have no worries now, not of the thunder or darkness...” she added with certainty.

“None of it...” she murmured, bringing her chin down to lay on top of his head, her eyes closing momentarily.

Meanwhile, the young boy in her arms stirred from within furthermore, '(f/n) am I wrong?’ Alois asked himself as he was embraced back, feeling her chin touch the top of his head.

‘ Do you truly care? Could you really..?' He wondered,‘ Or do you fear me instead? Do you only stay because you have no other choice as well?’ He continued on while his tears continued to fall,

‘Could it be...? Or am I wrong to doubt you?’

Alois Trancy always asked himself this, along with many more questions that ran along the same lines, because to his dismay, he always doubted.

The young boy always doubted.

No matter how certain he could be, he always challenged the notion that he could truly be loved, and that somehow, someone truly cared for him.

‘How could anyone really?’ he asked himself with spite directed at himself, at his tainted soul, and moreso his soiled body.

All of him was used...soiled...filthy.

‘Filthy...Filthy and unloved... I am...’ He thought with a hiccup. ‘ I am nothing more than that...’

Hearing what was the unmistakable sound of his blubbered cries accompanied by the little shiver coursing throughout his slim frame, (f/n) brought her gaze down to him, separating from him a bit in order to gaze at him properly.

She stared back at soft baby blue irises in the desperate attempt to comfort the lost, tainted soul, knowing he was suffering and fretful, well aware he was hurt more than words could ever fix.

A small, sweet smile overtook her pale-rose painted lips as she stared down at him, hoping to somehow raise one out of him.

Kind eyes, lovely, sweet and pure stared down at him, absolutely sunning him, making his heart still. They were filled with love, pure, unadulterated love he’d never received before, making his breath hitch in a notable fashion.

The way she gazed down at him, it told him she didn’t want his body. It reminded him that she didn’t want his soul either.

No... his (f/n) wanted nothing more than to give...accept...wholeheartedly devote herself to him, not because she was forced to by contract, and not because she had any hunger for him either.

‘(f/n) truly cares for me,’ he thought to himself, pushing away the thoughts of before, trying to shove them clear out the window,

‘(f/n) desires only my joy...She desires nothing more...’

He hated having to be reminded he mattered, hated needing the validation, but the truth was that the way he believed love to work was different. His mind had been warped, twisted and turned so much that it was nothing but a mess.

‘No...No...The way you look at me...’ He resisted, his glazed eyes gazing into hers, ' The way your eyes fall onto me... The way you hold onto me...’

She wordlessly challenged him, more specifically his doubtful thoughts, unknowingly giving him assurance with her (e/c) gems, giving validation to her words of promise.

He was aware of the existence of demons, the same unholy creatures which surrounded him. He knew those evils existed as his home had become nothing more than a nesting ground for the fiends.

He knew they were real, so he often asked himself if there was such a thing as angels.

Did they also exist?

He often wondered if the light lived with the darkness... if it had come down to roam free with the meager humans just as the demons had traveled from the depths of hell.

Did those holy angels exist? Or was their world just a playground for the fiends to fester and feed?

Had the humans been left to their monstrous mercy?

Had he been destined to just be pray?

As he brought his eyes back down, he lay them on the cloth over her chest, more specifically, the white apron trimmed with ruffles that followed a heart-shaped edge.

He looked on at her uniform piece, mindlessly letting his right hand reached up to the ruffled pieces, the tips of his fingers occupied with them,

‘ How different they are, ‘ he mused, a small sniffle meant to let out amusement, though very lukewarm.

If anything the action itself served more to vacuum up the snot running down his nostrils.

‘Like night and day,’ He went on.

The young Trancy maid was so different from his head butler that It wouldn’t surprise him in the least bit if she did turn out to be a divine spirit, one being the complete polar to the fiend Claude was,

‘Would you save me (f/n)? Could you be here to save me? Save me from the world?... from Claude even?... from myself if you had to?...’ he wondered idly. ‘Could you heal me?’ He wondered with a sliver of hope, knowing he was being foolish in his pondering, cringing as he heard large droplets smack his large window.

‘ Even if I were to be wrong...’ he started, ‘ I wouldn’t want to let you go. I wouldn’t want to give you up,’ he continued on, ‘ In fact, it’s meaningless to wonder, because I don’t want you to leave either way...

You could be yet another demon... you could also want my soul and I wouldn’t mind it...’

Nonetheless, he loved her still, loving her attention, loving her more than he could love anything else in the world.

‘-I’ll give you anything so long as you stay, I’ll promise you anything you wish,’ He compromised, ‘I’d break my soul in two halves...share it with you as well to feed your hunger...

I just ask that you stay...’

He could feel it in his chest, the aching he felt when he so thought of the possibility of her abandoning him.

Whether it was all some lie or not, he’d still wanted her with him.

‘Never...’ He told himself, ‘Never will I be alone...not without you or him...not without you both....’ He insisted, not being able to stomach the notion of lonesomeness.

It was then that an incredibly loud boom came from outside, making even the woman release a small sound of surprise.

Being caught off guard, her body had begun to melt by the strangely soothing sound of heavy falling rain, so when the roar erupted she couldn't hold back the alarm she felt. Meanwhile, the Trancy head’s eyes went enormously wide, a cry leaving him, nearly choking as he tried to speak,

"P-please don't let go!" He pleaded, burying his flushed face in her warm chest, trying to drown out the thunder.

Somewhere in there lay her heart, ‘Somewhere in here, it’s cradled by her...just like I want to be.’ he thought breathlessly, his heavy tears wetting her uniform even more, his nose going runny as well.

His hands clawed at her, small, thin fingers digging into her back as his grip tightened, his nails digging in, even though the cloth.

’Please keep me safe (f/n), Tuck me in near your heart, with what little space may be there... I'll take it.’

‘I’ve given you your own spot,’ He silently reminded her, knowing his heart was in two halves, one meant for her, and one meant for his butler, the same one who had yet to show face...

Something he hadn’t overlooked, because, in spite of all his wondering and fear, he couldn’t push the absence aside, " Damn it! Why isn't he here! Where's Claude?!" He demanded in anguish, which to her, sounded more like a soft, muffled plea.

It sounded weak...small.

‘ Where is he...’ the young boy wondered, ‘(f/n) your here... but where is Claude... where is he?’

Unknown to the two, the said man watched them, all with glowing interest, one that could not be truly measured, and that was unimaginable to them both. His golden eyes were both overtaken by fluorescent pink as he continued to eye them both in the manner a mischievous one would gaze at unattained decadences.

‘Sweet little treats left out for anyone to grab,’ He mused.

Both were sweet and savory little bites to take at his liking, and what was best;

Nothing would get in his way.

Nothing could stop him.

Claude licked his now dry lips, eyeing the young maid from a dark corner, watching as she embraced their young lord with a hold so fierce, one would have to tear her arms open to steal him from her.

She held him with an iron grip, one that cradled him near as though he truly was precious, as though he’d been nested within her womb at one point.

The butler knew she’d fight for him with the same ferocity he would, despite her mortality, and moreso, for reasons that were polar to his.

While to Claude he was nothing more than a meal, (f/n) saw something else.

She saw through maternal eyes that had given her a strength Claude hadn’t thought humans could come to obtain,

"It all excites me …" He said lowly, smirking at the vulnerable pair, his dark, delighted voice there for only himself to hear and reflect upon.

He watched with amusement as both the creatures jumped as the world outside flashed white, a roaring cry echoing with viciousness.

“Yes, it is indeed exciting... Madly rousing,” he said, feeling actual exhilaration, his body growing hot, the temperatures of it rising to a boiling point.

He looked all too much like a coiled serpent, waiting with glee, glimmering eyes filled with excitement as he waited for his moment to spring forward, viscously sinking its fangs onto innocent, little beings he’d make dinner out of.

They both were in his vision and interest, but only one left him truly spellbound because truth be told, everything about the woman made him go mad...feral even.

"Naughty me, wanting a treat before the main course," He snickered.

He wasn't the least bit concerned about the want he felt, because after all, it didn’t mean he couldn't have it all.

By having her, it didn’t mean he would have to give up the boy.

It was never in his plan to simply let go of something he’d already worked so hard on.

‘All the humiliation... the intolerable brat’s constant swings in between bitter and sweet...’ He thought with bitterness,

'...But of course that wavering...it does make him all the more appetizing,’ he reasoned. ‘ And it will make it all the more satisfying to see my young lord bloodied red,’ He went on.

The whimpering child's soul was appetizing, It had been his only focus, at least until a certain point.

It had been all he could focus on until she arrived.

‘And then, of course, there is you, my dear...’ He thought to himself as he continued to eye her.

“There is you my sweet (f/n)…Sweet...You’re all too sweet with that aromatic warmth... all of that tempting flavor you know nothing of,” He sighed in a daydreamed state, drunk over her tempting image.

Her soul begged to be devoured, shared with no one else, and swallowed whole by his gluttonous hunger, and all the while,  he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it:

He wanted everything from her, from the soft (h/c) hair on her pretty head to that teasing, sweet soul she carried within her lovely vessel which was in every sense perfection.

She was perfection to him, pleasing every sense of his.

How he longed to ravish her pure, virgin body, run his nude fingers up and down her smooth legs before he’d have the chance to dig his sharp fangs within her silky neck.

He could smell it, she was untouched, untainted, and oh so tempting.

Never before had he felt such an overwhelming urge to completely devour a defenseless creature such as herself, not even his prior fixation on his master was in comparison, and it was indeed something for him to relish in with joy.

He was fortunate.

The day she stepped foot in the household, that single move marked her fate.

From that day forth, she was his, and his alone.

She was off-limits to the other roaming demons who he knew glared at him in spite...brewing in envy as he made another claim. He was aware he wasn’t the only one interested in her, but no one else would dare mark territory where he had plans to.

Surprisingly enough, watching her with the brat somehow made her more appealing, it made her much more delicious,

'How kind you are, how nobly sweet...’ he mused with mockery as he saw her being latched onto, no qualms on her part.

‘...No, better yet, How naïve and incredibly stupid, ' He thought darkly.

He knew she had a horrible inability to say no.

She couldn't escape out of the affection from the young boy, even if it meant living her life in servitude, even if it meant living her life in a nest of demons and possible death.

In his mind, such kindness and sympathy she demonstrated could only belong to a naïve and utterly stupid creature.

"- I'm sure he'll be here soon your highness,” (f/n) told Alois, “ I’m certain he would never abandon you," she added, lightly running her fingers through her master's silky blond hair to soothe the young male, continuing on with the tender action from before.

‘One’s heart would have to be black to leave you, ‘ She thought to herself. ‘Rotten and evil...Young master...”

"...And what about you?" He questioned unsurely, all with a quaking voice. His fingers dug into the fabric of her dress, fearing she'd leave him right then and there.

‘I know you’ve already told me,’ he reasoned, ‘ I know I may be annoying, ‘ he then thought, ‘ but please, please tell me again, once more... a million times after that as well...’

“Would you ever leave me?” he asked her, sniffling up at her.

‘ You’ve asked me so many times,’ she mused, a small shake to her head.

"I love my young master far too much to ever leave him," she said lovingly, making his heart warm and his body melt on to her furthermore.

She cherished the child, being pulled back to him, rendering her weak to the idea of disappearing from his lonesome life.

Moreover, something had drawn her to the home in its entirety, despite the cold chills she felt, despite the unease, her heart pulled her there,

‘I felt it my first day here...before the large door to this place were opened to me... before I knew what lay within these walls, All I wanted to do was to stay in what felt like home.’ She thought to herself.

‘As though a thread pulled me here, so thin...invisible to me, yet tied around my heart, controlling me every step of the way,’

The rain let out, sounds of fallen drops being the only thing still audible by then. and soon after, the lights flickered on, revealing a tall figure approaching them with slow, steady steps.

"Claude!" Exclaimed the young boy, fresh tears still running down his flushed cheeks, but none the less sounding completely elated, and just like that his eyes glowed, happily and with complete joy. He wiggled out of (f/n)’s hold, making the woman momentarily be forgotten, her own happiness evident as she watched her young master’s tears begin to cease.

"(f/n) was right! You didn't leave...." he said trailing off, furiously rubbing his puffy, tired eyes with enthusiasm.

Alois then looked at his either side to see the two people he loved the most; the two people he couldn't bear to live without.

(f/n) sat with him still, her head slightly cocked to the side as she watched him, the same warm eyes he had been staring at still there while Claude stood at the opposite end, his hand falling over his chest, beginning to kneel to him,

“ Your Highness, “ he addressed him.

They would never leave him... They could never do so...

‘I’ll never be alone again,’ He thought. ‘ With them, I'll never be lonely again,’

A soft smile made its way onto his young face, wanting to stay just as they were for all of eternity, wanting them to always look at him, always have him in mind.

Because he was their center, the path their eyes would take.

His angel and his demon, there for him...

' My Claude... and my (f/n)' he thought to himself, knowing he was safe.

With that thought aside he smirked discretely, his head lowering to hide it.

He then remembered there was something else he loved about having his (f/n) and his Claude,

Something that entertained him heavily...

'I suppose it's time for some fun,' he squealed inwardly at his favorite pass time.

He turned back to (f/n), wrapping his arms around her again, but this time purposely rubbing his face over her cushioned chest,

“(F/n),” he said happily, knowing he was being eyed by the other male.

'Oh Claude, u desperately want her...don't you?... Don't you wish you could hold her as I do?' He taunted the demon, not needing words to do so. With a single look shot towards the demon as he teased him, wordlessly toying with him.

‘ She’s always soft, she’s always warm... she’s always loving, but only to me,’ He thought to himself, a mocking, little smirk adorned.

As though he could read minds, Claude tightened his jaw, staring on with sharpness, knowing just what the boy was doing,

‘All the more reason,’ Claude started, ‘All the more reason I will enjoy swallowing you whole...Your highness.’ He swore seething.

His hands twitched at his sides, knowing he could do nothing to tear them apart,  his only choice being to watch,

‘And you...’ He thought snidely, eyes glued to the woman’s smiling face as she remained unaware of the boy’s games, and much more ignorant to the demon’s possessive nature towards her.

‘You...’ He added, not knowing just what to think.

Within his mouth his pointed tongue swiveled, gliding over his sharpened teeth as they itched to bite. With a press to his left fang, he released a long exhale through his nostrils, wanting to sink the dangerous pearly white’s to her (s/c) skin.

"Your so warm...." Alois whispered softly, actually loving her coziness. All jokes aside, he really was enjoying himself.

"Your Highness...” The tall, slim butler started, struggling through the words, “Don't you think you should head back to sleep already?" Claude suggested, gritting his teeth, trying to sound pleasant as he offered the suggestion.

“It is awfully late,” he went on, eyes shooting right at the (h/c) haired young woman, his piercing golden eyes staring into hers with expectancy.

‘My dear... Darling (f/n),’ he addressed her silently, a sharp end to his own inner voice as he addressed the woman, warning in his fierce gaze as he gave her an opening for her supporting input,

“Claude is right,” (f/n) said in agreeance, her voice soft and small as she broke the connection she had with the man. Instead, she brought her focus down to the younger male, “ You need to sleep,” she told Alois, her hands both on the sides of his face, making him look up to her.

“ The storm is gone, you can now rest,” she assured him. “ And I promise you if it returns, we will come to you. “ she added with a placid smile, being tired herself as well as feeling shaken by the Trancy butler.

The young boy became entranced by her (e/c) eyes and slowly he nodded as she spoke, somewhat spellbound, having no room for opposition.

If it had been Claude he would have toyed more, played around more with his butler, but with (f/n) there wouldn’t be the same enjoyment.

There was no real satisfaction in disobeying her.

Yawning, he agreed with her, truly feeling drowsy, watching as she slipped out from the sheets.

Alois then looked up at her with large innocent eyes, his hand reaching out to capture her long skirt before she drew farther away,

“wait...” he muttered.

"(f/n)…” He started, his voice gentle and sweet, “ would please kiss me goodnight?" He asked shyly, the bashfulness being partially genuine.

As his blue eyes strayed, Alois caught sight of the demon, watching him begin to grow tense, notable stiffness in his tall frame as the question was asked.

‘Riled up are we?’ He wondered, ‘It’s truly amazing... I would have thought you looking at someone else in such a way would hurt me...’ He mused, ‘ But somehow it doesn't bother me...

Only entertains me,’ He went on.

“A kiss?” (f/n) asked with risen brows, a playful, little smile perking her up.

‘Still a child I suppose,’ She thought to herself, finding the boy’s request adorable, not at all suspicious or strange, especially with how rough of a past hour he’d had.

"Don't they say an angel's touch heals all wounds?" Alois responded in wonder, putting up a false play of a sinless child, pulling out his final move for his game.

"I'm no angel, but I will do so anyway," (f/n) responded and giggled lightly as she was shaking her head.

Placing a soft, chaste kiss on the boy's forehead, (f/n) tucked him in, leaving him with a good night's wish. She turned, ready to wish the butler the same, but found him gone already, something she found strange because he’d usually stay behind with the young lord, but this time he didn’t.

What she didn’t know was that he had left the room seconds before her lips touched the boy, not standing through the show before him.

All in all, the only reason he parted from them was that he couldn't stand the sight.

He couldn’t stand the idea of envying some child, especially for receiving something as a chaste kiss from the woman he craved.

‘That brat...’ He thought to himself, his hands balled tightly. '...That damned woman,' He went on, yet again left at a loss for words.

(f/n) quietly maneuvered throughout the dark halls in hopes of not disturbing the sleeping child with any loud noise. The last thing she wanted to do was knock something over, much less something that cost more than his own life did.

She knew calmed steps would be best, and yet, she found herself in a fast-paced walk back to her quarters.

The same odd feeling that someone was watching her made her spine tingle, her light hairs standing on end as she felt a cold shiver course through her.

It hadn't been the first time she'd felt so uneasy in the gloomish nights, and even during the sunny mornings as well.

Regularly she felt the same unease.

Occasionally, she wondered what evil lurked in the halls, what it was that watched her with such ferocity that she felt her body bare, vulnerable to anything that could be standing there in its hunt.

Before she could think twice, or even react, another body was pressed against hers, caging her between it and the hard wall. Her scream was muffled by a gloved hand, pressing over her trembling mouth.

She felt her heart race, blood pumping through her veins with a high dose of adrenaline, "Shh...now-now, although I'd absolutely love to have your screams echo throughout the halls...I have a different method...." A masculine voice muttered, voice falling so low it was deliciously husky and arousing. And she couldn’t believe it, the sound being familiar to her that there was an immediate click in her mind.

The grip on her lower face gradually loosened, enough for her to be able to speak and be understood. "C-Claude..." she stuttered shocked, never having been so close to the man, or even touched by him for that matter.

It was to such a state that there was not even an accidental brush-up she could recall until then.

"(f/n)....." he said in the same sensuous tone, practically purring in her ear, letting his hand fall from her lips, his fingers lingering over the thick flesh of her bottom lip.

'This is too much...it's all a dream...all a dream....this can't be real..!' She chanted in her head, closing her eyes tight, squeezing them close together, before opening them wide, expecting to see the roof of her bedroom there, but instead, seeing the same dark hall she had in sight before closing them.

"Pl-please! Get off of me!" she squeaked, squirming in his hold, her voice nothing but a harsh whisper at best.

He responded with a low chuckle, amused by her frail, little voice, knowing that it was much more than the unwillingness to wake their master causing her voice to fail.

He changed positions with ease, her two hands both held above her head by one of his strong ones as he pressed her back to the narrow hall's wall.

His golden eyes flickered pink, staring into hers, trapping her soul and making her go still, her entire body melting into a strange calmness she’d never experienced before.

Caught in a trance, she stood dumbfounded, watching him draw near.

‘He’s...He’s not even human,’ She thought to herself, watching as the vivid color glowed, a sort of magic certainly held within them that she relentlessly shook.

The uneasy feeling of before when she’d feel watched and preyed upon were present yet again as she was put under the glowing orb’s trap,

‘It’s been him... this whole time...’ She concluded, understanding now that what lurked within the darkness had been the seemingly perfect, beautiful butler.

The creature that gazed at her, followed her so fiercely was none other than the Trancy butler, and it took a single look from the glowing fluorescent gaze to realize it.

' I should... I should move...but... but...I can't...'. Mind set blank as she found it difficult to think properly.

He came close, his glowing eyes closed, dark lashes fanning over his perfect, pale skin.

She could have imagined it, with the lack of light she could be mistaken, but over his alabaster skin was a touch of rose, dusted over his face as he drew near.

His lips pressed over hers with notable yearning, the press being needy, screaming of a desperate desire.

Unresponsively, she let him continue, still stuck in surprise, (e/c) eyes still widely opened.

It was then that his pair of mystic oculars opened up to her from their closed state, eyeing her.

"Don't be uncooperative...Ms. (f/n)" He said softly, letting go of her hands, deepening the kiss by tilting her head upwards and bending down slightly to her stature, giving her the true taste of his craving mouth.

Reacting, she protested struggling to push him away, her attempt performed in a  half-hearted manner as her balled fists pressed against his chest, hitting his strong chest with helplessness, weakening furthermore as she was lip-locked with him.

'No....' she thought desperately fighting the urge to give in, but she couldn't help but release a smutty, little moan as his free hand-molded her round breast, teasing her through the soft fabric.

She cried aloud as he squeezed it lightly, the male holding a teasing grin at the sound, filed more to toy with her to rouse the sounds of her purity being muddied by him.

“Claude...” She said softly, drunk on the taste of his mouth, driven mad by the crude crease of his hand.

He was dark-haired, tall, and handsome, always sporting  A firm pressed suit, one that held not a single improper crease nor a snag or tear.

He was always the picture of absolute, pristine perfection, somehow unraveling before her eyes as his hair fell over his face, his breath released in heavy pants while her hands wrinkled his perfect suit.

"(f/n)...dear..." he murmured, his nose buried into the crook of her neck, inhaling the soft scent of Lillies and lavender, the same soothing scent that covered her flesh and had been soaked into it as she bathed,

"You are divine," He added with the same tender longing, lightly nibbled the soft skin, playfully nipping her to get a small taste before he bit down harshly, finally tasting the sweet blood that leaked from her wound.

Surprised, she cried out, an anguished release that sounded strained as she choked on air, alarmed as she felt sharpened fangs piece through her.

'Oh my....this taste better than expected ...' he thought to himself, planning to make more small nibbles over her (s/c) toned skin.

His moistened tongue dragged over his lower lip before darting out to drag over the bloodied patch of flesh, making her wince, the stinging pain there as in the corners of her (e/c) colored eyes, tears welled.

A decadent taste of sweetness lingered over his tongue, dancing over it teasingly as he drew his opened mouth down further, trying to find another spot to selfishly dig into.

Again, she released a  strangled noise, one filled with pain as he had torn through the tissue a second time,

“It hurts,” she gasped out loud, her breath huffing out, voicing her pain while trembling in his hold,

“Claude...” she said desperately, her voice cracking, the sound making his body’s stance falter.

To say his name in such a way...

“Then I’ll take care of it,” he murmured against the skin, one of his hands trailing up to the naked flesh, his gloved thumb pressing over it with gentleness, before his other fingers trailed down it, falling to the top hem of her ruffled apron.

“Would you allow me to, miss (f/n)?” he asked teasingly, offering her a rather cocky smirk, knowing she’d certainly agree. Even while she shivered in pain she left him continue, silently begging for more.

Half dazed, her own hand trailed up to the spot, her glazed eyes looking right into his underworld glimmering gems that shinned with mesmerizing pink.

She contemplated the offer, knowing that it was best to deny him and flee, but nonetheless, she stayed planted, watching him with a want he could see.

He took a step back from her, knowing she'd already fallen into his web, and all she could do was tangle herself more into it, falling toward him and his trap. With a daring step forward, she took a hard swallow, "Claude.....please....make me yours", she practically begged, breathing ragged.

'Fight it,' Her inner voice begged, speaking with futility as it was ignored by the starry-eyed servent.

'Claude...' She mused, 'Your kisses are like wine...' She thought to herself, drunk on the sweet, addicting taste that fogged her reasoning.

'They taste as though I shouldn't have more.

They leave my mouth dry... wanting more...desirng more I know I can't handle,'

With a small lunge, she fell into his arms, where he once again took dominance over a feverish kiss.

During then he was met with a response, one that admitted to the overwhelming desire which reigned over him aswell.

She stood right at her toes, tightly gripping his shoulders as his mouth moved in sync with hers in a dance that had never been practiced between the two but was executed with perfection.

‘-As though you were made for me...’ He told himself, his hands gripping her tightly, her body melting onto his form.

He could sense the desire laced within words she spoke, as well as feel the need she felt to be claimed by him.

Oh, how he loved it...

She felt ready to collapse, her legs giving out as they became just as shaking as a platter of gelatine. Somehow, they felt like they’d never been used, giving out beneath her with inexperience as she fell onto him,

‘Like a fawn... an innocent fawn,’ He mused, and In a single swoop, he picked her up, breaking off the heated kiss with a harsh breath coming from him, a wild grin etched onto his features.

He watched her pouting mouth begin to press together, her own tongue which had been tangled with his now tasting the remains of him over her lips, leaving a glossy shine as she was left desperate for more.

He gave her a devilish smirk before he chuckled, “ Shall we continue elsewhere?” he questioned her, and with an eager nod, she pleaded.

With the same curl to his lip, he pulled her into the empty room, planning on giving her just what she wanted, planning on diving into the tempting enchantress more.

Yes, everyone would know she was his...

The Next Morning "Say did u hear miss (f/n) Last night?" Said masculine a voice while speaking in a quiet murmur. "Good grief, One would give to be deaf not too," another voice, almost identical to the first replied back to the gossip,  “ Though, I'll admit... I wouldn't mind havin’ her squirmin’ beneath me instead... too bad that glory hog got to her first...." he continued on.

"I must say, I agree, she is quite a screamer, not that I'd mind either." The last of the three added, tilting his head, curious as to what her face would be set as while she made the final cry that had left him shaken to the core during the previous night.

It was then that the three men, all perfectly aligned nodded in agreeance.

"Indeed....." The other two said in sync.

The ruby eyed trio followed the (h/c) haired woman as she continued to walk forward, slipping past them without so much as a word of address. It was evident that her mind was set on something else, a look to her eyes that seemed glossy and dazed being what gave it all away.

“He’s on her mind so it seems,” Timber said sighing, pouting. “Foolish if you ask me,” he added. Thompson shook his head with disappointment, “ Honestly, I just don’t understand the appeal,” He went on.

“Yet even the young master fancies him,” the last of the triplets, Canterbury voiced out with notable displeasure.

What was so great about Claude anyway?

[meganshinsou-tm]

asahi is born. (f)

☙ pairing: dabi x reader

☙ theme:  domestic/dad dabi

☙  cw/tw: pregnancy, labor/birth, domestic fluff

☙  a/n-request: Omg I've got the dabi baby fever too, could I request more?? Maybe dabi holding his son for the first time? Something super fluffy omggg

Dabi stood back, hands on his hips and sweat on his brow as he examined the finished crib he had put together. The black and white piece of furniture looked simple but it was a bitch to piece together. The colors of it contrasted with the abstract wall behind it, painted in three inter-crossing triangles of white and two different shades of grey, the white one full of black polka dots. Looking around Dabi was satisfied as his sons room was finally finished, all the furniture, decor, lights and toys in their assigned spots.

“Oh you’re done!”

The ex-villain turned around to see you leaning on the door frame smiling, one hand rubbing your pregnant belly. He smiled back and nodded, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm and wrapping his other around you as you walked over and stood next to him. He turned his head to kiss the tops of yours and you hummed.

“Yeah, fucking finally. It only took 2 days!”

“And it looks great! Thank you babe, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you smiled and kissed your husbands chest as your arms wrapped around him.

“You’re such a kiss-ass you know that? What do you want?” He smirked and brushed your hair out of your face.

You giggled and bit your lip, knowing it was Dabi’s weakness. 

“Well the baby is gonna be here any day and I wanted to start packing our things for the hospital, the only problem is –“

“Your short pregnant ass can’t reach the bags.” 

Dabi finished your sentence and you nodded.

The man kissed your forehead one last time before you parted from each other. He told you to go ahead and gather things while he tossed out the crib boxes and other trash and he’d be there to help out. Smiling, he leaned down to let you kiss his cheek and you left the baby room. Dabi watched with loving eyes as you exited and he started to gather all his trash and bring it outside. Before going back inside Dabi sat on the front door steps and smoked a cigarette, knowing he’d only be able to suck down these cancer sticks until his son made his arrival.

As smoke left from his lips, Dabi thought about the past 9 months and how they were the most stressful yet most amazing months of his life. Before you announced your pregnancy Dabi was still part of the LOV, that’s how he met you, during an attack. You weren’t a villain and you weren’t a hero, you had a quirk but it wasn’t something fancy or anything you could defend yourself with. How he fell in love with you in the first place was beyond him, normally he’d deem someone like you weak but it was that first look you gave him, it only took that one look to make him want to have you instead of just leave you behind in the ruble.

Since then you turned his world upside down. Dabi wasn’t always happy with his villainous lifestyle but that’s all he knew and he figured that it was all he’d ever know. People looked at him in disgust or fear because of his disfigured appearance, which was the reaction he was going for, but you only looked at him with wonder and no fear. Soon that look turned to adoration and love. Even though you knew of his choices and his past mistakes, of his kill-streak and ideologies, you didn’t care. You knew Dabi would never hurt you or let any harm come to you, which was true, he’d engulf the entire world in blue fire all for you. It was different having someone yearn for him and show him affection, it took awhile for him to get used to actual love and not just lust. But once he crossed that threshold he was head over heels for it. He lived to hold you and keep you warm, to shower you with kisses and make you laugh.

His colleagues knew of your existence and Dabi threatened every single one of them if they so much as looked in your direction or even thought about coming between you and him. As time went on, the LOV could see a shift in their most useful member, Shigaraki always had his doubts about Dabi’s loyalty to the cause so when out of nowhere Dabi had took off without so much as a word, he didn’t bother tracking the patchwork villain down. He was out of his hair and not his problem anymore. The only one who knew of Dabi’s whereabouts was Kurogiri, he was the only one who knew about the seed growing inside of you as well. In fact the warping man helped Dabi out with finding a place and securing more than enough funds to last him and his new family a lifetime. Why the man helped him out, Dabi didn’t know, but he never questioned it and he was grateful.

Since then, you and Dabi had moved from the slums of Japan and to Australia of all places. It was off the wall and no one would think to look there, plus no one knew who Dabi was, giving him that clean slate. It was an adjustment for the both of you, but you quickly came to love your new home and knew it was the perfect place to raise your first child together. The two of you married, it was extremely private and only between the two of you. Dabi was hesitant at first, wanting to give you something more than just a courthouse ceremony, but you left your family behind years ago for reasons of your own and all you had now was Dabi and your future child, and that was all you needed.

Taking another drag of his cigarette Dabi grinned realizing he really had a damn good life and it was only going to get better in a few short days. He relived the last 9 months, your mood swings, disgusting cravings, your whining and disgust over yourself and how huge you were. Dabi thought you were still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Pregnancy definitely looked good on you, despite what you thought. Your skin was flawless, as always, but had this ethereal glow to it. Your eyes were so fucking bright and clear, Dabi could always see his own reflection in them. Then there was your adorable pregnant stomach, you said you were ginormous but you really weren’t, your proportions were perfect. Sometimes Dabi couldn’t resist his urges and would play or nuzzle your breasts as they grew bigger, making you whine and groan on days they hurt. Other times he’d relish in laying in bed with you, his hands wandering the vast expanse of your bare stomach and his ear pressed to it as he listened to the life inside of it.

He loved waking up before you, cuddling you close and resting his chin on your shoulder as he rubbed your belly. He loved how his patchwork skin looked against your flawless skin. Dabi would lay there making silent promises to you and his unborn child, vowing to be the most amazing father you could both ask for. He wouldn’t be like his old man, he’d love and cherish every moment, every messy, chaotic, stressful, funny, beautiful and wonderful moment. If his son had a quirk like his, he’d help him harness control over it and not let it cloud his mind. He wanted his son to be the very little bit of good he had left within himself. He just wanted the entire world for his son, and for you. Dabi had no doubts or fears about whether he could do this, fatherhood, he was very confident that if there was something he didn’t know how to do then he’d figure it out, with you by his side he could do anything.

Dabi finished his cigarette, smashing it into the concrete beneath him and walking to the dumpster to throw it away, along with the almost finished pack he had in his pocket. He made his way back inside, washed his hands until they no longer reeked of menthol and nicotine, brushing his teeth after before going to gather the bags your needed. Once he finally found you in the bedroom, you had the baby bag out already and were stuffing it with the essentials. Dabi smiled and walked over, placing your bag on the bed.

“Alright angel, what do I need to get?”

After an hour of bickering and giggling, all your hospital bags were packed. Dabi even installed the car-seat and put all the bags in the vehicle so they’d be ready to go and not forgotten had you gone into labor so suddenly. You sighed and fell back on the bed, your arms stretched out as you sunk into the mattress. You were totally exhausted and not really in a great mood. All day long you had these intense cramps, they weren’t unbearable just uncomfortable. They’d come and go in waves, making your face twitch as your jaw clenched in reaction. You sat up and rubbed your belly thinking to yourself. 

“There’s no way its contractions right? Maybe it’s just me being hungry, I haven’t eaten all day long.”

Dabi walked back into the room and saw you in the middle of thinking. He smirked and walked over, squatting down before you and placing a hand on your knee. “Don’t think too hard, you might hurt yourself!”

You rolled your eyes and miserably kicked at him, causing him to laugh and squeeze your knee. 

“How about you get a shower, you look beat to hell. I’ll go get dinner started.”

You smiled and ran a hand through your husbands spiky black locks, his turquoise eyes glimmering at you. 

“I think I’ll do just that, thank you Dabi, for everything.”

“Don’t sweat it angel, now come on, I’ll help you out,” he replied.

Standing to his feet, Dabi took your hand and helped you stand up, his other palm cupped your chin, making you look up at him. His hand released yours and fell to your stomach rubbing it gently as he placed a sweet kiss on your lips. You smiled at him when he pulled away, reaching out and touching his patchwork cheek.

“I love you Da – ah!” 

You groaned and screwed your eyes shut as you clutched your stomach.

Dabi’s eyes widened as he rested a palm on your shoulder. You inhaled sharply and bared your teeth, trying to breathe deeply as a sharp pain crashed over your lower abdomen.

“(Y/N) you okay, what’s wrong?” He asked, worry lacing his words.

“It’s just a cramp Dabi, I’m fi – ineeeee,” you dragged out as your knees suddenly buckled.

Dabi caught you before you could collapse, panting in his arms and gripping his shirt with desperation. “That doesn’t seem like ‘just a cramp’ (Y/N). Has this been happening all day?”

“…sort of but it’s noth –“

“Bullshit, you’re having fucking contractions. Why didn’t you tell me some – never-mind, I’m getting your shoes and we’re leaving,” Dabi hissed as he sat you on the bed and went to grab your shoes from the living room.

When he came back you were holding your stomach and your breathing was becoming labored as you barred your teeth. Dabi shook his head and knelt before you, holding his hand out for your foot. You grit your teeth and shook your head.

“NOW (Y/N)!”

“I can’t! I - I can’t do this, what if ... what if I’m a t-terrible mom!”

Dabi stared at you, his turquoise eyes full of shock as you cried out with so much fear that your voice cracked, tears starting to stream down your face. He smirked and chuckled, making you look at him confused as to what was so fucking funny at the moment. He stood to his feet, leaning over to be eye level with you as he cupped your face in his hands.

“First off, it’s a little too late to back out now, ready or not this baby is coming!”

“You fucking did this to me,” you growled out as Dabi wiped your tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“That I did, but you didn’t exactly stop me either. If I can recall your words were, ‘oh Dabi, please, please fill me up, cu – ’ oww!” 

He smirked as you shut him up with a fierce punch to the arm, making him laugh and coaxing a small pained smile from you.

The lean man kissed your cheeks, “You can do this angel, you’re so fucking strong and so amazing, this is going to be nothing for you! I’ll be right there by your side! You’re going to be a fucking fantastic mom, no doubt about it and this kid is going to love you! We’re going to make mistakes and mess up, but it’s a part of parenthood. No matter what, we’ll have each other and we’re gonna be kickass parents together! Got it?”

You gave a bigger smile, squeezing you eyes shut as another contraction rippled through your body. “I – ngh, I got it Dabs. Thank you!”

Your husband smiled and knelt back down, putting your shoes on your feet before he stood up and reached for your hands, asking if you were ready to go and have your baby.

“Let’s get it!”

Dabi rushed you to the hospital, thankfully you were already pre-admitted so you were wheeled to a delivery room in no time. After dressing down and getting into your hospital gown Dabi helped you into bed. The nurses took all your vitals and counted the closeness of your contractions. The delivery doctor had to break your water manually and from there it was only a matter of a few short minutes! You had no time for an epidural, to which Dabi was worried about, he didn’t want you to be in pain at all. You smiled, sweat starting to coat your skin and gave him a thumbs up.

“Hey what did you just tell me before we got here?”

Dabi smiled and kissed your forehead, taking your hand and letting you grip the life out of it as the doctor prepared to deliver your baby that wasn’t waiting another second.

“You’re so fucking strong and so amazing!”

In what felt like the blink of an eye, a healthy baby boy was placed into Dabi’s arms. He stared at the tiny human, not exactly smiling but also not frowning, its like he didn’t know what face to make. For once he was just so speechless and amazed. Your son had a head full of dark red hair, the same as Dabi’s natural color. Of course he also had those same sparkling turquoise eyes. Almost every feature on the newborn matched that of his father, an exact carbon copy. Dabi’s long and slender fingers caressed the baby’s soft cheek, his un-charred, flawless cheek. Every inch of him was perfect.

Your husband was so lost in those wondrous eyes that stared back at him and that soft coo that came from those tiny lips. Dabi chuckled as his son gripped his finger in his small hand. An overwhelming sense of protection washed over him at the touch, as if it were the spark that sent him into ‘dad mode’. Now, Dabi had two people in his life that he’d burn down the world for. Two very beautiful and important people that he’d love with every ounce of his soul, every beat in his heart and every breath in his body.

Dabi looked from his son and to you, watching him with a tired smile. He walked to you, handing the baby over. You took your son and smiled, cooing with him quietly as you poked his perfect nose. The baby smiled and nuzzled his body deeper into his blanket as if he were shy. He may look like Dabi but he had your smile and apparently your bashfulness. You moved over in the bed, making room for your husband and he gently crawled onto it and next to you, wrapping an arm around you as his long legs nearly hung off the end of the bed.

“Our Asahi, he’s so perfect huh?”

Dabi nodded and kissed your head, his fingertips trailing down your jaw to cup your chin, making you look at him. “Thank you, again.”

You quirked a brow and smiled, “You’re welcome, but what did I do?”

“First you gave me you, and now him. I could never thank you enough for any of this.”

You chuckled and leaned in closer tilting your head and kissing the happy man. His hand caressed your cheek as he kissed back tenderly, enveloping your lip between his and showing it the utmost love and care. Thanking you one of the only other ways he knew how. 

A small cry came from Asahi as he squirmed in your arms, making you and Dabi break your kiss and look. Immediately Asahi smiled again as he gained your attention, making you both laugh.

“He’s already a little shit, just like his mama!”

[black-ice-and-flame]

“Somebody loved me?”

Part Two of what I’m now dubbing, ‘The Love of the Forgotten’ series

Summary: S/O has a memory-erasing quirk and they use it on; shinso/shigaraki/dabi to make them forget they ever existed after dying in battle. The memories only being restored with photographs or videos

Shinso’s part

Word count: 5,223

Inspiration: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

WARNINGS: Alcohol abuse, a little gory (not excessive though), character death, mentions of abuse, and self-harm

Under the cut! I hope you enjoy the next installment of pure angst  

They loved him

Their Tomura. 

They knew he was going to be important to them the first day they met. Mainly because he really did change every aspect of their life. 

“You came!” F/N launched themselves off the swing they were on and into their best friend. They wrapped their arms around the little boy who stood there stiffly, not moving his arms to hug back, hands shaking. 

F/N had hoped Tomura would show up today, it’s been exactly three days since they last saw him. They had only met two weeks ago but the shy boy had already become a big part of F/N’s life. 

“You have more bandaids today.”

F/N subconsciously tugged down their sleeves further, grasping their fabric around the chain of the swing so even their hands were hidden. Wanting to ignore her gravelly-voiced friend's comment. 

“I tripped over one of my toys again. It’s fine Tomura-chan.” 

Tomura lips thinned into a line, he gripped tighter onto the chain as he tried his best to keep his pinkies off it. 

All For One had let him stay here while he ran errands nearby the park. Tomura initially never thought he would speak to anyone, but for some reason, he was drawn to F/N. 

He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was the fact that they were by themselves too. Or it was because of the look in their eyes. A vacant but sad look that should be foreign on a child’s face but looked at home on theirs. 

Tomura knew the secret they hid behind their fake smile and cheery demeanor. He may be young, but he’s been through enough to see similar signs he showed himself. 

F/N’s parents abused them.

“What do you think?”

Tomura came out of his thoughts to F/N looking at him. “I wasn’t listening,” he mumbled and was ready to get a reprimand or an eye roll from F/N because of his absent attention. 

They surprise him again, instead of the yelling he used to get from his father. 

“It’s okay! I asked if it would be okay if I came over to your house? So when you can come out to play I can come to you!” 

“No.” Tomura’s answer was quick and short that it F/N stopped their swinging. ‘Mast-” He turned his head away, “You can’t come over.”

F/N didn’t bring it up again the rest of the time they played together.

“When are you gonna come back?” F/N asked kicking their feet, the sun was starting to set behind the two kids, casting their shadows in front of them. 

“Whenever I’m allowed.” Tomura wished he could come back every day. Meeting F/N had been the one small source of light in his current life. 

“F/N!” 

Tomura watched as F/N;s whole face dropped. They stood up immediately and he watched in slight confusion as F/N stood in front of him, almost as if they were protecting him. 

F/N’s dad stalked over to them as F/N’s mother stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest and lips turned down. 

“You were supposed to be home an hour ago! Do you understand how much time we wasted driving around to look for you?” F/N’s dad reached down and grasped both of their wrists in his hands, dragging them closer. 

“I’m sorry dad,” F/N whispered. “I just wanted to stay with my friend.”

Tomura had never heard F/N’s voice like that before... 

So afraid. 

As F/N’s dad grabbed their shoulders and started shaking them, insults spewing from his lips, Tomura stood up slowly from the swing. The seat falling to the ground behind him with a thunk from having disintegrated the chain attaching it.

“We should’ve never had you. If you were a boy maybe you’d be at least tolerable-” F/N’s dad cut off with a horrifying scream of pain and F/N felt their dad’s right hand disappear from their shoulder. 

F/N’s eyes widen and backed away as they were nudged by an elbow. They kept their eyes trained on the back of a black-haired head. Tomura?

Tomura stood in front of F/N with one hand held out in front of him. His red eyes were crazed and wide.

“Don’t come near them ever again or next time it won’t just be an arm,” Tomura growled.

F/N’s mom dashed forward already crying for her husband, trying to help him get up. She looked at Tomura with tear-filled eyes, “you monster!” 

“You’re the monsters! Who shakes their kid like that?” Tomura’s whole body was shaking in anger. He took a step towards F/N’s mother who flinched back while keeping a grip on her husband. 

“Tomura.” The voice was small and the hand that grabbed the back of his shirt felt even more so. 

Tomura looked over his shoulder and swallowed back his anger at F/N’s teary eyes. He turned his back on F/N’s parents, hearing their mom cry as she helped her husband back to the car. 

F/N stood beside him now, his sleeve wrinkling between their clenched fingers. 

“Let’s go,” Tomura mumbled to them. 

F/N looked at him as more tears fell from their eyes, “b-but my dad.” 

“I’m not letting you go home.” Tomura huffed watching as F/N’s mom pulled away. “Not if they’re going to be there.” 

F/N sniffled and let go of his shirt and for a second Tomura felt his chest tighten in fear, thinking that F/N would run after their parents. 

But then they linked their pinky through his, just so they could have skin contact with him. 

“L-Let's go.” Even though F/N’s voice trembled they still had a determined look on their face. 

Even after Tomura had gained better control of his quirk F/N still kept the habit of linking their pinky through his. 

F/N stood next to him as All For One talked him over the plan for attacking U.A. in a few months.

 Over the years they’ve watched Tomura grow from a quiet but caring soul into something twisted and warped due to his foster dad’s influence. F/N tried their hardest to keep him from going too far and thought they succeeded. 

Though hearing him so eager to infiltrate U.A. and cause some destruction made F/N realize that maybe...

This isn’t where they should be

“There’s still time to change your mind about this you know?” F/N ran their fingers through Tomura’s light hair.

Tomura looked up from the handheld game into F/N’s eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

F/N bit the inside of their cheek and cleared their throat before continuing. “The plan All For One has, breaking into U.A.? You can change your mind.”

Tomura lifted his head from F/N’s chest, eyes narrowing as he looked at them. “Why would I do that? Master’s finally given me a chance to prove myself, that his training hasn’t been for nothing.” 

F/N could see him getting worked up and grabbed onto his sleeve, squeezing his arm gently to try and calm him down. Another habit F/N still had from childhood, grabbing onto Tomura’s clothes. It was both for a sense of security and for Tomura to just know that things were okay, that he was okay. 

“I know,” F/N said as they twisted the fabric of his shirt between their fingers. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do this just because of him. We can always just, we can leave still Tomura.” 

“Leave?”

F/N nodded their head vigorously leaning in closer to him. “We can just get out of here, we can go do our own thing. We won’t have to follow anyone or do anything we don’t want to do.”

We don’t have to be this way. Was the underlying meaning they were trying to get him to see. 

“How can you think like that?” Tomura rasped out. “Master was there for me when no one else was and he saved you from your-”

“He didn’t save me Tomura,” F/N cut him off, letting their hand cradle his face. “You did.” 

Tomura leaned into F/N’s touch but still looked unsure about what they were saying. 

F/N dropped their hand and let their forehead rest against his. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

When he nodded F/N closed their eyes and pecked Tomura’s lips softly. “I love you.” 

They knew Tomura wasn’t really one to be very affectionate but they liked when he showed them small bits of affection. This time being burying his face into F/N’s neck and wrapping his arms around their waist. He was already wearing his special gloves, for holding his handheld earlier, so he didn’t hesitate in pressing his hands flat against F/N’s back. 

As F/N stroked his hair they couldn’t help but think of a life where they were able to run away and live the life they wanted. A life of peace, a life without the possibility of Tomura becoming a villain. 

But F/N knew happy endings like that didn’t exist.

“Do you know why I asked you here?”

F/N laced their fingers together, hands resting in their lap, trying to look anywhere but at the deformed face sitting across from them. 

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.” F/N bit their tongue to keep from saying more. They had never liked Tomura’s foster father, not after it was clear that the man had other motives for taking Tomura in as his own. 

“I’ve heard that you’ve been putting ideas in Tomura’s head. Doubts,” All For One’s voice was calm but F/N could hear the edge behind it. 

“I just wanted him to know there were other paths for him to choose. Choices to make for himself and not for you.” F/N was scared in All For One’s presence, but they weren’t going to let him see that. 

All For One chuckled, “I’ve taken Tomura in when no else would. If I had left him there they would’ve locked him up and treated him as a villain already.”

“As if you aren’t grooming him to be one,” F/N glared as the leaned back in their chair, crossing their arms over their chest.

All For One smiled cooly, “I even let him bring you in, even though I had a suspicion from the beginning about how you would turn out. I could’ve made Tomura send you home to your parents but I didn’t. Wasn’t that gracious of me?” 

F/N was silent just staring as the man rose from his seat slowly walking around the table before stopping right next to F/N. 

“When Tomura came to me last night, talking about how he wasn’t sure he was ready for the attack on U.A. I knew it was your doing.”

“Why did you bring me here All For One?”

“I think you know already,” when he rested his hand on F/N’s shoulder they immediately wanted to shrug it off, but they were too wrapped up in the thought of what they knew was going to happen. 

“You have two options, one I take your quirk for myself and turn you into one of my experiments. I can easily tell Tomura that you ran away, betraying him.”

F/N stared down at their fingers, clenching them together tightly as they whispered, “or?” 

“Or,” he continued. “You can use your quirk to erase yourself from his life, every aspect of you, your influences, aspirations for him. It will be like you never existed.” 

“How long till I leave,” F/N already knew this was going to happen as soon as they were warped here. 

“I want you gone by tomorrow morning before he wakes up. Considering how your quirk works I don’t see that being a problem. Then Tomura can get back on the right path I’ve made for him.”

F/N wanted to protest, wanted to scream their lungs out that they deserved more time with Tomura before they left. In the end, they just hung their head as hair fell in their eyes and hugged their stomach. 

When F/N was warped back to the bar they didn’t look up from the ground, not even when Kurogiri spoke. 

“I will try my best to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.” Kurogiri wanted to at least give F/N that. 

F/N mumbled, “he’ll still be hurting himself by being a villain. I wanted to take him away from this. I wanted-” 

“He would’ve never left in the first place.” 

“You don’t know that.” F/N left for Tomura’s room. They wanted to see him now more than ever. They would burn every moment of tonight in their mind to make sure they would never forget it. 

As soon as F/N stepped in the room they had Tomura’s immediate attention. 

“What did master want with you?” Tomura sat up from his mattress with narrowed eyes. F/N new that their traveling to see All For One wouldn’t be kept from him. 

“He just wanted to talk about the future, involving me.”

F/N gave him a small smile, lowering himself onto the bed and looking toward the screen. “This a new game?”

When they grabbed the control from him Tomura would usually protest but there was something in F/N’s face that made him pause. 

“What did he really talk to you about?” Tomura pressed. 

F/N chewed their lip trying to focus on the game, wanting a distraction. F/N was afraid if they didn’t hyperfocus on something else they would burst into tears. 

“F/N.”

They could feel their hands start to shake, not noticing they had already lost the game minutes ago. F/N just stared blankly at the screen. 

Then they felt tears run down their cheeks. 

“Damn it,” F/N’s voice cracked as they reached up to wipe the tears away but they just kept coming. 

Tomura reacted immediately and captured F/N’s face in his hands. His eyes were wide and his fingers rubbed over their cheeks. 

F/N found comfort in that gesture even if his skin was rough. It was something they were going to miss. 

“What happened? What did he say? I can do something if he hurt you,” Tomura knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against his master but he wouldn’t let him hurt F/N. 

F/N decided there was no point in not telling him when he would have to forget by tomorrow. 

“I have to leave Tomura. I can’t, I can’t stay here anymore,” F/N whispered. “Not when I have to watch you become something like this.” 

“It’s all I was made for, it’s what master’s trained me for. I thought you understood that.” Tomura frowned. 

F/N shook their head, resting their hands over his. “That’s the thing, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to follow the path he made for you. You haven’t even given yourself a chance to forge your own.”

Tomura snatched his hands back and looked away, scratching absentmindedly at his neck. “It’s because I’m not ready to walk my own path. That’s why I have Master to help me. I thought you would eventually help me, but you want to leave?” 

F/N knew Tomura was beginning to panic, which made this all the more painful. They grabbed his hand gently and dragged it away from his neck. F/N wondered what happened while they were gone, usually, they were the one who helped keep Tomura from scratching hard enough to draw blood.

Who would help him when they left?

“I’m sorry. I’m probably just too worked up from talking to All For One. Let’s sleep,” F/N wrapped their fingers around his and squeezed softly. “Please?” 

Tomura wanted to push for more information but figured if he did it would just upset F/N even more. He could always ask what happened in the morning. 

When he moved to lay down F/N felt their shoulders slump in relief. They moved and laid down next to him. 

“I love you Tomura.” 

Tomura rested his head on the same pillow as F/N’s so they were practically nose to nose. His hand reached to grab onto their shirt, dragging them closer. 

F/N knew they should’ve done it there. They could’ve done while they wrapped their arms around his back, grasping onto his shirt themselves. They could’ve done it when they buried their neck in his shoulder. But F/N still wanted to be able to help him one last time. 

It was a familiar routine for both of them. Almost like clockwork. F/N even started waking up beforehand. 

Tomura curled up in a  ball against F/N, rocking back and forth as he held his hands over his ears. The sounds from his nightmare still lingering in his ears. He wanted, no needed, to block it out. 

“Erase it, please.” 

It was the only time F/N ever hears Tomura say please. The only time they ever see his tears. 

Tomura looked up, his red eyes were watery. “Make it go away...” 

F/N murmured soothing words to him, letting their fingers run through his hair, “it’s okay, I’ll make them go away. I’ll make the memories go away.” 

It was that moment that F/N knew it was time. So with tears of their own, with their fingers still tangled in their lover's hair, they erased themselves. It was like they were physically seeing the memories of them being shattered like a glass window.  

With a heavy and shaky exhale F/N leaned down and pecked his forehead. “It’s okay,” they whispered. “You can sleep now.” 

Tomura tugged F/N back down to lay with him, clinging more than before. F/N clung back just as tight, holding back more tears.

When it was early in the morning they packed up what little belongings they had. Making sure nothing that could disrupt what they’d done was left behind. F/N stared at the picture they had in their hands, one of the only ones they could manage to get of Tomura and them together. 

They were going to miss him... 

F/N looked down at the one person in their lives that they knew they could count on to be there. Where else were they going to go now? They kissed the crown of Tomura’s hair and walked out of the bedroom, hugging the picture to their chest. They didn’t spare Kurogiri a glance as they walked out and left the bar. 

Leaving the only source of love they’ve ever known behind. 

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“F/N!” 

F/N looked up instantly at the panicked voice of their coworker. Shota Aizawa. They didn’t know how they managed to be able to get the job they had. Maybe it was just due to the pity the pro hero had felt when they found F/N, either way, they would be forever grateful. Being his teacher assistant made F/N feel a bit more fulfilled in their life. Even if the hole would never fully heal. 

“Someone broke onto campus, we need to patrol the grounds let’s go.” 

F/N didn’t hesitate in following, the worst thoughts flooding their mind. The main one being, was Tomura finally here? Did he manage to get in? 

F/N didn’t want to have to face their former love but knew that when things came down to it, they had too. They had chosen their alliance and knew it was the right one. 

They were more than relieved when they found out it was just the media, but a glance at the front gate made their heart drop into their stomach. They recognized the ash left behind from the usage of the owner's quirk. F/N swallowed back the bile in their mouth. 

Should they tell them? They had to warn them right? Thought a part of F/N’s heart still wanted to be in denial, wanted to deny the thought that Tomura was going through with All For One’s plan. 

Those thoughts stayed with them on the bus ride to the USJ. The chatter of the students falling deaf on their ears. 

F/N was only dragged out of those thoughts by a voice. 

“Miss L/N, can you tell me more about your quirk?” 

F/N looked into the sparkling curious eyes of Izuku Midoriya. They had admired the boy for his dedication to knowing information about multiple quirks. 

“Of course Midoriya, what do you wanna know?” F/N smiled softly. 

The boy immediately opened his notebook and start scribbling before asking his questions. “So you can erase people’s memories?” 

F/N nodded, “yes, I’m able to erase memories and ideas from people’s minds.” 

“Do you have to know what the memory or thought is to be able to erase it?” Izuku asked glancing back up. 

“Yes, I can’t really erase what I don’t know,” F/N said with a chuckle. They waved off Izuku’s embarrassed murmuring. 

“That’d be cool to be able to erase stuff from people’s mind,” another student with a wide grin said, Kirishima. 

“Yeah, you’d basically be able to rehabilitate villains right?” Uraraka asked. 

F/N shrugged their shoulders, “I’ve never had the opportunity, but I’m not sure I could do something like that. There’s still the drawback aspect of my quirk.” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask what that was,” Tsuyu asked raising a finger. “What is the drawback of your quirk? We’ve never seen you use it so we haven’t really had a chance to guess.” 

F/N was glad the students were curious about them, they were so hesitant about taking the job because they were sure kids wouldn’t like them. 

“The drawback is that if an image or video of the memory is seen by the person I erased it from, the memory will be restored. So let’s say I, uhm,” they stumbled for a second, “erased the memory of a person from someone’s life. Even if they were to see that person face to face they still wouldn’t recognize them.” 

Izuku furiously scribbled down every word as F/N continued. 

“It specifically has to be a photo or a video of them shown for the memory to be restored.” 

“Huh, I wonder why it is that way,” Tsuyu wondered as a ribbit fell from her lips. 

“Enough questioning,” Aizawa said from the front as the bus stopped. He stood up, “we’re here.”

What came to follow was like a horrible nightmare come true for F/N. 

One glance of the swirl of purple and black made F/N freeze in place. The sight of a pale hand and a blue head of hair popping through the warp hole almost made F/N faint. 

F/N knew they couldn’t hesitate, so when Aizawa lept into action they were far behind him. Their quirk was great for a physical fight, but they had been taught how to fight properly by some of the best teachers that U.A. had to offer.

F/N punched a villain to knock them out and looked up just in time to see Tomura run toward Aizawa. Their eyes widened and they ran towards their boss and former boyfriend. 

“Aizawa!” F/N shouted leaping through the air and pushing their boss out of the way. F/N felt a hand grip theirs and they barely had time to look up into a pair of red eyes before they felt the pain. 

Maybe it was Karma for all those years ago? F/N wasn’t sure but as their right arm disingrated they fell to the ground at the feet of Tomura. A shower of blood and viscera exploding around them.

“You got in my way,” Tomura’s voice growled. 

The voice F/N registered for many years with love and happiness was now foreign to them. F/N couldn’t hear anything else but a ringing, their vision slowly fuzzing like t.v. going out. 

The last sight F/N saw was of Tomura leaning over them and a hand outstretched. 

WEEKS LATER 

As Tomura walked away quickly from Izuku Midoriya, hands stuffed in his pockets he got a slow manic smile on his face. His face twisted crudely. He finally was able to understand, his vision of a distorted future forming in his mind. 

He never paid attention to anyone around him, but as he walked out of the mall his eyes caught sight of an old and faded posted of a child. Tomura stumbled a bit and growled softly as a pain shot through his skull. 

Tomura knew he had to get out of here quickly, so he walked faster until he got outside. But then he saw the large television screen, the news reporting on the death of a hero from a few weeks ago.

Usually, he enjoyed the sight of another hero falling, but when their picture flashed on the screen he immediately clutched his head with eight of his fingers. His head was burning like his mind was on fire. 

As he tripped over his own feet walking back into the bar all of it came flooding back. The memory of soft hands cupping his face. The feeling of lips against his. Hands that grasped at his clothes, a warm smile and soft words. And shockingly, there was love. 

“Ah, you have returned, I suggest you’ve made a decision?” Kurogiri.

“What happened to them?” Tomura spat out looking at the man behind the bar.

“What happened to who Tomura?” Kurogiri’s eyes narrowed. 

“F/N, what happened, what did you all do to them?” Tomura couldn’t control himself anymore and slammed his hands down on the counter. The material of it starting to decay. 

“Calm yourself,” Kurogiri said lifting his hands. He didn’t want to become Tomura’s next target. 

“Calm down? What happened? What did you and the master do?” Tomura asked his hands starting to dig at his neck, nails scraping against his skin. “Did you get rid of them because you thought they were going to keep me from doing what you wanted?” The words F/N spoke to him were echoing in his head. 

You don’t have to follow the path he made for you. 

“It was for the best,” a voice spoke through the screen. 

Tomura snapped his head toward the sound of his master's voice. “For the best? They could’ve stayed, they could’ve helped, then I wouldn’t have-” Tomura started scratching harder at his neck. I wouldn’t have killed them.

"They were trying to deter you from our plans together Tomura, ones that we’ve been training for your whole life.” All For One felt no remorse in his decision, even if it ended up with F/N dying at Tomura’s hands. 

Tomura just stood there, not saying anything, still scratching at his neck and ignoring the blood flowing over his fingers at the scratches. He didn’t say anything else and when he lunged toward Kurogiri the warp villain thought he was going for him, but Tomura moved past him and grabbed a random bottle of alcohol. 

“I’m leaving, don’t follow me.” Tomura snapped as he uncapped the bottle and threw the cap aside taking a swig from the bottle. “I don’t want to hear from anyone.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction as he walked out taking another drink, his other hand still scraping the skin of his neck. Tomura pulled up his hood and ignored stares he got as he drunk straight from the whiskey bottle. 

Tomura didn’t want the memories back but they wouldn’t go away, no matter how much his balance deteriorated, or how slurred his mumbled words got. He had stopped scratching his neck for a while because he was to preoccupied with trying to drink enough for the memories of F/N’s smile and loving eyes to erase from their mind again. He wanted to get rid of the last moment they saw them, underneath his own hand, it crumbling away. It just wouldn’t go away. 

As his unsteady feet moved without his knowledge he felt sticks crunch under his feet and he glanced up, squinting to clear his vision. When he realized where he was he wanted to throw up the contents of his stomach. 

Tomura kept his eyes trained on the old and rusted structure, the long-forgotten chains swaying in the breeze. The seats were cracked from years of use, but for Tomura it still brought up the same feelings. 

He stumbled over to it slowly, swaying, he finally managed to get to it and plopped down on the seat. Tomura finished the last swig of the bottle, his head was whirling and the world around him spun. 

“Would it be okay if I came over to your house to play?”

Tomura glanced at the swing next to him and the ghost of a child F/N sat next to him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Tomura never cried in public, he only ever cried with them.

“You came!” 

Tomura remembered how it felt when they jumped off that swing, their arms wrapping him up in a hug. F/N was the only person who seemed happy to see him at that point. They were never afraid to touch him. 

“I love you Tomura.”

Now it was an adult F/N, their eyes holding nothing but love. The hallucination reached out their hand and Tomura immediately thrust out his own toward it. When his hand passed through the obvious facade is when the tears finally fell. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped out. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he sobbed. 

Somebody had loved him, actually truly and genuinely loved him. And he killed them. 

“I love you,” Tomura said out loud. The words were strange rolling off his tongue, but he didn’t care. “I love you F/N L/N!” He shouted as more tears poured from his eyes. 

Tomura sat there for a few more hours before slowly standing up. Knowing he had to leave before anyone around the area woke up to see him. He turned and stared at the swing set behind him. He let one hand rest on the arc and wrapped his fingers around it. 

The swing fell apart under his deadly hands and Tomura watched it crumble. Everything from here on out was going to be done for F/N. 

It all started with a swing. 

Tomura didn’t know why All For One had left him here. Surrounded by all these other kids. He glanced at hands, his fingers curling inward. With one touch he could’ve ended any one of their lives. 

“Hi!” 

He looked up to a pair of bright eyes and blinding teeth. 

“I’m F/N L/N! Come swing with me!” He didn’t even have an answer formed before they grabbed his wrist and dragged him over toward the swings. 

Tomura watched as the rest of the structure broke apart and fell to the ground. 

It would end with a swing. 

[fuwafuwamedb]

.Hack//Gilfection Pt 2 (Gilgamesh, Siduri, Rin Tohsaka)

.//Chapters//. – 1 –

___

The next day, he found that Enkidu had been hospitalized.

He’d rushed to the hospital, but they wouldn’t even let him see them.

It was stupid, to think that those idiots wouldn’t let someone like him go forth to see his friend. He owned half their stocks. He had investments with half of their stockholders. At the flick of a pen, he could ruin them.

Gilgamesh glared at his computer, debating on what to do.

Siduri had told him to take some time and do something mindless.

“Fish. Mountain climb. Go get some women and gamble,” Siduri had growled, shoving him from his office.

“They have Enkidu-“

“We have surveillance on the being. They’ll be okay. They’re in a coma, not dead. The being shouldn’t have been playing so many damn video games. I’m guessing it was a flickering lights thing. I’ve heard that can mess with people.”

There hadn’t been flickering lights. There’d only been-

Sitting down, he pressed the power button on the computer. His eyes drifted to the headset and the nerve connections for the game. The midday light was casting a glow on them, no doubt creating a warmth on the devices that would send Enkidu into a frenzy.

You can’t have your game stuff in direct sunlight! It’ll fade the colorings and may overheat the software!

Perhaps it would.

He dropped the window blinds, rolling down the curtain over that to block out the residual light. The headseat now had a light coming out of it, the soft glow reminding him of that beast from before.

…He’d find that thing and kill it.

If nothing else, it would soothe his nerves.

[Message: Server Problems]

We apologize for the inconvenience due to problems with our servers. Currently we are investigating the occurrences and have restricted user access to Delta and Theta servers. Thank you for your understanding.

[CC Corp]

Such a terrible message.

What kind of game company would just shut down part of the game? Shutting down the whole game for a few hours for maintenance and offering some incentive was far better. It ensured a beta testing of the areas affected.

At least, that was how it worked for his phone game.

Computer games needed better logic like that.

He fixed the other parts of the game devices to himself again, hissing a bit at some of the soreness underneath. His hands grabbed for the controller, logging in from his personal email drive on the game.

[LOG IN] [MESSAGE BOARD] [EMAIL SERVER]

…Message board?

Gilgamesh clicked there, opening a new thread.

[Friend in Coma]

My friend fell into a coma playing this game. Have any other people had this occur with their friends or family?

[GilGaMesh]

It was a long shot, but Siduri had mentioned lights being the cause of trouble. If it turned out to be something else, then he could take that information and demand treatment to heal the being faster.

The other messages on the board were useless in comparison to his. There were complaints about difficulties, luck ratings in some item gachas, areas for leveling up, myths and lore from the game; he glanced through the areas with vague interest, opting to leave the message board and go to-

[New Message!]

Gilgamesh frowned, going back to his inbox.

[Ple{*( ]

To t*e ^%* w*! +ol%s /:e book. +<6it% is lo8$in! f>r M|.

T+/&e I, ^o time.

Ple}se. Hel? 3e.

[Au]$]

“…Is this some kind of joke?”

He didn’t have time to decipher drivel from some spammer.

He went back to the menu page and logged in.

The scene was the same as before. Large buildings in the glittering afternoon sun, cobblestone pathways that led away from a large spinning disk that gleamed a deep blue color; people came and went around him just as they had when he had been waiting for.

Except one.

The woman was dressed like a flimsy stereotype of female fighters: bikini armor and a big weapon. She clicked around on her heeled boots, looking around with her eyes narrowed and her twin tails flicking this way and that.

“WHAT?”

Gilgamesh paused, noting the woman coming up to him.

“DON’T YOU KNOW THAT THE REAL WORLD AND THE GAME WORLD WORK THE SAME WAY? YOU DAMN PERVERT! STOP OGLING MY AVATAR!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The woman glared harder, looking him over before huffing. She turned, running for the rest of the city.

The whole encounter was maybe a minute? Half minute?

“…My stupid friend, that woman looked like that idiot in accounting,” Gilgamesh breathed, heading to get some healing items and equipment before heading back to that area from before.

Vendors looked at his armor and clicked their tongues, trying to tutorial him. He lifted his headset to grab a snack while that occurred. He noted the foul woman from earlier lingering nearby, scaring off a few other people in the area as he made his purchases.

Enkidu had talked about Fortune Wires before. Something about traps.

He got a few of those as well as mappers for the areas.

Once Enkidu woke up, they’d be doing a lot of this game. The being had an amazing capacity for forgiving things that hurt them. The selection of dogs now under Siduri’s care were a good testament to that.

He rushed back to the gate, the spinning disk greeting him with interest.

“Wait!”

Gilgamesh groaned internally, glancing back.

“Yeah… I know some interesting keywords. If you come with me, I’ll tell you.”

“Why would I want to bother?”

“You’re a newbie, aren’t you?” The brunette grinned, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “Naturally, if you go anywhere without some kind of company, you’ll end up dying.”

…

How the hell had he forgotten that?

Setting down his controller, Gilgamesh rubbed at his temples, attempting desperately to relax.

New players were a low level. Enkidu had been a higher level and they’d been taken down by the bastard enemy they’d encountered. What he would need in order to fight that monster was a party of some size.

“Hey! Hey! Are you listening?”

“Unfortunately,” Gil growled through the mic.

“HA! Good. I happen to be an expert! If you come to the area with me, then I’ll allow myself to maybe, occasionally join your party.”

Why did that sound more menacing than going alone?

The woman didn’t seem like she was well experienced with parties, but then again…

The attitude.

It was so much like that damn Ishtar. She’d probably end up being decent at the damn game, but useless at any kind of social interactions.

“So?” The woman prodded.

“Fine. What’s your area code?”

“Party member first!”

He fixed his headset and controller back, glancing at the woman a second before he opened his menus and connected his hand to the woman’s.

[Added RinTohsaka to Party]

“Perfect!” Rin cheered, “It’s Delta Hidden Forbidden Holy Ground!”

He already disliked this.

Still, there wasn’t much else to do other than to type in the information and hit enter. The world morphed around them, changing and altering until they warped from one location to the next. Where the walls of several buildings had met around the gate, now there was a large and illustrious cathedral. It’s spiraling towers on the sides threw reference to castles. The cobblestones were worn and faded in color, showing a hint of green here and there where age had caught up.

At the height of this cathedral’s days, it may have been beautiful. With the graphics in the game, it was quite breathtaking, but…

“…Cu… You were going to bring me…” Gilgamesh glanced over at the woman nearby, frowning a second before the woman shook her head. “Well? Come on! Aren’t you supposed to be escorting me like a proper gentleman?”

“If you want that, go find your damn boyfriend.”

He moved on though, interested in the architecture.

He could hear the clicking of Rin’s heels behind him as they ran through the bridge to the cathedral, their eyes glancing up at the various angels and demons that lined the exterior.

These were strange demon designs, he thought, running his gaze over the broken shapes.

The first reminded him of sorts of that enemy that had killed Enkidu.

“Um…” A hand grabbed him just short of the door. “You’re going into the Cathedral?”

“This is an event area, isn’t it?”

The world around them had no real enemy dots or landscape like the last area he’d gone to. It meant that this was a special location. If that was the case, he could get some kind of welfare power or maybe a special item. Anything like that would help him fight that bastard from before.

Rin let him go, nodding.

Without any further delay, they entered the grand room of worship.

[moonlightstars16]

Chapter 8 ~ Inner Voice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light of the warp pad lit up and soon the trio returned. Immediately Steven began to quickly stride out of the room. Connie still in his arms as she felt and heard him lowly growling, almost like an animal. His grip, even tighter than before, slightly starting to ache from the little blood flow.

"Steven?"

"Dismissed Pearl!" He spoke while bursting through the doors, the sound echoing through the rest of the castle.

"S-Steven I-I can-"

"Shut up!" Flinching slightly she gulped and bit her lip. They finally stopped when we came to a waiting room of sorts. Setting herself down on the couch before gripping a nearby chair, tossing it to the ground, letting out a loud yell as he did so. She gulped and bit her lip watching him breathe deeply and running his hands through his black curly hair. Though she was annoyed by him carrying her and the scene in the meeting before that, Connie couldn't help but feel a sort of empathy towards him. Remembering the few tears he cried from Blue's power. It was obvious he suffered a great deal.

"You were right...about the Diamonds. I shouldn't have doubted you...I'm sorry" She began, as empathy for him grew more and more. However she couldn't fathom why exactly. Especially with how he treated her. Steven's eyes shot up immediately, not expecting any sort of apology like this. With a deep sigh and eyes closed he regained a more calmer state.

"You heard him. Didn't you?" Stating less of a question and more of a statement. Connie turned her head slightly in confusion until she remembered what he meant. The voice that spoke when they were in close contact. She nodded while he opened up his suit jacket, unbuttoned his vest and shirt. 'What. The. F-' Just enough to reveal a hidden gem embedded in his abdomen. Around it was patches of pinkish red scales against his skin. "He was the one communicating with you."

"I-I don't understand-"

"Of course you don't" He said harshly, adjusting his clothing before looking back up at her. Closing his eyes briefly he breathed a deep sigh. Calming his tone to something more gentler. "This gem belonged to my mother, now it's mine. And so formed half of myself. Sort of like my other half so to speak. We co-exist together, in ways he's still me. Two halves of one full person." Connie blinked, trying to grasp what he was saying. Learning a bit of this from Pearl under the "forbidden rules" of gem-kind.'Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. ...And over explaining a tad. How can he be explaining and yet still make it sound confusing.' Running her hand through her hair, she cleared her throat.

"So are you two a fusion?" He laughed for a brief moment before shaking his head.

"I see you've learned much from Pearls teachings. However you are mistaken. For fusion to work you need two full gems- two complete beings in order to fuse. Not two halves like he and I." He paused before looking at the lit fireplace. "You heard him because when you touched my gem, he connected with you."

"You mean when you grabbed your pet back there?" Her bitter tone apparent, standing up, as her brows furrowed and hands formed fists at her sides. Though she did feel his gem (through the fabric separating them) when she was pressed up against him. It wasn't hard to miss, however not uncomfortable.

"I only did that, for you're protection."

"My protection?" Steven rolled his eyes and faced Connie completely, his cape swishing behind him for a moment.

"You're not an idiot, Connie. You heard the implying dislike of you being a member of my court from White's tone. To her you had no purpose, deal or not humans serve no function in there world." His words suddenly gained much more depth. He wasn't doing it out of spite, but to make sure she wasn't...disposed of. Appearing that his words affected her, he continued. "You have done well for the first meeting." Connie was surprised by his sudden compliment, nodding her head quickly when she realized the silence went on for too long.

"Thank you" Walking to her side he gently touched her cheek. Connie inhaled sharply as they froze momentarily while he put his hand down.

"It was a miracle she didn't harm you." His words spoke volumes as the closeness between them became more and more apparent. Then putting a hand behind her head and waist, he pulled her close. Stroking her hair as she felt her head and hands and rest upon his chest. Her arms enveloped between his. Confusion blurred the lines of what she already knew about him. He had blood on his hands... Murderous blood! And yet there he was willing to give it all up for humanity- no for her? His actions were conflicting as much as what she felt for him.

"Bring him back to the light...."

Suddenly he let go, backing up a tad, gripping his gem slightly bending over in pain. The glow coming from his gem was evident. Connie also heard the voice, but for now it wasn't important as the apparent pain he was feeling. Stepping towards him she was about to lay her hand upon his shoulder.

"No...!" He said gripping her wrist slightly, though not as tight. Hearing her gasp from the shock. He then saw what he had done and slid his hand down into hers. Shaking slightly from being in pain. "Leave...me..." She wanted to ask more, wanting to help him. But this seemed much deeper than a gem problem. No matter his past actions, she couldn't leave his side like this.

"You're in pain-"

"I'm fine!" He shouted at her whilst letting go. Catching her gaze his eyes bore into hers as if begging for her to comply. Connie never saw this side of him before. Nodding she backed away, heading towards the entrance. Once the door shut behind her, she leaned against it and slid to the floor. Thinking about what she had just heard and witnessed. 'If what he is saying is true....could it be that he's crying out for help? His gem half is still a part of himself.' She then remembered the look  in his eyes before he hugged her...before she left. 'Those pleading eyes....'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night Steven sat in his chair right in front of the fireplace. His mask laying on the small table beside him. His eyes watching the flames dance before him; rubbing his temple as his inner self, his gem side, raged war beneath the surface.

'You're beginning to like her more than you think.'

'Shut up!'

'She can help us, bring both of us out of despair.'

'We are perfectly fine!'

'No we are not'

Flashes of blood upon his hands haunted his memories. They we're prominent in his nightmares no matter how much he tried to repress it. Once again they came as he groaned in frustration, trying to make it stop and failing to do so.

A beam of white pure light aimed for him as he was paralyzed in fear. Suddenly the image of one fused gem, from a Sapphire and a Ruby, jumped right in front of his line of vision. He barley had time to call out before it hit her. She cried out in pain, her visors vanished as her three eyes looked at Steven with love and sadness.

"Garnet!!!!!" he cried out but it was too late. Suddenly a hit to the back of his head caused him to see nothing but darkness. When he came too, he was in a bed of sorts, and standing next to it, a certain heart-shaped gem.

"S-Spinel...w-what happened?" her eyes were downcast as she revealed two...shattered gems of a Sapphire and Ruby. Steven gasped and began to cry out in pain. Spinel pulled him close and held him as he continued to cry out in pain. Once he had physically stopped from dehydration, Spinel gave him a small glass vile filled with a green liquid.

"Shh, here this will return your strength. You will need it soon I promise." Without any hesitation he shakingly took the glass vile, lifting it to his lips and drank every last drop. The room began to spin as Spinel began to sing softly, running her fingers through his hair, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Steven reached up and touched his huge scar, as the vision of White making him bleed for the first time right before he let Garnet... Then the beast from his past appeared. The images where too much to bear as he began to scratch his scar. His hands, normally covered by gloves, bore a similar corrupted scaly pattern with fingernails sharp and black. He scratched so much until fresh blood appeared.

'STOP! We can fight this!'

'The Pain...it's too much!'

'I know! I can feel it too! But we can't do this anymore! We have to let her help us...'

Soon he slowed down to a stop and took his hand away from his face. Seeing the blood drop from his fingers down to his skin.

"Oh Steven, you hurt yourself again huh?" Spinel's voice spoke as she stepped out of the shadows with a tray of the same elixir from his memory. The look in Steven's eyes conveyed almost no emotion as fresh blood dripped from the side of his face.

'Don't. Drink. That.'

'I- I need it....'

'NO we don't!'

Spinel put the tray down next to his mask. Letting him grab the drink as he downed it all. While she got a wash cloth and a bowl of water to clean his wounds.

'NO!!! Please! I can't take it-'

But it was too late as the elixir took it's affect and silencing the gem within himself. Spinel by his side cleaning up the blood that spilt from his face.

"There there, all cleaned up, now how about we take that anger and use it against some one else, oh say perhaps the human zoo?" Her suggestive and manipulative tone were strong and evident in her voice. But he knew the games she was playing. Even if he was in this state.

"Nice try Spinel" he spoke making her smirk disappear. "Now leave me alone before I call lion upon you." Sighing she got up and did so, still the elixir she gave him had weakened his powers considerably, it wouldn't be long before the Diamonds would realize that she is stronger than him and more deserving of being a ruler and not a toy.

After all, her gem is a perfect cut and in this world, perfection matters. Besides he couldn't resist his hidden desires for long. Each little dose was another step in bringing his true self out. Tonight was the final push over the fine line of an edge he walked. Smirking she walked out. hid amongst the shadows and awaited with baited breath.

'The truth from within you will come out... you'll remind yourself just how much of a monster you are.'

Steven groaned in pain as he walked towards his bed. A more comfortable position to be in than the chair. No matter the pain, he had a bet to win. He wasn't going to go down without a fight. But then his nightmares began again.

~~~~~~~~

A scream...a plea for help....a yearning for freedom......

Steven heard it all and yet couldn't care less. I'm fact caring was hardly in his veins. Not even a hint of mercy was there as he raised the weapon in hand. Watching and listening to the sweet sounds of a cracked whip. Unfortunately, gems don't bleed.

But humans do.

Lion couldn't have all the fun now right? That would be selfish of him. Especially since he wanted so much to see the suffering in their eyes. Drops trickled down skin into a pool on the cold stone floor. The site of blood is what he craved, and yet despised at the same time. It was almost as if he was a vampire. He certainly had the sharp fangs, well more monstrous than vampiric, yet he wasn't dead. Nor had the power to actually suck blood among other things. However the matter he loved it all.

A few strides closer, biting his glove and pulling out his beastly hand, he scraped the back with his index, middle and ring finger. Bringing it up to lick against his contradicting tongue. You see he can control his healing powers. But if he could heal, he certainly can destroy.

The smirk of ecstasy he felt when the taste of blood flooded his senses. He took sharp and deep breaths, smirking as he listening to the whimpers and painful moans of his victim. The sounds were glorious.

Chuckling darkly, he stepped back and raised his whip once again. Only stopping briefly in between so his victim couldn't be numb to it. Red was all he saw, red was all he desired to see. His victim spewed blood from his mouth, scratches became gashes and consciousnesses was something lost.

Was there a bet he desired to win? Oh yes of course. But where was the fun in breaking the rules a little? Besides this human was already here, it didn't count. At least not to him.

But Steven didn't care, all he saw was the blood. All he saw was his desires unfold before his eyes. After awhile he let the whip drop to the floor, seeing that the victim was nearing death. 'Oh we can't have that now can we.' So with a smirk he licked his hand, pressed it against the poor human and watched as they were revived like new.

Only to restart his sick game.

Over and over

And why stop there? For a gem their fate wasn't so satisfying to watch, but he craved it all. Picking up a few amethyst gems from the human zoo, he began to squeeze them. Tighter and tighter, hearing the cracks brush against the shards until they snapped like a rope. Steven began to laugh, inwardly until it became louder and louder.

Maniacal and full of twisted joy. No longer was he feeling the emotions of man, but a beast. The scars of his past grew more and more around him as he blacked out. Eyes shining and a full on red glow surrounded his aura. Not reddish-pink, not pink, red like the blood of his victims.

Hours passed, blood washed away from his hands, and a hungover type feeling rang in his head. Aimlessly wandering the halls as if the past few minutes were blacking out of his mind. Looking down he saw the scars, of what appeared to be gem shards and a whip handle, on his uncovered hand. Quickly putting his gloves back on before anyone could see. Not wanting to relive the shame White forced down his soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early the next morning, Connie was awoken by a loud roar outside her balcony double door window. Looking out towards the window she gasped upon seeing Steven's head lion. Gulping she froze not knowing what to do. Lion tilted his head and soon pawed at the doors making it wiggle and squeak. Connie couldn't help but be amused at the situation. 'Why your just like a cat aren't you?' she thought giggling. Deciding against fear to open the door. Lion almost knocked her down as he licked her face. A much friendlier look than he had previously shown. Laughing she gently pushed him away.

"Okay okay boy down." Lion then walked away and came back with clothes in his mouth. A blouse, a corset/bustier that is worn over a top, leggings and a midsize skirt along with knee length boots(and socks). 'So your a lion with fashion sense.... Why am I not surprised?' He dropped them in front of her then nudged it closer with his nose. The begging look in his eyes made her sigh and laugh. "Okay okay, since you are such a fashion expert." she whispered a bit more knowing others would be asleep. Going into the bathroom she quickly changed and stepped out. Lion then gestured for her to get on his back.

"Where are we going?" Lion growled in annoyance than fear. "Okay geeze hold in a minute Mr grumpy" she said sighing climbing onto him and gently grasping his mane. "Now where are we going?" Lion pushed the door open and began to walk down the halls until he reached another more hidden in the shadows door. When they went through and the door slammed shut, Lion began to leap down the winding staircase. Connie yelped and leaned forward trying to keep her balance.

Soon they found themselves in a large room filled with lit candles. The light revealed some sort of hidden armory filled with weapons. Some which hung on the walls looking worn down from battles long ago. As she looked around a faint sound of clashing swords and someone grunting echoed from a large room. As they hid behind pillars and shadows, she gasped before quickly covering her mouth at the site.

Pearl was dueling a hologram of herself. Her battle moves were strong yet elegant as she came head to head with her opponent. She left no room for anyone to take her down(which only confirmed she was doing it with the purple gem, Amethyst, on purpose). Once again she was mesmerized by her sword-fighting. Her stamina, strength and intelligence to outwit her opponent was beyond any level of skill Connie had ever seen before.

She got off Lion to get an even closer look amidst the shadows, still behind a pillar. Her eyes glued to the duel that commenced. It was as if she was apart of a great battle from long ago. The ghost of a great warrior seemed to have overtaken her. Her look and body posture so intense and focused. Soon she swung her sword as it pierced her hologram self, watching as it lowered the sword in hand.

"Defeat accepted! Do you wish to battle again?" Pearl removed the sword, taking deep breaths before shaking her head.

"Not today"

"Very well then" with that she was gone leaving just the real Pearl alone.

"You can come out now Connie." She gulped and stepped out of the shadows facing her with a mixture of guilt and wonder.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I can tell by how you were breathing." She said before putting her sword in her scabbard. "I see a certain lion has brought you here?" one glance at lion made him blink and then put his head down slightly in shame; though he still tried to look fierce(and failing since he only looked really annoyed).

"He didn't mean any harm." Connie defended as Lion stepped out beside her nudging her arm. Making her gently pet his mane.

"I know, he does things like this from time to time." Gentling her voice as she recalled some not so nice memories. "It's his way of coping from obeying Steven's orders... Before the incident Steven endured, he and lion were almost inseparable. Like trying to redeem himself from the horrible things he has to do..." Connie's heart sank and hugged lion tight.

"What incident?" Pearl snapped out of it immediately upon hearing her question. Shaking her head out of her daze.

"It's...in the past..." waving her hand she cleared her throat and stood up straighter. "Now you know where I train. I imagine you must have a lot of questions." Connie nodded eagerly, wanting to know more as her curiosity sprang back up. "Well it's a long story but in short, thousands of years ago, I was apart of a the great gem war that began era two. Which was on earth so I knew how to sense the difference between gems and humans. hence why I was able to know it was you behind the pillar."

She paused before continuing while looking around the room. "I suppose I continue to train like I do for sentimental reasons. My way from coping from the war and what happened after...." Painful memories and tears formed in her eyes threatening to spill. She blinked them away and took a deep breathe felling the handle of her sword against her fingers. "Now you know why I do this."

"Could you teach me?" Connie asked with a hope in her voice. Pearl shot her head straight up as she looked at her.

"You want me to do what?! Why?"

"Listen, Pearl I'm so sorry of what you had to go through. I can never understand that kind of pain." She paused in a way to give silent respect before continuing. "But you have an amazing skill! I've never seen anyone so talented in this than you, well anyone that is real."

"Well thank you, Connie, but I still don't see why-"

"Pearl, I'm light years away from home. In a place where I am quite literally out of my element and while I can learn all about this world; if I don't have a way to defend myself, then I'm a sitting duck!" She then lowered her voice. "I know I can handle myself Pearl. I can do this. If you became my teacher I can do more than just take notes. I can show I have a purpose in Steven's court. That I'm worth more than what they think. If I am supposed to be representing for Earth, I have to show that I'm willing to defend it! It's still my home after all. I want to protect it until it's final moments, with all my heart. And be there to defend humanity as we move to a new era for us. Please, let me prove it to you."

With a smile and tears filling her eyes, and one hand over her chest, the other wiping away her tears that had fallen from her touching declaration and desire to help. Sighing she pulled out another sword and scabbard, handing it to Connie. Just a temporary fix to see if she can really hold up to her word. If so she, then she will be on her way to earning her own sword. She accepted eagerly as she attached the scabbard to her body.

"Show me your potential in your actions. Prove your worth." With that said Connie's eyes transformed into a determined look as she faintly remembered her fencing lessons. Pearl looked her over and smirked slightly. There it was. The untapped, yet undisciplined potential.

"Good but remember everything begins with your stance"

[hydrospanners]

no better taste

an ordinary moment after a very extraordinary first date; or, doc and rea experiment with tenderness. a sequel-of-sorts to somewhere we’ve not been before; can stand alone. swtor act two. f!jedi knight x doc. fluff. no spoilers.1100 words. ao3.

By the time he slips from the blackness of Rea’s quarters, the night has turned to morning has turned to day. Shafts of light slant into the hallway from the large viewports of the cockpit, and it would be beautiful if the light wasn’t mostly neon and flashing.

  Maybe it’s just the night he had, but Doc thinks it might be beautiful anyway.

  He gathers his shoes and jacket into one hand, attempting to fasten the button of his pants with the other. He isn’t what you’d call modest, but he’s in a generous enough mood to tuck away anything Red or Junior would be really upset by. He’s got no idea where his underwear got off to, but he doubts he’ll ever see it again. Or his shirt. Or his socks.

  It was a hell of a night.

  A hell of a night that saw him waking up in Rea’s bed for once.

  He’d have a good time with her anywhere--they’d had a good time just about everywhere last night--but stretching out in the captain’s bed is a hell of an upgrade from the complicated knots they have to tangle into below deck, down in his cramped little cot in his cramped little room. He doesn’t know why she insisted on it before, just like he doesn’t know what’s changed her mind now, but he’s got a good feeling about it. A really good feeling. A feeling so good he’s not gonna ruin it by looking at it too closely and finding something he might not be ready to see yet.

  “Hey.”

  Doc jumps nearly out of his skin.

  Rea is leaning against the door behind him, her arms stretched overhead, crossed at the wrists and resting against the frame, looking six kinds of languid and twelve kinds of sexy. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized, threadbare tanktop--stolen from Junior if he’s any guess--that dips across the tops of her breasts and skirts along the crease of her thighs in the most tantalizing fucking way.

  His mouth goes dry, and even though he knows--he absolutely, unequivocally knows--the fuel in that particular tank is all used up, there’s a part of him that wants to reach for her anyway. To slip his hands beneath the hem of that shirt and run them up her sides just as slow as he can stand, to devour, just one more time, that cut statue of a body he’s done nothing but worship all morning and all night.

  His eyes rake up and down her body, up and down the lightyears of leg, of taut muscle and warm, brown skin. His eyes make her body a million promises that his hands and his mouth and his cock are all too tired and aching to make good on.

  For now, anyway.

  “You trying to sneak off on me?” Rea asks, and he finds her smiling one of those knowing smiles once he manages to bring his eyes up to her face again.

  (Not that her face is any less tempting, with those plush, bruised lips and bright, laughing eyes; with the kind of smudged makeup and mussed hair that just screams sex.)

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Gorgeous.”

  He doesn’t say how he didn’t want to wake her cause he knows she needs the rest. That kind of thing is doctor talk, and right now he’s just the man shuffling from her bed, barefoot and commando after a marathon night of mischief and sex. The kind of man who notices the exquisite sculpture of her ass, not the dark circles under her eyes.

  The line between the two, he’s found, is important to Rea. It’s not a balancing act Doc is good at, not one he even likes--he’s always been more of an all in or all out type--but he’s not about to teeter over the edge now. Not after a night (and morning and afternoon) of perfect, simple pleasures.

  Rea laughs, dropping her hands from the doorframe to his shoulders, her thumbs caressing the sharp edge of his clavicles. Her smile is warm and easy as ever, but there’s something about the way she’s looking at him that he can’t quite read. Something new.

  She runs one hand along his shoulder, settling it in the nape of his neck, her long fingers toying with the downy hairs at his nape. It’s so gentle, so light, so different from every way she’s touched him before--a shiver runs down his spine. A sweeter kind of tingle than he’s used to, more pleasant heat than electricity.

  “I had a good time last night,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Me too,” he says, a little stupidly.

  It just feels so absurd, having such an ordinary exchange with a woman who couldn’t be more out of the ordinary if she tried. To be having it about a date so unusual, so delightfully and deliciously abnormal, that most people wouldn’t even recognize it for what it was.

  He wants to laugh. And from the look on Rea’s face, so does she.

  Instead, she leans in, eyes fluttering shut, and presses the sweetest of kisses to his lips. A kiss so soft, so brief, so chaste--the kind of kiss normal people share after a normal first date. A kiss that’s all tenderness and promise.

  The surprise of it, of tasting such gentleness on Rea’s lips, nearly brings him to his admittedly already-kind-of-trembling knees.

  He’d be more embarrassed by it if she didn’t pull away looking just as winded as he felt. If he couldn’t see her skin puckering up in gooseflesh to match his.

  The moment stretches out between them, languid and warm, and Doc just lets it. It never even occurs to him to make a joke, to say something vulgar or ostentatious that will warp things back into a more familiar shape. It just doesn’t feel like the kind of tension that needs breaking.

  Rea steps back first.

  Once the moment is stretched thin and the quiet starts to bear weight; once her throat starts to close around a feeling she can’t even begin to describe.

  Rea steps back, and reality snaps back into place. Her smile turns coy and her eyes glitter with mischief and Doc likes that so much he can’t even be sad it cost him whatever had just been growing in the space between them.

  He can’t be sad about anything right now.

  Rea runs her thumb along his jaw one last time before she takes her hands off him completely. Before she steps back across the threshold of her door, before the shadows of her room flow across the dips and curves of her silhouette, seeming to swallow her up.

  The last smile she gives him is pure playfulness, raising her hand to her ear in a gesture he’s seen a million times before on a million dates with a million different people. “Call me,” she mouths, just before the door swishes shut between them.

  Doc spends the walk back to his bunk wondering how soon he can do just that.

[angelofthequeers]

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 46

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@smolplantmum tagged as requested :)

Chapter 45 | Chapter 47 | AO3 link

Although the plan is to go and visit Master Fu and discuss their next move, a wrench in the form of Adrien’s sleek car pulling up at the Eiffel Tower and honking is thrown into that plan.

“You sure?” Marinette says when Adrien heaves a deep sigh at the sight. “You can transform, you know, and they can’t exactly do anything about it.”

“No, I should go,” Adrien says. “I’ll just be delaying the inevitable. But trust me, Father won’t be stopping me from Chat Noir. That’s one thing I will put my foot down on.”

Marinette smiles and pushes herself on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Adrien’s lips. “Good luck,” she says and squeezes his hand. “Text as soon as you’re free, okay? I’ll probably gather the team now instead of waiting until tonight. That reminds me, who’s Petite Souris?”

“Mylène,” Adrien says. “I was…well, I was desperate once I knew that Sanguisuga would get to Luka first. I just kind of knew that the Rat would be helpful. And she was the first one I found. Is that…okay?”

“Of course it is, silly kitty.” Marinette kisses Adrien on the cheek. “Don’t doubt your instincts. Mine haven’t been wrong yet and neither have yours.”

Adrien smiles and looks down at the ground with pink cheeks. “She suits it, doesn’t she?” he says. “I don’t think Alix or Juleka would’ve pulled it off as well as she did.”

“A hundred percent,” Marinette says. “Can you text her and tell her to meet at the hotel, since she knows you’re Chat Noir?”

“Of course. That’s my bugaboo.” His cheeks still dusted with pink, Adrien squeezes her hand, then turns to head for his car, ever so slowly letting go of her hand so that they’re left joined by their pinkies before he inevitably has to fully release her. Once his car has driven off, Marinette lets out a deep sigh and pulls out her phone.

[1:56 pm] miraculass

ladyBIrd: @everyone nvm about tonight, meet at hotel asap, I’m heading there now so I’ll meet Honeybee on the roof

honeybeetch: asdfghjkl ok lb

what does the fox say: kk

mess w turt u get hurt: how’s adrien?

ladyBIrd: facing the music with his dad

mess w turt u get hurt: :|

airhead: I’ll be there soon and I’m bringing Luka

what does the fox say: wait why does luka get to sit in on superhero business

ladyBIrd: I’ll explain everything

honeybeetch: lb hurry the fuck up and get here

what does the fox say: smooth

honeybeetch: fuck off

Marinette can’t help the snort that escapes her at Rena Rouge and Honeybee’s banter as she shoves her phone back into her purse, then takes extra care to make sure that no one can see her behind the Eiffel Tower leg.

“You ready?” she whispers. Tikki darts out and nods.

“All recharged, Marinette!”

“Tikki, spots on!”

.

“Adrien.”

Adrien gulps. If Gabriel’s waiting on the staircase rather than hiding away in his atelier, this conversation is not going to go well.

“H-Hello, Father,” he forces out. Gabriel dismisses Nathalie with a nod, then descends the staircase and pauses directly in front of Adrien. The gleam in his eyes as he takes Adrien’s hand and examines the ring leaves an unsettled pit in Adrien’s stomach. Gabriel’s probably just a Miraculous enthusiast, right? Hence why he’d had the Peacock? But there’s just something…unnerving about his face right now. Something almost greedy and…triumphant?

“All this time…” Gabriel murmurs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Father,” Adrien says. “I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone –”

“Oh, I know. We all have our, ahem…little secrets. And I think it’s time I shared mine with you, in light of this new information. Come with me. I have a task for you…son.”

Okay, so Adrien had expected his father to act weird because of the news that he’s Chat Noir. But there’s weird and there’s leading him into the atelier and pausing before the painting of his mother with an odd smile.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Gabriel says. “You look so much like her. Perhaps that’s why it’s been so hard to look at you. To see Emilie in you every time you’re around…”

“Perhaps that’s why it’s been so hard to look at you.” The words are like a slap in the face, leaving Adrien reeling back with an audible gasp that Gabriel seems to ignore. Plagg darts out and nuzzles against Adrien’s cheek to comfort him.

“It all makes sense. You’re never around when akumas attack. Adrien was never in danger because he had magic to protect him.” The hungry gleam in Gabriel’s eyes as he watches Plagg unblinkingly sends sick shivers down Adrien’s spine. He can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to happen, something massive, and it involves Gabriel, and…is Gabriel really Hawkmoth like they’d suspected all those months ago? It’s a thought he’s shelved for his own sanity, especially after Gabriel had been akumatised, but with the way Gabriel’s acting right now…

“F-Father?” Adrien croaks. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, Gabriel says nothing. Then he sighs and reaches out to press several spots of Emilie’s dress simultaneously, and the ground beneath them starts to descend so rapidly that Adrien yelps and instinctively clings to Gabriel’s arm. For some reason, Gabriel doesn’t even react and shake Adrien off like he normally would.

Okay. Another point for the “Gabriel is Hawkmoth” theory. Who the hell has an elevator installed in their atelier?

Oh. Shit. Gabriel could be Hawkmoth. And the Black Cat Miraculous is literally right next to him. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Adrien pushes Plagg back into his shirt with the hand containing his Miraculous, wiggling his fingers until Plagg finally gets the message and the ring starts to slip off Adrien’s finger. If it comes down to it, so long as Plagg can get away with the ring and warn the others, that’s all that matters to Adrien right now.

“Come,” Gabriel says once the elevator grinds to a halt before a metal catwalk in a dark room. As he and Adrien cross the catwalk, lights begin to slam on, bathing the room in artificial fluorescence and revealing it to be full of greenery, with an odd, cylindrical object in the middle of the patch of grass.

“Father –”

“You must understand.” Gabriel stops next to the cylindrical thing and grabs Adrien by the shoulders. There’s so much tension in his hands that Adrien can’t help but wonder if he’s two seconds from snapping like a taut string and shaking the life out of his own son. “Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“F-Father…are you Hawkmoth?” Adrien whispers. A corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitches.

“I never intended to hurt you,” Gabriel says. “One of my mortal enemies, my own son…well, there’s definitely a sense of poetry in that, is there not?”

The nausea bubbling inside Adrien threatens to rise into his throat at the confirmation; the confirmation that his father is the magical terrorist who’s been traumatising Paris all this time. No. No. It can’t be! Having that suspicion all the way back when he’d found the book and the brooch is nothing compared to having the confirmation before his eyes. But how can he warn the others?

“…the Butterfly’s akumas create internal change within the target themselves, and so a transformed Butterfly cannot affect themselves with an akuma.” Master Fu’s words from months ago come swimming to the forefront of Adrien’s mind. “And akumatising themselves when not transformed, without the safety net of the holder’s control over the akuma, can potentially have harmful effects on their psyche. Only a truly desperate holder would akumatise themselves.”

Is Gabriel really that desperate that his own son isn’t enough to stop him from going to these lengths? And just how much of this is Gabriel? How much has he been warped from akumatising himself into the Collector? Judging from the Collector’s single-minded drive to capture and collect everything around him, does that mean that Gabriel’s just gotten so much more obsessive about achieving his goal? If so, how dangerous is he to Adrien right now, and is he seeing Adrien…or Chat Noir?

“You’re a monster!” Adrien bursts out. “You’ve been terrorising Paris all this time, and for what? Ultimate power? A wish that comes with a price?”

“You don’t understand!” Gabriel shouts. Adrien takes a reflexive step back, then freezes when a small purple thing comes zooming out of Gabriel’s jacket and rests on Adrien’s shoulder. A…kwami with butterfly wings? Is this Nooroo?

“Master, you’re scaring your son!” Nooroo says in a little, high voice. “I’m sorry, Adrien. I never wanted to be part of any of this.”

Gabriel visibly takes a deep breath. “Very well. I’ll explain. And then you’ll see, Adrien, why you should help me in my goal.”

“I’ll never help –”

But the cylinder starts to whir and the top of it slides open before Adrien can finish his sentence, to reveal – to reveal – no –

“Mother?” Adrien claps a hand over his mouth to hold back the bile that rises at the sight of Emilie Agreste inside the cylinder – the coffin – with her eyes closed, dressed in a sleek white suit, looking as though she’s just sleeping rather than – rather than –

“She’s not dead,” Gabriel says as Adrien sinks to his knees and rocks back and forth, trying desperately to cope with the sudden influx of emotions coursing through him at the knowledge that his mother isn’t dead, she’s been here all this time, underneath his feet! “Merely damaged by the Peacock Miraculous. You ask why I want the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculouses? I want to fix the damage done to her, to bring your mother back for you!”

“Did Nooroo tell you there’s a price to pay?” Plagg comes darting out of Adrien’s shirt and hovers in front of Gabriel, thankfully without the ring. “You really wanna mess with the universe, Gabriel Agreste?”

“I know…sacrifice myself –”

“– don’t get to pick who –”

The whole exchange is distorted, like Adrien’s underwater, but it still somewhat registers in his frying brain. Desperate, he fumbles in his pocket for something, anything to ground him, and his fingers close around something bumpy, something that turns out to be a little charm when he pulls it out – Marinette’s lucky charm! Of course! His lucky charm from his lady!

“– universe could take Adrien, but you don’t seem to give enough of a shit about him –”

“– you dare –”

Adrien can’t breathe – why is the light so bright, why is his mother there, taunting him, just out of reach, little butterfly thing in front of him, mouthing something, but he can’t hear, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe, purple light, why did butterfly thing disappear –

“– universe would shift to accommodate – not just as simple as swapping a life for a life –”

“Enough!” Adrien clutches at his hair, yanking, gasping, struggling to draw in oxygen as black spots dance at the edge of his vision. “Why? Why? Why? Just leave me alone!”

“Adrien. Son. Look at me.”

Purely on autopilot, Adrien’s body obeys and when he looks up, his father is no longer there. No, now it’s a man with a silvery head mask, dressed in a purple suit – it’s Hawkmoth, his mortal enemy, his father –

“You can help me,” Hawkmoth says in a voice that sounds a million miles away. “Join me, son, and help me take Ladybug’s Miraculous. Then you’ll have your mother back. Isn’t that what you want?”

Hawkmoth’s words are smooth, honeyed, sticking to Adrien, trying to draw him into their trap. But…no. He’s a hero. He can’t betray his lady, his Marinette, all his friends, the world, just to bring back someone who he’s already started to move on from, because yeah, it hurts to think of Emilie, but he’s been making progress, he’s moving on –

“No,” Adrien gasps around the iron band constricting his chest. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“Don’t be selfish!” Hawkmoth hisses. “You want your mother back! I’m doing this for you!”

“Not like this!”

Hawkmoth sighs and flips open the top of his cane. “Then I have no choice.”

“Adrien, look out!” Plagg cries as an evil, dark butterfly emerges from the cane and makes a beeline for Adrien. He gasps and shuffles back, trying desperately to avoid it, because he can’t give in, he can’t betray everyone, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to run, why can’t he get away from this?

“Plagg! Please!” Adrien’s voice cracks as the akuma darts at his lucky charm, and he’s suddenly filled with despair, betrayal, he’s drowning in it, he wants to cry and scream and do something, anything, to fix this, to right this wrong that’s been done against him, he just wants it all to go away, he can’t cope –

“Be strong, kid!” says a voice through the fog as something brushes against his side.

“No!” Hawkmoth bellows, both far away and deep in Adrien’s mind, so deep that he can’t get away no matter how much he gasps and cries and tugs at his hair. “Fine. It matters not. You can just get the ring back for me.”

“No,” Adrien chokes. It’s clear in that moment that he’s not going to be able to hold out, not in his current state of mind, but if he can just hold on, he can give Plagg a chance to get away and then the ring will be safe from Hawkmoth.

“Yes.” The word reverberates through Adrien’s mind, compelling him to obey. “Phantom, you will obey me. I grant you the power to possess others, to control them and bend them to your will. Once you bring me the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculouses, you’ll have your mother back. Your family will be whole again. Do we have a deal?”

“N-No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Stopitstopitstopit – get out of my head –”

“Obey me!”

The direct order from his father slams into him both physically and mentally, unbalancing him, and that brief lapse in resistance is just what Hawkmoth needs, and cold, sickly power washes over Adrien, enveloping him, pushing him down into the abyss until everything is dark and he knows nothing…

Devoid of spirit, Phantom rises to his feet. The purple man in front of him grins, and he knows he should hate this man – Hawkmoth – but he just can’t muster up any feelings of hatred. He’s blank, floating in apathy, and it’s actually kind of blissful in a way, to not have to care about anything except what Hawkmoth tells him to do.

“Good boy, Phantom,” Hawkmoth purrs. “You’ll listen to your father, won’t you? Tell me: who is Ladybug? Who are the other Miraculous holders?”

Opening his mouth to follow that order is like a bucket of cold water falling on Phantom; he gasps and staggers back, then fumbles for the pitch-black bracelet around his ghostly white wrist to get this evil butterfly away, far away, and if he can get it to Ladybug – to Marinette – because he can’t betray his teammates, he can’t, if he has a smidgen of resistance then let it be for this –

“Enough!” Hawkmoth says, and Phantom sinks back beneath the waves of apathy, swaying on the spot as he awaits his next order, his resistance thoroughly squashed. “No matter. Phantom, you will simply take me to the other Miraculouses yourself.”

They’ll all be together at the Eiffel Tower, but that won’t be until tonight. And the thought of betraying Ladybug causes the faintest stirrings of some kind of feeling deep in Phantom’s core, so he steers himself as far away from it as possible so that he doesn’t have to leave this blissful apathy.

But if Hawkmoth wants Miraculouses, well, Phantom knows exactly where to go to get them.

[early-sxnsets]

You Look Better in Person

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43275707

Chapter 8/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3030

Chapter Summary: Simon and Baz's first encounter leaves them both awestruck.

BAZ

It’s a bloody pain in my ass, headache of a drive. I barely got halfway through before turning off my music and just focusing on what I’d say--how I’d react. It isn’t just getting Snow, it’s seeing him. An experience that’s completely new to the both of us. Somehow, despite him saying he’s the scared one, I find myself being absolutely petrified. I (only slightly) doubt he’ll reject my offer of help, especially since I'm driving up the country to get him, but I do suspect him to be hesitant of me nonetheless.

Oddly enough, I feel none of that fear towards him. No matter what, I’ll be there for him. I’m not quite sure what to expect, though. Fuck if any expectations I have for him matters, really.

I’d thought too much over the drive. Frankly, I think too much overall. That, I need to stop.

Staring at my phone mindlessly truly proves it, given I don’t have half a brain cell to coherently read the maps as they show me around the city. Eventually, though (through trial and error), I find myself going down the same street twice, trying to spot a local park that's apparently down the road. Google Maps yells at me, telling me I’m rapidly approaching my destination (over and over, between each condescending “Recalculation”).

My heart pounds faster with each rotation of my wheels, making my vision all fuzzy and warped. Exhaling slowly, I peer around and spot someone lying on a bench in the centre of the park, dressed up in a hoodie, sweats, and trainers. They seem to be hugging a duffel bag close, as if everything that's left is inside of it. I can’t quite make much out of them, with to their hood being pulled tight around their face and all, but I can tell that they’re alone.

Once parked, I shoot Simon a quick text, trying to swallow back my fear of what's probably true. That it is him.

i’m in the black volvo in the lot

Suddenly, the head of the person shoots up, then starts looking around as their body rises. I still can’t see their face, shadowed down by the harsh lamp lights, but they seem to be facing me.

That… must be him.

He pulls himself to standing, a slight hunch in his shoulders as he hauls the bag over his left one. He’s broad, and a solid height, too. When the light catches the few hairs spilling from his hood, they shine a deep copper.

Each of his steps feel like a lifetime. Exhausted, heavy stomps of his feet onto the ground as he brings himself closer until he stands barely a yard away from the car. Shamelessly, I stare out the window, wide eyed and barely choking out a breath.

He’s absolutely, unbelievably handsome. Square jawed, curly haired, and blue, blue eyes. He’s got a near rugby build, and a tired, barely existent smile pressing his freckled and moled cheeks into creases. He is, without a doubt, one of the most the most gorgeous humans I’ve ever seen.

His hand rises up shakily, nearly forming a wave as he struggles to keep a face in a readable expression other than wordless, overworked sadness.

My hand slides down my door, finding the lock without me looking and flicking the doors unlocked with a clear click. I watch as he hesitates at first, looking between me and the car a few times. The fluorescent lights flicker as he swallows, neck bobbing along.

Eventually, he relents and slips into the passenger seat without taking his eyes off me once.

At first, we just stare. Silent, carefully timed breaths fill the car as we just look over one another. I must look tired; I feel tired. He looks it, too.

I cut off my own words before I speak. I know he is tired. I don’t even need to ask.

The bag pressed to his chest loosens slightly, slumping down onto his lap as he swallows again. I can’t stop myself from watching him, heart thumping. It’s unreal--he must be unreal.

“Hey,” he whispers, the same shock I’m wearing mirrored onto his face.

SIMON

He’s so beautiful that I can barely think of words. Of all things I could say, of all things I should say, none of them weasel out other than “Hey”.

Granted, I have nothing better to say, given I’d probably be stupid and call him every word I’m thinking of.

I’ve never quite met a bloke who’s as pretty as he is. Slate eyes, brown skin, and ink black hair that starts at a widow’s peak, falling onto his shoulders in the slightest of waves. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he seems alert and a bit shaken, a hand gripping the shifting stick that’s resting clearly on “P”.

I can’t quite think of anything else to vocalize. I’ve cried too much tonight, and it’s really fucking late. I need to rest… I just want…

“Why were you at the park?” He asks, suddenly dropping my gaze. It’s fine, though--my eyes drift back down to his narrow, bony hands, gliding movements over the shift. He pushes it into “R”, pulling the car out of the spot before turning, flicking to “D”, and going. His hands are like the pictures. It’s relaxing.

“Hm? O-oh,” I say quietly, fiddling with the strap of my bag. With a glance from him towards my buckle, I realize I missed a step. Fuck. I click myself in, continuing, “I’d told Davy I-I was going to Penn’s all weekend f-for a school project after our fight, b-b-but I told Penn I was gr-grounded.”

“So…”

“So I’m stuck,” I add, gaze shifting out the window and staying there. “Nowhere to go.”

He’s silent for a second, the only sound filling the air being the popping of rocks under the tyres. Once down the street, and another street, and then another, he finally says something.

“I’ve got somewhere,” he finally starts. When I look at him, he’s avoidant--eyes unwaveringly ahead, and hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles are pulled taunt. “It’s a bit far, though. You can nap, if you want. It’ll be some time.”

“Where..?”

“You’ll see when we’re there.” And with that, he’s silent again. Given the flatness of his answer, I don’t feel it proper to argue. Really, I can’t argue at all with the prospect of a rest.

So, I take it. I suppose I’m asleep for a few good hours before I’m jostled awake by the overwhelming, perpetually buzzing lights of a petrol station. It's still dark out.

I peer out to see Baz standing, glancing over his shoulder at the machine as his hands hold the pump. Instinctively, I pull my hoodie closer, finally getting a good look at him in some sort of full light.

Shit. He even looks good at the pump.

He catches my eyes briefly, staring back before quickly turning back away, and acting as if I don’t see him swallow sharply. I act like I didn’t see it either, especially not as he sits back in the car and looks towards me, but not directly at me. “Hungry?”

Always. “A bit.”

He wordlessly pulls up to the store of the station before turning back off the car. “Come on, I’ll cover you.”

Given I only have the little cash I had in my sock drawer on me, I don’t argue. Instead, I step out and follow him, glancing up once I'm entirely trailing behind him. He’s got a few good inches on me, which, frankly, makes me blush a good bit. Who gave him the right to be practically a supermodel?

“Get anything,” he says, and I do. Two bags of crisps, a bottle of chocolate milk, and a shitty, wrapped cinnamon roll. He just grabs a coffee, pouring an egregious amount of sugar and creamer into it before going up to pay. He doesn’t even flinch--just pays.

It feels odd. Looks odd. It’s like Aggie paying--a disregard of wealth beyond a comprehensive point.

Back in the car, he sips his drink, cringes, and waits until I’m buckled back in before going.

I’m up this time, and probably for the long run, as he starts driving again.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, twisting the cap off the milk and hearing the satisfying snap of the breaking seal. “I feel like I should allowed to know eventually.”

“London,” he responds borderline robotically, not bothering a look at me.

“Wait, fuck. London? Isn’t that--”

“Six hours, yes. You’ve slept for well over half the trip, don’t worry.” He risks a quick glance at me, and as if it were magic, I see him relax. His muscles drop the tension, and his seemingly permanent frown loosens to a genuine flash of concern. Then, as quickly as his composure went, it comes back. Like it was a flicker in his system. “Just rest.”

“How are you staying up?”

“Will power.”

I don’t stop the snort slipping out, biting my lip. “You really are a vampire, huh?”

His face relaxes back slightly, spreading into the smallest of smiles. “No, but that’d be more fun.”

I huff in agreement, letting myself grin along this time. “It would be, yeah.”

We fall silent again, but this time it’s a bit better. It’s an odd reminder that this, this Baz right in front of me, is the same one I’ve known for months. It’s just his flesh and blood--living and breathing body. A human.

I want to reach out and touch him, to see if he’s real. I nearly do so, but my mind stops me before my hand grips his. I think he catches sight of my reach, though, because the arm closest to me drops from the wheel, resting palm-up on the centre console.

Either it’s an invitation or a mistake. Both are something I’m dumb enough to work with.

My fingertips skate over his wrist first, glazing over the ridges where his veins sit. They ridge up, rising above the rest of his smooth arm and pumping below my touch. At first, he begins to retract before stopping himself and staying, opened up to me. A careful fingertip moves to trace the lines of his palm, my breath barely under control. He lets me have my time, and slowly yet surely, I settle my hand on top of his, fingers shifting until they’re locked between his.

His hand curls up first, holding tightly to mine, When I look at him, he’s lightly sucking on his lip, keeping his eyes trained forward as his thumb slowly slides over my hand.

If it wasn’t for the weight of the day, I might’ve started crying again. Instead, I find myself staring. I settle my head back onto the comfortable, leather headrest, eyes falling softly onto the sharp edges of his face. I trace them, thankful for each passing car of street light that illuminates the cabin just enough to let me see the details.

His eyes look puffy and dark, dark eyelashes falling onto his skin. His nose sits a bit high, and his brow seems aristocratic. His lips, at a natural downcurve, hang open in the slightest and look a bit shiny when he stops biting them.

He doesn’t put any attention onto me, but holds my hand against his comfortably, keeping the slow drag of his skin against mine. It isn't rough, like mine is, except for at his pads. They're calloused right at the tips.

I space out, watching him attentively until countryside fades into bright city lights, mixing with the creeping sun.

He pulls up into a lot, telling them the apartment number before the car climbs up into a space. Once parked, he lets go of my palm with a sorry look, glancing over me once before stepping out.

He doesn’t let me carry my bag, holding both his and mine in each arm. The walk is brief, and within minutes, he’s pushing a key into a small, comfortable London flat, letting me inside first.

The lights are all shut, and it's got the distinct layer of light dust to show it's been untouched for months. He confirms my sneaking suspicion even before I get to ask it.

“It's my aunt's,” he says away from me, settling my bag onto a chair and his on an adjacent one. “She travels in the winter to somewhere warmer, and leaves me a key to get away.”

“I know. I've followed you long enough, you know.” I'd smile if my cheeks weren't too weak to hold one.

After stealing a look at his blushing face, I drag myself to the bed, running a hand over the sheet slowly. The other side dips with Baz's weight as he settles down onto the edge, staring at the pulling sheets with his hand settling so close to mine.

I must be mad, because I reconnect my fingers with his on impulse.

At first, we're still. I'm standing, and he's sitting. We're statues, dimly lit by the outside life. He must not be brave, or maybe I just might be more stupid, because I'm the first to move. My fingers weave between his, hand pressing closer towards him as we remain in an odd silence.

I wish I knew what I was doing.

Even without a full mind, I know what feels right, and it's being as close to Baz as possible. So maybe I don't need to know exactly what I'm doing, I just need to know that it's good.

BAZ

I wish I knew what he was doing.

I know what I want. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. I want us to bathe in the rising sun and forget everything else in the world.

I want his hood off, and I want my fingers in his hair.

I want it so bad that I stop thinking and I do it, reaching my hand out and slowly dragging the cotton-y cloth off. Out springs his hair, clearly darker in the faint lights, but sticking up and unruly. My hand hesitates, fingers hovering above his scalp before I feel his head tilt and rest against my palm.

It's thick. Unbrushed. Uses shit shampoo and probably rarely conditions.

Nonetheless, it's fantastic. I can barely explain feeling of just carding my fingers through it.

Simon's eyes fall only my face, dancing around before falling back shut. I can feel the rise and fall of his body with a heavy breath, making my heart nearly stop.

“Is this okay?” whisper, holding his head carefully. His curls bob with his nod, eyes still settled shut. “How… about sleeping?”

“What about it?”

“There's one bed, and a couch. I can sleep on the couch…”

He shakes his head, keeping against me. “‘M not shy,” he whispers as an odd invitation to share.

I'm definitely not the one to turn it down.

“Neither am I,” I whisper back, hand squeezing his. He just looks towards out touching skin, biting his lip while letting go to unlace his trainers. I take the hint to unlace my own shoes, settling them aside before tugging at the blankets. He shifts, allowing me to turn them down and slip inside. He doesn't follow, lying above the blanket.

“Aren't you cold?” I murmur, turning to my side. He mirrors, propping himself on his elbow.

“Rarely.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, heavy eyes falling back shut.

I want to prove it for myself.

My hand reaches out, fingertips settling hesitantly onto his cheek. Surely enough, his it’s well warm under mine.

His lashes are short, but a gentle contrast against his skin as they flutter back open. They lay on my hand, then my own eyes, lip sucking into his mouth as he bites it. He's dead silent as he extends his hand, meeting my cheek with his palm.

“You're freezing,” he lets out, nose wrinkling. His hand doesn't move away.

“Always am.”

“Damn, I'm sorry.”

Helplessly, my face falls into an open smile, shamelessly relaxing. “It's fine. It's just… how it is.”

His eyes rest back on mine, staying there as his fingers flatten down. Eventually, I feel his thumb rub back and forth against my skin, hand cupping me gently. Like I'm some prized possession of his.

“Is it cold in here? Does it bother you?” His hand moves up and slips into my hair, pushing it back with a slow drag. I feel my heart flutter, mouth parting open as I sink into the feeling.

“No,” I finally respond. There's so much to be said, but it feels like we're tiptoeing around it. A slow, languishing fight for affection from one another, and I don't quite know who's winning. “I'm rather comfortable.”

His head nods, my gentle grip falling out of his hair and settling onto his back. At a snail's pace, his hand slowly untangles from my hair and falls back to my face. As if I'd willed it to, his fingers rest onto my lips.

I risk a quick peck onto them, watching his cheeks flush at the motion. Yet, still, he's silent, keeping his fingers still.

I don't want to stop. I don't want to shut my eyes and rest, but as every second creeps on, so does my exhaustion. It isn't until my eyelids finally fall shut that I feel him scoot closer, arm draping around me.

He smells like cheap soap and chocolate milk. I wish I could smell him forever.

“You smell like cigarettes,” he tells me. His words burn like the guilt in my throat, still rough from the two I'd smoked earlier..

“Don't worry about it.”

A beat. Then, “I worry about you anyway.”

I don't know how to swallow that one.

Instead, I just keep my eyes shut, holding his still-linked hand tighter. “Don't worry about it now. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

He must be right in front of me. I can feel it--his slow exhale near my face. It's warm, and his forehead touches mine as he lowers it for a nod. “Sleep tight, Baz.”

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Could you do a Mycroft x reader where the reader gets hurt and looses her memories and Mycroft decides to leave her so she doesn't get hurt again but one day the reader runs into him again and remembers everything.

Memory is a funny thing.

It warps and twists in perception sometimes with little to no time. Gets fuzzy and yet can be as clear as the second it was formed. Can be forgotten and revived with a certain smell or phrase.

Since as long as you can remember you thought that your memory was keen. 

Nothing forgotten, nothing stolen-surely you would have recalled if something happened wouldn’t you?That or at least someone close to you would remind you if you’ve forgotten something important.

Every day is the same. Everyone is content, everyone; family, doctors and friends are happy to see you but they all have that tinge that makes them seem on edge.

You can’t quite put your finger on it but its like they’re all in on a secret and you’re the only one not in the know.

It’s maddening.

Knowing that something was missing; something that feels like it must have been an important piece of your life to feel this hallow. Nothing on your social sites or journals reflect any clues to what is missing and it was truly distressing.

Everything seems…edited. Wiped clean.

No one seems to want to elaborate on it. There are no pictures concerning the last ten months even though everyone says that nothing exciting happened and yet the story changes from person to person.

“You were at a boring job and were able to quit it before things got out of hand.”

“Nah, you were staying at my place helping me with my gran.”

“Eh, I think you were taking a class but I don’t know how it went.”

“Oh sweetie! You were part of a running club and were okay until you were hit by a car.”

“Um, you were just doing your job and got really drink that one time. Can you seriously not remember?”

“______ don’t worry about it! It obviously wasn’t very important if you can’t remember it, now come help me with these boxes okay?”

All their answers seemed kind of dodgy save your aunt’s answer about the car.  When pressed through for an elaboration she was instantly hushed by your mum and the story was changed on the basis of aunt Marge’s memory could not be trusted due to her drinking habit.

Feeling phantom twinges of pain a car accident would explain it but why?

To what purpose? How would you get hit by a car running and more importantly you hated running so why the hell would you join a jogging club?

It didn’t make sense. 

None of it made sense.

Almost it has become a nightly occurrence where there’s a shadow on the edge of your dreams-something, someone important that you’ve forgotten.

No matter what you do the figure’s face is always obscured, the name is always scrambled but the feeling that’s associated with him is just so overwhelming.

Like this person is the most necessary person you’ll ever meet in your life and yet you already met them. That you know what they feel like, their voice and taste but for the life you of you can’t place a name leaving you in tears by the end of it.

I need to know. I have to know.

Although it seemed silly you felt that a private eye could help you. You’re not entirely sure what made you think this particular private eye Sherlock Holmes could help you but considering that the others have all but turned you away on the grounds that it was just a “feeling” you’ve no other options.

Its very strange. The ride to Baker street leaves an impression like you’ve done this before. Stepping in front of the flat none of it feels foreign even as you ascend the stairs thanks to the landlady.

The smells like a commonplace and it just continues to pile onto the ever building instinct that all of this is related to what you’ve lost. That you’re onto something big-the lost piece of you that dizziness threatens to overtake you.

Is it coming back? Is this what I’m missing?

Hyperventilating and bracing yourself on the couch you can’t help but be overwhelmed.

There are bits and pieces coming however none of them are in full glory. You know this place but it isn’t the place where it happened-not where he is from.

It’s a he-you know this much now. His picture mush clearer than before and voice more pronounced but you can’t recall him enough.

What was his name? What was his name?Who was he? Was he important?

You feel that you’ll go mad without knowing that you’re so close that you hardly pay mind to the voices becoming louder up the stairs. 

Voices that come to a full halt once the door is open.

Turning toward the door you can only imagine how you must look. 

Some strange woman standing uninvited in a living room looking like for all the world she’s about to have a panic attack but when you see his face-his face you’re oddly at ease if not confused.

He’s taller than the other two that also seem familiar but not as important as the man behind them.  That face is what’s been missing from your dreams, that suit, those eyes even as they widen in acknowledgement of something you can’t define.

“Do I…do I know you,” you call out cautiously to the stranger still walled behind the shorter two. You’re fairly certain that you do but just need a conformation something-anything to validate this feeling that you have.

He seems to be conflicted for a tick before answering politely, “No, I don’t believe we have. Anyhow Sherlock, please reconsider my offer and call when you come to your senses.”

And with that he turns to leave while the two men shielding him give twin looks of agitation and indignation. 

That can’t be right. You know him, you know him. Go after him.

The men still blocking the doorway down move quickly enough to let you through as you try to follow him. This man-you know this man and with each step that you skip in order to catch up you’re remember. 

His scent. His voice. His touch. His warmth. He was important to you on a level that was intimate and you know it was life changing.

Him. Him. Him Him but what is his blasted name??

He’s already shutting the door to his car when you reach the front door.

What was his name? What was his name? What was his name?

As the car starts to go down the street you cry pathetically, “Mycroft” before collapsing in the door frame.

For the life you couldn’t profess to understand where that name came from but the moment it did an overwhelming amount of sadness washed over you like you missed the most important person in your life.

It was all over. You lost. 

Never again would you feel happy and you would never recall that piece your body desperately missed.

Body shaking with the full force of despair you don’t notice how the car goes into reverse.

“_______,” that voice calls once more-the same one that haunts your dreams and you look up to see that this isn’t some hazy dream but the real thing.

He’s bent over you looking more ethereal under the early afternoon light and flooding your senses with his presence. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that you knew this man and nothing in the world was going to tell you otherwise.

You know him. You know him. You know him.

 He’s very careful about his stance looking torn between comforting and staying aloof but its a hard battle. He knows you. He does otherwise how would he know your name?

“Do you remember me,” he asks tentatively. 

Taking a deep calming breath you answer, “Bits and pieces. But I want to know you again. Please, let me?”

Looking very conflicted at the plea but unable to deny with the wobble in your brow he replies steadily, “Get in the car _____, we have much to catch up on.”

[razzmatash]

Warmth (ffxv)

Pairing: Gladio x f!oc

Word Count: 1466

Ao3 Link

The Misadventures of Eerie: Insomnia--Outlands--Dark Years

Inktober for Writers: Three

Summary: Hunts don’t always go as planned for one reason or another. Sometimes they hurt for unexpected reasons.

             Jolting awake, Eyra’s hand searched for the gun under her pillow. But she let it go when Spooky woofed softly in greeting to whoever had slipped into the room. “Gladio?” she mumbled. He was the only one who had a key to the quarters she had at Meldacio.

           “Go back to sleep, Eerie,” he said softly.

           Her head lifted and she squinted across the room at him. The shutters on the windows blocked out the lights from outside and the clock barely shed any into the room. She could only just see his outline as he moved away from the door.

           She immediately buried her face in the pillow when he flicked on the bathroom light. She started sagging into the bed when she heard the water turn on for the tub.

           Looking over her shoulder, she stared at the half-opened bathroom door. What was he doing? He hated the tub, usually opting to use the headquarters’ showers before he came to her bunk.

           Something was wrong.

           Eyra pushed out of bed and padded across the room to the bathroom. She knocked but pushed the door open before she got an answer. He was already in the tub, feet up on one side, arms hanging over the edges, and his head falling back against the other side.

           The steam coming off the water didn’t hide the marks on him but a quick glance showed they were minor enough. The amount of steam rolling off the water did bother her though.

           “You’re going to use all of the hot water,” she said, reaching for the water.

           “It’s fine,” he muttered.

           Her fingers jerked back as they grazed the tap. “Gladio! This is too hot!” she cried, reaching for the taps. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

           His hand closed around her wrist, pulling her away. “It’s fine.”

           She stared at him. “You’re freezing! Gladio, no, this is too much and you really will hurt yourself!”

           His grip tightened before the water sloshed as he leaned back in the tub. “Fine.”

           She cranked the cold water on, turning the hot down so it would be lukewarm. Even that was pushing it but she didn’t think he was going to get out of the tub if she told him to. “What happened?” she asked, running her hand through the water once it was cool enough and trying to spread it through the tub. “You only left yesterday.”

           “Finished early.”

           Pressing her lips together, she didn’t say anything. They’d been at Meldacio for two weeks, him hunting and her working as the resident medic. It wasn’t the first time they’d done it over the last year and she knew it wasn’t going to be the last either. They both earned too much here for it to be the last.

           But she would seriously consider it if he kept coming back from hunts like this.

           Trailing her fingers through the water after she shut it off, she listened to his breathing. He seemed fine, despite the cold temperature of his skin. At least physically. “Flans?” she asked quietly.

           “Yeah,” he grunted.

           Eyra huffed and turned to him. He was still slumped in the tub, eyes closed. “You gonna tell me what happened? Or do I have to pull it out of you?”

           He remained quiet but she didn’t budge. This wasn’t the first time he’d come back from a hunt completely shut off. Sometimes she let him get away with it, let him sort through whatever was going on in his head, but she was too tired for it today.

           Lifting her hand out of the water, she said, “Gladio, what is this?”

           His chin came down, his eyes cracking open. “Your engagement ring?”

           “And what does it mean?”

           He frowned at her and opened his eyes fully. “That we’re getting married eventually. Unless you’ve changed your-”

           “It means we’re partners,” she interrupted, flicking water at him with her other hand. “It means we’re supposed to help each other. Are you going to let me help you or keep sulking in the tub?”

           Gladio’s mouth flattened and he looked away from her. She listened as he exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting in the tub to brace his feet against the bottom of it. She fully expected him to get out of it, to walk away without answering her. But he stayed put, breathing loudly and evenly.

           “Big guy,” Eerie said, softening, “please?”

           “Lose the shirt unless you want to get it wet.”

           Pushing off the floor, she tugged the shirt over her head and wriggled out of her panties. “It’s not going to fit both of us,” she warned as he moved in the tub.

           “We’ve fit in smaller places.”

           Well that was certainly true. “Help me?” she asked, holding out her hands.

           He kept her balanced as she stepped into the tub, carefully placing her feet between his legs. It wasn’t the easiest thing to settle against him and her legs curled awkwardly but she cuddled against his chest, tucking her head on his shoulder. She wasn’t a fan of the water or how cold he was but she kept her mouth shut about it. It was hard not to shiver though.

           His hand trailed along her back, his fingers stilling at the scars before moving on. “Noct hated fighting them,” he said softly. “Hated them. Called ‘em mushy desserts.”

           It was hard not to react to the name. Beyond a very long conversation the day after he’d gotten back from Niflheim, Gladio hadn’t talked much about Noctis in the last year. She didn’t want to spook him off of it now. “Is that why you took the hunt?”

           “Nah. Was an easy one, close by. I wanted something quick but….”

           “What happened? You’re practically frozen stiff,” Eyra said quietly.

           “I’m warming up,” he protested.

           Not enough for her liking. When he was done talking, she was bundling him into bed and maybe making a run to the infirmary to steal more blankets. “Gladio.”

           He sighed and she felt his chin rub against her hair. “Got hit with more ice than I expected and it…well, it made me remember something. Which meant I got hit more.”

           Looking at the scratches across his chest, she didn’t doubt that. “What did you remember?”

           “Noct was a great fighter, skilled with almost any weapon you put in his hands.”

           “Must have had a good teacher,” she teased.

           He snorted. “I wasn’t the only one that trained him.”

           “Since when are you modest about that?”

           “I have to be because as good as he was with weapons, he fucking sucked when it came to magic. Do you know how many times he hit one of us with it while we were fighting?” He snorted. “Burnt, shocked, frozen. All of it. He never seemed to get the hang of using magic for something beyond summoning and warping. Ignis could hit the head of a pin from a mile away but Noct seemed to use all of us as target practise.”

           “Seriously?”

           “Seriously,” he chuckled. “It was the worst.”

           That would explain some of the injuries she’d treated while they’d been travelling Lucis.

           Gladio sighed and pulled her closer. “I miss him,” he said lowly. “Stupid aim and all.”

           Her heart tugged at the catch in his voice but she could hear him shivering. She loved him and wanted but this couldn’t keep going. Kissing his neck, she pushed away from him and said, “Come on, babe. I need to tuck you in before you catch a cold.”

           He stared at her and it was impossible to miss the hurt on his face. “Eerie….”

           She leaned in to kiss him slowly. “You need to be healthy, Gladio,” she breathed. “The king will need his Shield strong when he comes back.”

           Gladio inhaled deeply and caught her arms before she could go anywhere. “He’s coming back,” he said, mostly to himself. “He’s coming back.”

           Eyra smiled at him and gently pulled on him. “He is,” she agreed, “so you need to be around when he does. You aren’t going to do that sitting in a tepid tub of water. We’ll tuck in and cuddle and get you warm.”

           He squeezed her gently before nodding as he let her go. “Right. Right,” he repeated.

           She pushed out of the tub and grabbed towels as she stepped out of it. She wasn’t sure he was going to want to talk about Noctis once they were tucked in but either way she needed to warm him up. She stiffened a little when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and leaned into her.

           “Thank you, Eyra,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

           Her eyes closed and she sent a small prayer to the Astrals to send Noctis back to them.

[slimacwrites]

In the Key of F- Ch. 1- Our House

Emma Swan’s been working hard to move on from a past of abandonment and self-hate as she rises to take over as principle pianist of the Boston Ballet. She couldn’t have done it without Killian Jones, the man who got her back into music and stood by her through hours of practice and crippling self-doubt, despite his continued struggle to adjust after escaping a life of abuse. When ghosts from the past and fears for the future threaten everything, will Emma and Killian be strong enough to face the changes? Or will everything they worked so hard for fall apart? Set 4 years after In the Key of G.

FFnet link here. In the Key of G link here.

Warning: Contains mentions of abuse.

Emma pushed open the big white door and was greeted by a screeching fire alarm and the smell of something that may at one point have been an apple pie. Whereas most people would run from a house in which every fire alarm was going off and there was a distinct smogginess to the air, Emma just rolled her eyes and let the door swing open wide. This was the Jones Brother’s house. If a fire alarm wasn’t going off at supper time no one was home.

There was shouting coming from the kitchen so Emma kicked off her boots and padded across the old hardwood floor to the epicentre of the burning located at the end of the entryway hallway. She grabbed a newspaper that sat on the hallway highboy as she passed by, picking her way around Lee’s sneakers that were left in the middle of the kitchen doorway.

Liam and Killian stood in the middle of the airy kitchen, yelling over the alarm. Liam waved his arms at the offending machine on the ceiling while Killian was scowling at it and telling Liam to just “pull down the bloody machine already.” Lee was no where to be seen but it was probably an apple pie he’d made that the older brother had overcooked. Boys.

Without saying anything Emma shoved the rolled-up newspaper at Liam’s chest so he’d stop flapping around like some sort of rabid bird and do something useful, then made her way through the kitchen and living room, throwing open the windows as she went. After a few more beeps the house went silent. Apart from Killian’s grumbled curses about the condition of dessert.

“Maybe you should finally learn to set that timer?” Emma asked with a smirk as she entered the kitchen again.

“And deprive you of saving us?” Liam asked with a laugh as he set down the paper. “Never.” Liam glanced over at the pie on the oven with an upturn of his nose. “Lee’s going to be angry we burnt his pie.”

“Lee’s used to it by now,” Killian answered with a sigh, a hint of sadness clawing at the underbelly of his words that implied thoughts of more than burnt pastry. Emma knew that Killian still battled with the quality of Lee’s life. He harboured a lot of guilt over it, both for the care he’d provided and for how relieved he was now that he could just be Killian and not a guardian. Lee was very small for his age, a side effect, the doctors said, from all the trauma and lack of food he had often faced. Killian had recovered better-physically- but Emma knew much of the emotional still existed and often came out as self-depreciation concerning Lee. Emma wasn’t really sure how to make it better other than to give him time.

Emma moved over to the pie that was sitting on top of the oven. The top part of the crust was completely singed. Like, full on charcoal. They must have left it in at least a half hour longer than Lee had told them too. But the underside looked okay when Emma tipped up the glass pie plate. It might be salvageable- not to the same condition as before but really, what stayed the same after that kind of traumatic experience? She leaned back and pulled open a nearby drawer, grabbing a knife.

“A little surgery and it will be fine.” Emma stuck the tip of the knife into the top crust and started to carve, pulling up the burnt bits as they flaked off. After Emma had finished the pie was ugly but it probably couldn’t be used to draw cave paintings any longer. “There. Slap some whip cream on it and it will be fine.”

Killian came over to examine it. “You’re a lifesaver, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her temple. Despite his lighter tone Emma could still feel the tension and disappointment behind his words. Emma leaned back against him, the rough fabric of his work clothes rubbing against her bare arms. He must have been at work late since he was usually home and changed before Emma ever made it out of the studio. The dock tended to close up shop around early evening and Emma, well, she didn’t end work until her fingers cramped.

Emma reached down and grabbed for his hand, fingers closing around his prosthetic first but that didn’t matter. She held on and dragged him out of the kitchen, back into the hallway and then turned right to go up the wide set of stairs that led to the upper level. Killian followed without complaint, feet quietly swishing on the worn carpet runner.

The house the Jones Brothers occupied was an older white wooden sided, three-bedroom house. It was in the Dorchester neighbourhood of Boston, as close to the water as Liam could afford, but unfortunately about a thirty-minute bus ride from Emma’s apartment in the South End which was closer to the Ballet Company. The house had been pretty crappy when the brothers had first moved in but while Liam was terrible at paying attention to the oven, he was pretty handy with other things and in the four years since moving in, it had become a new house. While a lot of the older features still existed, like the slightly warped hardwood flooring and butcher block countertops, the electrical and a good chunk of the drywall had been replaced and with it about three tons of vintage floral wallpaper.

Emma continued to lead Killian into his bedroom, the furthest room from the stairs landing but next to Lee’s. It was the first time Killian had had a room to himself permanently since Liam was born. Occasionally he’d have one in whatever apartment his father found to rent but that would often change after the man was caught drinking at work and fired. Especially after the abuse started and Killian took over as guardian, Lee almost never slept in a different room from Killian. It was both for safety and for comfort. Getting Lee used to staying in his own room and not sneaking into Killian’s, especially when Emma was also curled under the sheets, had been a challenge. And had definitely ruled out sleeping in any state other than fully clothed. It was an issue they’d mostly conquered at that point so long as Lee didn’t have nightmares.

Killian flicked on the bedroom light when Emma finally let go of his hand. The light sputtered a bit, needing to be replaced soon, before illuminating the room. Medium blue walls were hung with pictures, a compensation, Emma knew, from missing a proper family and happy memories for so long. In a set of attached picture frames were pictures Killian had pilfered from Liam’s own collection, the images ones of a child Killian with his grinning older brother. The rest of the walls had prints of Killian and Lee at a playground right after Liam had found them, the three brothers on a boat, a few candid shots of his brothers and a spattering of ones that Emma herself was also in. Emma’s personal favourite was the one from the opening night of Swan Lake where the three brothers had showed up, all dressed up and carrying flowers as if she were the prima ballerina and not the pianist. It sat on the bedside table next to the double bed.

Emma flopped down on the big bed, the navy duvet practically absorbing her in it’s fluff. From her position on the mattress she watched Killian move around the room, first picking up dirty clothing he’d dropped on the floor that morning and then pulling off his own shirt and throwing it all into the laundry basket. The thick straps that went up his arm and over his shoulders from the body-powered prosthesis did nothing to detract from the sight that was a shirtless Killian Jones. It never failed to make Emma feel heat shoot through her, though that quickly turned to pride as she watched him effortlessly slip off the prosthesis. It hadn’t always been that way.

“Why the bloody fuck do I need this?” Killian exploded as soon as they got into his bedroom and away from his brothers, yanking at the straps of the prosthetic. Emma didn’t flinch, having seen the frustration in his eyes after picking him up from his first physiotherapy appointment. She’d been expecting it.

“You don’t,” Emma answered, trying to hold in her own anger because it wasn’t directed at Killian. It felt like a betrayal for Liam to push the prosthetic on his brother. Killian had been one handed for over a decade and was used to it. Why couldn’t his brother be the same? But Liam had that hero-complex, the one where everything needed to be perfect or no one would be happy. It was easy to tell Liam carried guilt about Killian’s amputation because he hadn’t been there. But that wasn’t an excuse to try to make his brother whole with moveable metal hooks and plastic stump casings.

“Liam says it will make life easier. How? I look like Captain Hook now.” Emma snorted at that before she could stop herself, earning a glare from Killian.

“Least you don’t have a perm,” Emma answered.

“Has anyone told you how funny you are?”

“Yeah, it’s why I’m a pianist,” Emma replied, softer this time. She took a few steps closer to Killian as he tugged at his prosthetic, trying to get it off without any success. Emma raised her brow and Killian nodded with a weary sigh, letting Emma pull the straps over his head and slide the contraption off. She set it on the desk and then pulled off the protective sock covering the stump.

“Killian,” Emma murmured, rubbing her hands over the sensitive end of his stump, marvelling slightly at how comfortable he’d become with her near the injury in the year they’d been together. “If you don’t want the prosthesis, tell your brother. He needs to see you as whole without the hand. Lee does. I do. And Liam will too when the guilt wears off.”

Killian nodded, leaning his head down to rest on Emma’s shoulder as she continued to massage his stump like Google had taught her. “Maybe I’ll give it a week.”

Somewhere along the way, that week had turned into three years and Killian and Liam had come to an understanding about the prosthesis. Killian wore the moveable hook when he was at work because it was better for efficiency and safety but at home it would be left in his room pretty much always. He was just as capable with one hand and eventually Liam had realized that.

Killian continued to get changed, pulling on a worn white t-shirt and a pair of clean jeans, free of oil stains from whatever engine he’d been tinkering at that day. When he was no longer covered in pier dirt he moved over to the bed and laid down beside Emma. The tenseness in his body from downstairs was still there, keeping him stiff beside her. It was the kind of stiffness he had when he felt guilty about something.

“You okay?” Emma asked, snaking her hand down the side of his body to find his fingers. She just brushed them, not taking hold, not wanting to push her luck. Killian didn’t answer, just huffed out a long breath. Killian not answering her said more than a no ever could. “Why are you feeling guilty about that pie?”

“I should have been home to get it out. We both know Liam can’t cook.”

Emma scrunched her forehead, confused. “You were at work late.”

Killian shook his head against the pillow, jostling the bed slightly. “I got off on time. But I stayed around to talk to Arthur,” Killian said, referring to his slightly annoying mate who worked at the pier with him. “We were chatting football- the proper kind. And then he wanted to plan for us all to go out together. I got distracted and when I got home the whole pie was charred.”

Emma got it then. Killian was upset with himself because he’d taken the time to hang out with a friend and because of that Lee’s pie had burnt. Even something that seemed so small, like a pie, to Killian was a sign of how much he’d failed his entire life. It was the reason they didn’t go on many date nights, the closest they got often being the nights he spent at Emma’s place because he wanted to see her and she had been working well into the night. Emma couldn’t find it in herself to be upset because Killian had stood by her through so much. Killian battled with taking anything for himself, be it time away from his brother, especially if Lee was home alone, using funds to take classes to become a marine engineer that Lee might need to play sports (not that he did but Killian worried about everything), or choosing time with Emma at the studio over being at the house to clean it.

On the other hand, Emma knew how much Killian craved the freedom, being an adult with his own life and friends. Even four years later, Killian was still exhausted from the caregiving that had stolen his childhood and many years after. When he let himself indulge he was brilliantly happy, going to the pub with Arthur or dancing with Emma. On the nights when Lee was at a sleepover and Killian was free to do as he pleased, he always slept better. He didn’t wake up at the slightest sound and often Emma would get up before him, a complete rarity usually, and leave him in bed while she went to work.

Liam worried about the anxiety Killian still struggled with. Emma did too, but where Liam wanted action, wanted Killian to go to therapy or a support group, Emma just thought he needed time. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t want Killian to go to therapy but she was scared he would see it as one more thing Liam was trying to make perfect in Killian’s life to make up for the shit he’d gone through. She didn’t want a prosthesis-type fiasco to happen again. It would take years to heal the kind of hurt Killian had gone through, if Emma’s own issues were any gauge. But she could see an improvement from the first month of living in Boston. Killian was getting there.

“Killian,” Emma told him firmly, rolling onto her stomach so she could look him in the eye. “Lee is happy. The kid loves his life with you two. You’re like his heroes. It’s okay for you to do things that make you happy too. Spending some time talking to Arthur won’t ruin Lee’s life.” They’d had this conversation before but it seemed like Killian needed reminding.

“I know,” Killian replied slowly. “Objectively I know, love.”

“But subjectively that doesn’t matter.” Killian nodded again, finally moving his stiff body to grasp her hand tightly. Emma smiled at that. Progress. “How about this,” she started, Killian watching her carefully. “This weekend we’re going out with Arthur. No excuses. We’re going to have fun. You and I are going to drink a bit too much and dance like we never do. We’re going to act like we’re twenty-two for once. I’ll talk to Liam and convince him to stay home Saturday night to watch Lee.”

Killian sighed but this wasn’t a guilty one. This was a slightly exasperated, good-natured one. “Alright, love. I know better than to argue with you. Especially when you’re freely suggesting we go out with Arthur.”

Emma grinned at that. Progress.

[the-elf-mahat]

A Sister’s Voice

(( Continued from here. ))

The harsh buzzing of the communicator startled Mahat awake, and she fumbled around in the dark for the persistent device, on the trunk by the bed where she'd left her gear. Rooms at the Salty Sailor were cheap for very good reasons, one of which being that the floor was permanently sticky and nowhere you'd want to drop your clothes. The humid air stank of sex and rum, and the noise of rowdy sailors filing in for their evening bender rose from the bar below, barely muffled at all by the re-purposed ship's hull that served as the room's walls.

Mahat finally located the comm and clicked it on. “Hullo?” she mumbled, voice thick and muzzy with slumber. She could practically taste her budding hangover in the back of her throat. It had been worth it, though. Her free hand wandered across the pale blue skin of the slumbering man beside her, a fingertip running along the ridge of a scar.

“I've acquired the name you wanted.” Elinde sounded as thrilled as she ever was to have been kept waiting on the comm. At least she was speaking Common, which was a mercy for 'Hat's muddled state of mind.

“Ye—have? Wha' is it?”

“There's a price.”

Mahat barely stifled a deep, heartfelt groan, drawing her hand back. “Ye don' say...”

Elinde was audibly smirking. “I did you a favor, thief. A highly unpleasant one, may I add. It will be some time before my relationship with our aunt recovers, as hard as I had to push for straight answers. You owe me. I believe reciprocity is considered a virtue even among the criminal element, is it not?”

Mahat growled. “What's y'price, then?”

There was no hesitation. “I want to speak to my sister.”

This time, Mahat couldn't restrain her groan, tipping her head back to glare at the warped timbers of the ceiling. “En't there anythin' else I cou' do f' ye?”

“You know there isn't.”

“...aye.” Her jaw clenched tight. “I know. All fuckin' righ', my place or yers?”

“Come to Ashenvale.”

“Th' Edunes' house?” Mahat couldn't help the hope that crept into her voice, though it was crushed swiftly and utterly an instant later.

“No,” Elinde said flatly. “Saera and Ebari will remain with the Edunes. You will come to my home, alone and unarmed. I will be there, alone and armed. We will have words.”

“...reckon we will.” Mahat rolled upright, shoving the tangled sheets aside and biting back a litany of curses as her bare feet hit the sticky floor. “See y'soon.”

A change of clothes, a drink, a couple of portals and one extremely bumpy hippogryph ride later, Mahat was descending into the shaded glen where Elinde and her family made their home. The only sounds were the splashes of a clear, trickling brook, and a few night birds cooing mournfully to each other in the dusky violet trees. Mahat imagined the hushed grove filled with the laughter and squawks of children playing together, and all of a sudden nearly couldn't breathe through the pain in her chest.

Only one window of the small, cozy house at the bottom of the dell was lit, and the door was pulled open from the inside as Mahat approached. Elinde was waiting for her.

Mahat crossed the threshold, as ever barely able to meet her sister's eyes. Elinde was an imposing presence, not due to her height or build—though she was certainly strong, a soldier with centuries of service to her name—but due to the absolute certainty that drove her every deed and motion. Doubt, hesitation, indecision—these concepts were nothing more than strange anathema to her, as far as Mahat could tell. Her twilight-blue hair was pulled back in a practical low tail, and she was dressed in simple, comfortable clothes, except for the gleaming hilt of the sword on her hip.

Mahat held up her empty hands to show she'd come unarmed, but of course Elinde had to pat down each limb to check anyway. Which was sensible; if nearly any other person in the world had asked her to show up somewhere without weapons, she'd at least have a hidden blade or a sharp hairpin or two. As it was, she was clean, and Elinde stepped back, grunting in satisfaction and waving her to seat herself at the kitchen table.

Mahat slumped down onto the sturdy wooden chair, scowling, still not quite looking the other woman in the face. “I dunno why ye wanna do this t' yerself, Elinde. Ye know nothin'll change. Why keep proddin' th' wound?”

“My reasons are not your concern, thief.” Elinde's expression was cold and her voice was stern and resonant, unhindered by the tinny crackle of a comm. “Let me speak to my sister. I will tell her the name you seek, and no other.”

Mahat's aimlessly roving gaze fell across a scattering of small wooden figures on the rug. Stacking stags, theirs antlers carved to cradle one another's bodies, so they could be placed carefully one on top of the other until the tower grew too high and collapsed under its own weight. A small spot of chaos amid the tidy order of the home, a mess left by a child with better things to do than put away her toys. It was hard to breathe again.

“Fuckin' fine,” Mahat hissed through gritted teeth. “She's all yers.” Her eye went dim and rolled back, her every limb going slack and loose as a puppet with severed strings. Elinde darted forward to catch her head, saving it from cracking against the back of the chair as her neck lost all supportive tension. Mahat's form was draped lazily over the chair, the furniture holding her in place when she otherwise would have collapsed bonelessly to the floor. Her heart ticked on, her lungs pumped in her chest, and her eye twitched beneath the fallen lid—but beyond these autonomic movements, she was as still as the dead for several long moments.

“Laurelyn?” Elinde dared, breaking the quiet, a sudden, profound gentleness in her tone that had been entirely absent until now. She switched her language to Darnassian. “Sister? Do you hear me? Can you speak?”

The prone elf's single eye fluttered open, a slow, ephemeral smile touching her lips. “Little star… I always hear you. I slumber… I am weak… the other two are strong. They fight their war… I dream. But your voice blazes through my fogged rest, bright and shining as a spear… bringing me to life… bidding me rise towards you...” A soft sigh escaped her, barely enough to stir a leaf. “Why do you not let me sleep?” As thready and hesitant as her voice was, it still managed to contain a note of fond teasing for her younger sister.

Elinde crouched before her, holding Laurelyn's head tenderly to keep it upright. Her thumb brushed a stray lock of silver-white hair from her sister's temple. “Lazy creature,” she teased in return, smiling although her eyes were sad. “This is what comes of staying out 'til all hours, up to who knows what mischief… you'll sleep your life away.” Her voice caught, and she coughed into her shoulder to hide it.

Laurelyn seemed to have noticed anyway, her smile fading as slowly as it had dawned. “I am dead, little star,” she reminded gently. “What lingers here in this body is an echo... a memory of who I once was, etched deep in bone and sinew… but I cannot move, I do not live… I see you touching me yet… I cannot feel you...” Elinde's brow furrowed in anger, and Laurelyn pressed on. “Sister, please… do not rage… do not mourn… I sleep, I am content. The only matter which troubles my rest… is the thought of how much pain I have caused you… and continue to cause...”

Elinde scowled. “Do not speak to me as though I were still a child, Laurelyn. I choose to suffer the pain of losing you over and over again, and I count myself blessed that something of you remains for me to lose.”

“You are braver than I, little star… and wiser… as you ever were,” Laurelyn murmured. “Forgive me for my cowardice… for my ignorance… your choices are your own.”

Elinde bowed her head in acknowledgment of the apology. “I have learned something, sister… the name of the woman who gave birth to you.”

“Why…?” Laurelyn sounded faintly puzzled. “I never… sought to know… the woman didn't care to know me, and with our mother never around, it hardly mattered whether I was her blood or another's… she neglected you and I equally… you were the only kin that ever mattered to me...”

“I know,” Elinde murmured. “As you were to me. Our parents—our father, your mother and mine, they all had more important things to do than raise their daughters.” A note of quiet bitterness that the passing centuries had done nothing to quell crept into her tone. “Battles to fight, wars to win… sowing death is so much more exciting than nurturing life, isn't it?” She gave a sigh of mingled frustration and rue. “But we're better than that, you and I… we are capable of the sacrifice and love that our parents never were. That's why… I had to find out. For Saera's sake. Every chance in the world she has to be loved, to be protected, I want her to have it. Any kin she has in the world, whether fair or foul, I want to know. Even the thief who wears your skin agrees with me—she asked me to find the name.”

“Mahat,” Laurelyn chided softly, her voice growing weaker. “She has a name, too. And Saera is her daughter… not mine, despite the blood we share… though I do wish the best for the child… I cannot linger, little star… I am weary… tell my birth mother's name to Saera's mother… this form, this life is hers now, I have abdicated… become a willing shadow… please let me rest...”

“Laurelyn?” Elinde's grip on her tightened as her single eye fell shut. The prone elf was still, and then she groaned, cramped muscles twitching back to life, her neck once again strong enough to support the weight of her head. Elinde tore her hands away and rose swiftly, her tender concern giving way to a brooding fury. She stalked towards the door and ripped it open, the peace of the glade outside a taunting contrast to the tempest raging within.

Mahat came to, stiff and sore, head thick with cobwebs and half-dreams. Her gaze was drawn to Elinde, and in her foggy state she forgot not to meet the woman's eyes. There was so much pain there. Mahat was a walking grave, a living reminder of the worst loss she had ever suffered, a twisted mockery of the nobility and kindness of spirit Laurelyn had possessed. The thief saw everything so clearly, the part of her that had once been Laurelyn knowing every line of Elinde's face so well that her sister's mask of calm self-possession may as well not have existed. It was all there in her eyes, rage and yearning and sorrow and hope and strangely, terribly, pity. Her voice betrayed none of it.

“Syrandel Silvervine is the name you wanted,” Elinde said flatly in Common, and then jerked her head to indicate the door she was holding open. “Get out.”

Mahat spoke no word of protest or gratitude, stumbling to her feet and hobbling out of the house as quickly as her sleeping, pin-needle filled legs would carry her. She left the glade and walked deeper into the forest, scarcely hearing the protesting chatter of birds and squirrels around her as she stalked through, disturbing their nightly routines. She moved automatically, furiously not thinking about anything that had just happened, just trying to breathe.

A child's laugh echoed through the trees and she froze, realizing where her wayward, unguided steps had taken her. For a moment she trembled, the desire to move towards that sound as overpowering as a tidal wave.

No…

Jaw clenched, she turned and walked back to the path–back to a small, dark room in Booty Bay, and the comfort waiting for her there in the strong arms of the one she loved.

[gryphon1911]

A few years ago, I renovated my home office and wanted to have some old, vintage camera bodies for decoration.  My wife found lots of lovely, low cost specimens on eBay.  Through all the ones she found, none were ranger finder style.   I looked about and picked up a Yashica Lynx 5000E.  To my surprise, the camera was fully functional, minus a battery for the meter.   No worries, though as I could use another camera or the sunny 16 rule if need be.  The company that made that particular model no longer exists, the Yashica name lives on through a company in China.  They have decided to try something new.  A Kickstarter campaign was run for "Expect The Unexpected" digiFilm camera by Yashica". OK, I'm interested, but what does that mean?

What is a digiFilm camera?

Imagine taking the handling of a film camera and making the capture medium digital.  Not only digital....but the means of controlling the "look" of the JPG it produces is controlled through the small film like canister you put into the back of camera.  This "digiFilm" is like setting up a JPG color or monochrome picture control.  Not only does it affect the look of the image, but also the ISO, film grain, vignette and aspect ratio as well.

To get more info on the whole digiFilm concept, check out the Yashica website for this particular camera.  You can also check out the original Kickstarter campaign.

The Camera 

I ordered the 4 digiFilm pack.  The box came with the camera, lens cap, 4 digiFilm and a USB cable.  The batteries were not supplied, but I included them below for scale.

The top deck of the camera.  The hot shoe is, well a cold shoe.   You cannot trigger a flash from this.  Yashica mentioned that you can place an LED panel there for illumination.  I'm probably never going to do that, though. The film rewind is not real, just a molded plastic film winder looking thing. The exposure comp dial does work and gives you + or - 2 stops in 1 stop increments. The geared looking plastic disc around the shutter release is the power switch. Then the exposure winder level works and needs to be moved in order to release the shutter button.  The winder feels very solid.  I wish that the shutter release was as smooth as the winder mechanism.

On the back you have the viewfinder to the left and just to the right of it is the LED indicator.   Unlit and the power is off.  When you turn the camera on, the LED will light purple to show it is booting up, then it will be red when the camera is ready to take a picture. During operation, the LED will go back to purple when an image is being taken and written to the memory card.

A small switch on the left side side opens the back lid where the digiFilm is placed and the batteries installed.

The digiFilm bin has bent pins that lock the canister in place. You should be very careful placing the digiFilm into the camera.  It could be the weakest part of the design, using the pins this way.  Only time will tell.

Here is a fully loaded and ready to go Y35.

Here, the bottom panel contains the SD card slot and the micro USB connection port.  The door is a little difficult to open.  You must slide the plate toward the arrow and then lift up.  The plastic notch is hard to get your finger nail under and lift it.  I'm using an old Eye-Fi card that is no longer supported.  4GB in size and working just fine as far as I can tell.

Below, the LED is showing red, meaning ready to take an image.

Handling

Giving you the "feel" of the old film camera, you must turn the "film advance" lever to cock the shutter.  Now, you are not really cocking a shutter here as the shutter is an electronic one, but you run through the process the same as you would for a film camera. I found the camera similar to holding the Lynx 5000E, just with a lot less weight. The shutter release is not as smooth as the older cameras this one emulates.  It feels kind of 2 stage.  It is smooth to a point where it stops.  Then you press a little harder and there is a slight click and the shutter is released.  I have noticed with a bit of use, the shutter release button smooths out some. Once the camera is on, working the camera is as easy as winding the film advance lever, framing the scene and then pressing the shutter.  It is a rather simple set of operations. The viewfinder is large and makes it easy to frame up your subjects. It is a much better setup than the Holga Digital I also have. There have been some reports that the image is not taken until the shutter release is fully pressed and then released.  I'm pretty sure this is the way that it works.  Why?   Because holding down the shutter release for 4 seconds will activate the one second shutter.  This is not documented in the instruction sheet but explained by some Yashica employees on social media. Something else to keep in mind.  There is some lag between pressing the shutter button and when the image is actually taken and saved.  Makes sure to stay still while the light on the back of the camera is still purple.  Once it goes red again ,you should be safe to move and not introduce blur or "jello" effects into your images.

Settings

Aspect Ratio:

Controlled by the digiFilm you loaded into the camera.   Could be 4:3 or 1:1.

Aperture:

Aperture on this camera is fixed at f/2.

Shutter Speed:

Electronically controlled and determined by the camera.

ISO:

Determined by the digiFilm selected and can be a range.

Exposure Compensation:

You have plus/minus 2 stops of exposure comp via a dial on the top deck, in one stop increments

Focus

Focus is fixed and goes from about 1.5 meters to infinity.

IQ

I've got 4 digiFilm and I'll have examples from all 4. If you are a pixel peeper, this is not a camera for you.  Going in 1:1, you will not have tack sharpness.  Given the image as a whole, it is acceptable/passable. It appears that in starkly contrasting light, the limits of the dynamic range are evident in some of the digiFilm.  Looking below at the 6x6 digiFilm, where the sun is at it's brightest, the overexposed highlights are evident.   You can see in the Color 200 digiFilm, better exposure characteristics.  Not sure if this is a sensor issue or the JPG processing that is implemented.  Could be both. I'd say compared to my Holga Digital camera, it is as good if not a little bit better in some instances. Bear with me as well, on some of these images.  Not my best work, but like film, you are relying a bit on the meter and on your experience to nail the exposure.  There are some images where I should have used a little exposure compensation. So far, the camera seems to do a decent job on exposure calculations.  I've used the exposure comp dial when I thought I would need it.

Color 200

1/1100, f/2, ISO 100

1/1250, f/2, ISO 100

1/1000, f/2, ISO 100

Color 1600

1/640, f/2, ISO 300

1/70, f/2, ISO 300

1/95, f/2, ISO 300

6x6

Basic exposure/sharpening enhanced in Lightroom

1/750, f/2, ISO 100

1/1500, f/2, ISO 100

1/2500, f/2, ISO 100

1/640, f/2, ISO 100

B&W

1/70, f/2, ISO 100

1/570, f/2, ISO 100

1/1250, f/2, ISO 100

1/30, f/2, ISO 131

1/320, f/2, ISO 100

1/500, f/2, ISO 100

1/370, f/2, ISO 100

1/50, f/2, ISO 100

Other Miscellaneous Items of Note

EXIF information:

EXIF data is captured in the files.  The focal length is registered as 6mm in all images.

Rolling shutter:

There is some, so I would not try and pan with this camera.  I've had it happen to me accidentally when I moved before the camera finished taking an image.  Looking at the image below, you will see that the signs and part of the building are warping to the right as an example.

digiFilm 6x6 1/1600, f/2, ISO 100

Hot Shoe:

This is really a cold shoe and Yashica recommends in the instruction booklet that it is a good place to use an LED light.

SD Cards:

Not sure how large of an SD card you can use. Currently it has a 4GB Eye-Fi card in it.  I formatted the card on my Win10 PC as FAT32.  The camera seems happy with it.

Post Processing:

No RAW files and JPG that are not very malleable.  Don't expect much out of them as far as recovering highlights or pushing shadows.  It is best to try and get as good an exposure as possible in camera.

Parting Thoughts

So, initial thoughts by some want to bash the camera out right.  They may want to say that they were not given what they were promised.  Check out the Kickstarter comments if you want to see some of what I'm referring. I'm not sure what site they were on or what information they were reading, but the camera is just about what one should expect from the description. There is no doubt - it is a plastic camera.  Yes it is.  Is it a little rough in places?  Sure. If you are expecting something more than what it was advertised...then you might need to go back and re-read the Kickstarter and set expectations accordingly. However, the whole Kickstarter community is a different topic for a different post. It very well could be that this camera may not be something I use all the time.  It may only be good to use in good light.  It might be total rubbish to some.   Everything needs to be taken into perspective. Given that, take a look at the sample images I've provided and those out on Instagram from others using the same camera, hastags:  #yashicay35 and #yashicadigifilm.   Make your own decision.  I paid for this camera with my own money and I have no reason to sing any praises for it.  I can also bash it for anything that it does wrong.   I hope you find that I do a pretty fair job of reviewing.

More thoughts...

Is this a primary camera?  No, of course not.  Not any more than I would use a Lomography type camera as a primary shooter.    It is a different way of thinking, a different way of shooting.  Much like shooting with a fully manual camera or manual focus lens would be today. Again - proper perspective, expectations need to be made. Regarding those who may have gotten a defective camera.   Before getting all angry and going nuts in the internet, try first to work with Yashica and see if they can make good on giving you a replacement or fixing the camera you have. Maybe I got lucky and have a better sample of the camera than others.  As it usually happens, those not happy come out in droves and those that are happy tend to stay quite.   All I know is that so far, so good on the build.  Images have been acceptable and I do not seem to be losing images, getting black frames like others have reported.  Do I wish the image quality was better.  Sure, but for the price paid, the tech specs - I'm not expecting anything more than a lo-fi experience.  That is basically what you get here.

Full Disclosure: some images are straight out of camera while others have been tweaked in Lightroom.  Those that have been tweaked were noted just below them.