#was so shocked to hear that like even outside of the typical family trauma we share so much

[medusa1597]

spending this week with my aunt made me realize how much we're alike in our insanities and it also made me realize how unfounded most of our neuroses are because my aunt is objectively the most beautiful woman i know, so interesting and charismatic. and tonight she made me cry because of how bad her self image is which in turn made her cry as well

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. four

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version)  length: 5.2k  rating: explicit 18+  warnings: implied attempted sexual assault, trauma response, descriptions of shock, canon-typical violence, vaginal fingering

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can't afford distractions right now. So there's only one thing to do.

series masterlist

You jolt awake to your phone ringing. 

Blearily, you grope in the direction of the sound until you find it on the floor, charging beside the bed. It takes several swipes of your thumb to answer, squinting against the sudden sharp glare of the screen showing that it’s just before three in the morning. “Hello?”

“Oh, my God.” Your roommate’s voice is hoarse. “Where are you? Why weren’t you answering?”

You’re thoroughly disoriented. It takes you a couple of seconds to work out why you’re wearing an unfamiliar sweatshirt, your legs bare, alone in a bed that is not your own. You don’t remember plugging your phone into the charger. Last time you saw it, it was on the kitchen counter, with three percent battery remaining.

“Uh. I stayed at a friend’s.”

“What? I can’t hear you. What friend? Are you okay?” There’s a wail of sirens in the background, and unfamiliar voices speaking quickly, panicked, close to the phone.

You sit up properly, suddenly awake. “Bear? What’s going on?”

She says something indistinct to someone outside the call, half-muffled, before answering. “We were on the way back from Maya’s when they stopped all the trains and we got out and now the whole street is shut down and there are cops everywhere and people are saying there was an explosion and—“

You’re on your feet, cursing as you kick the edge of the counter. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine, but nobody’s seen you all night, so we were worried.”

You tap lightly on the bathroom door. “Peter? Are you in there?”

Bear sounds indignant. “Who’s Peter?”

There’s no response from inside, so you open the door and flick on the light. It’s empty, save for your rumpled clothes draped over the shower curtain. You frown. If he’s not in here, and he’s not in bed…

“Wait, Peter Parker? Are you with Peter Parker?”

You wince, putting your phone on speaker and balancing it on the edge of the sink as you hurriedly pull on your stiffly-dried clothes. “Um. Yeah?”

“The fuck? How long has this been going on? Are you two…like…?”

You bare your teeth at yourself in the calcium-spotted mirror. Your mouth feels sour, and you briefly entertain the idea of using his toothbrush, before deciding against it. Not without asking him first. Not when he’s not even here to ask. You look overly-tired, to the point of deranged. You need to get home. 

“Bear, where are you? I’m gonna try to meet you back at the apartment.” Maya’s place is in the opposite direction to yours from here. If you try to skirt major exclusion zones, you should be able to get home without any issues. You head back out to the kitchen, switching on the light and flooding the room in brightness. There’s a scribbled note on the cheap laminate counter, next to a loose key.

Jersey,

If I’m not back by the time you wake up, let yourself out. Family emergency—sorry! I’ll message you tomorrow. 

—P.P.

You frown at it. A family emergency? At 3am? One he couldn’t wake you for; that involved him slipping silently out of his own place, leaving you asleep?

“You’re probably safer staying where you are,” Bear says. “Unless you want an excuse to get away from Parker. Wait, am I on speaker? He can’t hear me, can he?”

You snatch up the key, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you head for the door. “I’ll tell you when I see you. I’m heading home now.” You end the call before she can ask anything else.

Downstairs, the wet pavement shines dully in the reflected lights from the street. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and the air feels damp and close. The middle-aged bodega attendant is standing in the doorway and peering out into the night, looking warily up at the sky. He frowns at you, and you duck your chin into the neck of your shirt as you hurry past. 

Your place is about thirty minutes from here by foot…or half that, you consider, if you take a few back-alley shortcuts. You walk quickly, turning down one lane, then another. You can hear sirens in the distance and the chop of a police helicopter overhead; whatever’s happening, it sounds major. 

And yet all you can think about is the fact that you just woke up in Peter’s apartment…without Peter. You cross the street, glancing behind you as you step off the curb. A group of teenagers stand clustered at the corner, smelling of blackberry vapour, arguing among themselves. A man wheels a bicycle past you, half-jogging. There’s a nervous, frenetic energy despite the late hour; as though the air is charging itself in preparation for all hell to break loose.

Why the hell wouldn’t he wake you? Why not just lean over and nudge you, to tell you what’s happening and explain why he was leaving before he left? Why would he sneak out in the dark? Who was he going to see? You can think of a few different scenarios, and all of them make your stomach turn over unpleasantly.

The end of the next street is blocked with police cars, blue and red lights flickering up into the window fronts of neighbouring buildings, and you take a turn instead, ducking into an alleyway. You grind your teeth, shoving your hands into your pockets as you walk. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does. Maybe he did have a family emergency. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’s in someone else’s bed right now. Maybe he just didn’t want to be around you. Maybe he’s dealing drugs. You decide to take this out tomorrow, when you can unpack it properly. For now, you’re just too tired, and too confused, and your feet are too damp to afford it any more reasonable thoughts beyond the spiralling variety. 

“Hey girl! You lost?” 

You’ve lived in the city for years. You’ve walked home after dark plenty of times, often alone, after finishing work. You know all the rules: to clutch your keys spiked between your fingers, to pretend to be speaking to someone on the phone, to never pause or show any recognition if someone addresses you, to always keep to well-lit streets. 

It might be because you’re so thoroughly, worryingly deep in thoughts of Peter, Peter, Peter, that it takes your thoughts a second to catch up with the rest of your body. You’re alone, in a dark alley. Your phone and keys are in your bag. Someone has called out to you. And automatically, unthinkingly, you’ve stopped and turned in their direction. 

A dark shape peels out from the dim outline of a doorway. You can hear muffled music from inside, and you realise there are more figures leaning and crouching on the stoop; the dull red bulbs of cigarette ends visible. 

Embarrassed, you jerk your head around and keep walking, faster now. There are several quiet, deep chuckles from the direction of the steps, and there’s the sound of quick footsteps following you. “Hey, hey. Baby. What’s the hurry?” 

You wrap your arms around your middle, keeping your face forward. “I’m meeting my boyfriend,” you say, shortly. A hand lands on your shoulder, and you bristle, turning despite yourself.

“Oh yeah? This time of night? I know what you’re meeting for.” Jeers from the doorway, and heat creeps up your neck. You take a step backward.

“Fuck off, asshole.” Your lip curls, and you spread your palms out as though to push him away. You can’t make out the man’s face in the dark, but he takes another step toward you—slowly, intentionally. Which is when something glints in his hand.

You can still hear the sound of sirens echoing from outside the alley. And yet, you’re completely invisible in the dark, narrow strip between two buildings. The thrum of helicopters overhead is loud enough that you don’t know whether screaming for help will bring anyone to your aid. The realisation is like a slap of ice water. 

You want to walk away. Quickly. Break into a run, even. He won’t expect it. But another, panic-confused part of your brain tells you no, that’s an overreaction; instinctive and lifelong-deep social self-preservation kicking in, even now, telling you to act normal, don’t be crazy. The conflicting urges result in you remaining absolutely frozen, your throat tightly silent as the man takes another step toward you. 

“The lady asked you very nicely to fuck off, asshole.” The voice rings loud from overhead.

Something large and shadowy drops silently into a bent-legged crouch behind the man. You unfreeze, stumbling shakily sideways until you hit the wall of the alley. The man in front of you turns, swinging his arm out. “Mind your own business, freak.” 

The cluster of darkness gathered at the doorway breaks apart into several distinct figures, coming forward. The crouching shape stands, now surrounded. “S’funny pal, I could say the same to you. Doesn’t look like you’re getting her message though.”

The voice is bold and clear; sarcastic under a crystal-sharp edge. But you can barely hear it over the roar of white noise inside your head. 

Two of the men from the doorway lunge for the newcomer, and you catch a flash of bright red as he throws himself over them in a dive, impossibly smoothly, seizing both underneath an arm, lifting their bodies easily and dropping them onto their heads with a sickening crack. 

The man closest to you punches his arm toward the now-bent figure’s back, and you hear yourself scream, a short, hoarse sound; terrified that you’re about to see the blade in his hand ripping through skin. 

But the newcomer feints forward. The sudden change of direction throws the striking man off-balance, and the newcomer kicks a foot upward hard enough to snap the attacking man’s wrist backward. It flops uselessly, cleanly broken, and the man falls to his knees, shrieking.

The silver object flies wide and clatters onto the ground in front of you. You stare down at it. It isn’t a knife at all. It’s a multi-tool. The kind with a bottle opener and a corkscrew. He was going to attack you with a corkscrew. You kick it away from yourself, equal parts bewildered and disgusted.

Two would-be attackers remain. One lowers his head and charges at the newcomer’s midsection, clearly throwing his entire weight into the tackle—but the newcomer barely staggers against the blow, despite the fact that his silhouette only looks half as broad as that of the man running at him. He lifts the man’s bulk one-handed, heaving him forward into the remaining figure, sending them both crashing painfully into a heap. 

The man cradling his broken wrist—the only one still conscious—staggers awkwardly to his feet and runs out of the alley, disappearing out of sight.The music from inside has stopped, and there’s the sound of whispering before the door slams shut. 

You exhale shakily, your knees giving way as you slide onto your ass on the damp, filthy ground. The shadowy figure darts forward and crouches in front of you, and you get your first proper look at him.

You have the strange urge to laugh at the sheer incomprehensibility of the situation. His full-body suit makes him look like a speed-cyclist, albeit far more heavily stylised than any you’ve seen, his face covered with the mask. The mask. You recognise the mask. Of course you do; you see it nearly every day; on tourist stall t-shirts and I-Heart-Spidey tote bags and the news and on bumper stickers and on the front pages of the newspapers customers leave folded in the cafe. 

But seeing it up close and in person, it’s alien; terrifying. You’re brutally aware that he just beat the living shit out of six men without so much as taking a hit himself. And now you’re alone with him. 

He cups your cheeks between two gloved hands, turning your face up to the light, the fingertips feeling oddly tactile and prickly against your skin. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, look at me. You’re okay. You’re okay, alright?” 

You nod frantically, gasping high-pitched, unable to catch your breath. There are tears in the corners of your eyes, and you can’t seem to put your hands down, holding them out in front of you. 

“Stop—stop touching me,” you say, your voice shrill. He drops his hands instantly, holding his palms up in a clear gesture of harmlessness, rocking back on his heels. You’re shaking so hard you can hear your teeth rattling inside your skull.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he demands. His voice is a little too loud, even muffled through his mask, and hoarsely deep, as though he’s forcing himself to use an unnatural pitch. You blink at him, your brows drawing together. Irritation at his presumptuous tone overrides your panic, and you snap at him through your tight-feeling teeth.

“Walking—walking home. I was walking home. People are allowed to walk home. You think you can tell everyone what they can and can’t do just because you’re out here…doing…whatever you’re doing? Spider-Man?” You don’t entirely mean for your last word to come out sounding as mocking as it does, but you find you don’t care.

He is absolutely silent for several long seconds, crouched in front of you, balanced on the balls of his feet. Then he huffs a short laugh, running his hands over his masked head, pressing his palms briefly to the unsettlingly-large eye-shaped windows. “Okay. Cool. I think you’re okay.”

You have the sense to be embarrassed. This guy is a celebrity; a national icon, a hero. And he’s just saved you, and you’re being an ungrateful asshole; snapping at him, making fun of him. You shake your head, several times. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be…I just mean. Thank you. I just want to go home. Thank you for helping me. I think I’m freaking out a little bit. Um. I don’t think I can stand up.”

He nods. “I’m gonna give you my hands. Alright? Is it okay if I help you up?”

You nod, reaching for his outstretched palms, letting him pull you to your feet. You’re suddenly freezing. “I don’t know…which way I should go. I need to get to East 139th. Something’s happening. The cops closed the streets.”

He sounds wryly exasperated. “Yeah, I know. I only just got done with it. It’s sheer luck I was on my way home when I swung over and saw this fucking scumbag closing on you.”

“Oh,” you say, stupidly. Of course he was involved. It’s his job. At least, you assume it is. You wonder wildly whether he’s on the city’s payroll; and how much he gets paid to do all of this. A lot, probably. Your dry-wrung brain produces a comically overcoloured mental image of him lounging in a spider-themed penthouse, surrounded by spider-themed models, when he interrupts you. 

“I’m gonna get you home. That means I’m gonna pick you up. So I’ll need my hands back. Is that okay?” He’s speaking loudly, like he’s worried you can’t hear him. And it works; cutting through the confusing haze of your shaking, rattling system.

You look down and realise you’re still clutching at his fingers, probably hard enough to hurt him. You force yourself to let go. “Are those…are those guys dead?”

He glances back down. “Nah. I don’t think so.” He slides an arm around your waist, dragging your body close to his. “Hold onto me,” he murmurs, and for a second his voice is higher, less gruff. It sounds, for the first time, as though it’s his real, natural voice. It sounds young. Your head jerks up sharply to look at his masked face, but then he’s in the air, and you’re flying, and there’s nothing left in your lungs. 

The wind whips through your hair; the light rain sharp as sand against your face. You make the awful mistake of looking down to see the street blurring past, tens of metres below. You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, clutching desperately at his narrow, firm waist; your legs wrapping around one of his thighs. You feel like an animal clinging to a tree in the midst of a storm, your stomach lurching with every swinging freefall and subsequent jerk as he pulls himself forward. 

Your face is pressed to his chest against the wind, and you note distantly that he feels warm. He smells like metal and smoke and blood—and underneath it all, regular old laundry powder. It’s this, and the fact that his hand is cupping the back of your head, gently, as though to support your neck, that you try to focus on. Both such wildly strange things to notice; the concerted effort to cradle your head when you’re being flung perilously through the air, and the fact that he must take this thing off sometimes and wash it, that bring you back to reality. 

This is just a person. A real, human person. It’s an absolutely surreal thing to think about. You crack one eye open to watch as he extends his free arm to launch into a renewed swing. 

There’s something carelessly graceful; almost effeminate about the way he bends his wrists as he flicks cables out with quiet snicking sounds; his two middle fingers pressing into his palm. You’re fixated on it: the shape of his forearm under the suit, the flex of muscle as he grasps the webbing and allows the weight of your combined bodies to carry your momentum forward. 

Shock and tiredness and terror blur the entire journey home. He says something to you, and you respond, and it isn’t until he’s touching down outside your building that you realise you’ve told him your address. You dig your keys out of your bag on autopilot, your hands numb, almost forgetting he’s there. Then you remember, and you glance back to see him crouching on top of a streetlight, waiting to see you inside. 

You don’t remember placing your feet onto the carpet in the lobby, but you must, because the next thing you know, you’re unlocking your door, walking past the messy pile of Bear’s shoes, letting yourself into your bedroom. 

You crawl, fully clothed, underneath the covers, forcing your eyes shut. You can’t seem to get warm. And despite your tiredness, your thoughts loop and loop endlessly around the events of the night.

In the way that all brains respond to terrifying, incomprehensible events, yours supplants gaps in your memory with new, vividly real-feeling suggestions. There’d been something about his voice; barely perceptible: a faint lisp, maybe, or something else. You’re pretty sure you remember saying something about the cops. Had he responded? Was he a cop? You can’t remember. Were there six men, or ten? Had someone tried to pull your bag off your shoulder?

The more you think about it, the less distinct your memory becomes. Replaying it over and over, somewhere between sleep and waking, the narrative changes slightly with every recollection. The end result is something completely new. By the time you wake up from a fitful sleep, you’re convinced he’d had a thick accent of some kind; maybe South African, and that he’d told you he worked as a firefighter, and that he’d thrown one of the men into a dumpster during the fight. 

You’ve packaged it so neatly for yourself, you realise your stomach no longer feels quite so raw and shaky. And by the time you’re stepping out of the shower, you’re wondering whether Peter has returned to his apartment yet and found you missing. As you pour yourself a glass of water at the kitchen counter, you wonder what his reaction had been. And as you scroll through a feed of pictures from last night’s party, a message comes through, like you’d summoned it just by thinking of him. 

What’s your address?

Bear throws herself onto the bench as you’re still typing your response, burying her face in her arms and moaning. “I didn’t get home until dawn. Dawn. And then I still had to do all my skincare before I could go to sleep. I am fucked. When is this city going to stop producing giant monster-people?”

You’re staring down at your phone, waiting for his reply. “Mmm. Yeah.”

“What happened with you last night?”

You glance up at her, feeling caught. “What do you mean?”

She lifts her head just enough to rest her chin on her arms, giving you a flat look. “Since when have you been fucking Peter Parker? You guys are fucking, right?”

You scrunch your nose, your lips twisting into an embarrassed smile. “It’s just like a casual thing. We’re friends.”

She nods, still looking unconvinced. “He’s cute, I guess. Nice ass. But isn’t he kind of…weird?”

You consider this. You’d certainly thought so. He’s sweet, in an almost embarrassingly-earnest kind of way. He doesn’t couch the gentle, deep way he looks at you. If you’re being honest, it’s slightly worrying how much even the memory of it affects you now; turning over inside your chest. And yet despite this you can’t shake the feeling he’s not always saying precisely what he means with you. Not so much dishonesty as it is prevarication: a sense of strategic omission.

“I’m not sure,” you finally say. “I get the feeling he’s fucking around with other people but he doesn’t want to tell me.”

Bear presses the knuckle of her index finger into her eye, as though trying to dislodge an errant eyelash. “Would you care if he was? You said it was casual.” 

“No,” you say, too quickly. “I don’t care.”

She narrows her eyes mistrustfully. Blessedly, before she can say anything, there’s a knock at the door. She slips off the stool, padding across the hall and peering through the spy hole. “Oh, my God,” she snickers. “You’re kidding.” She swings the door open before you have a chance to ask what she’s talking about, and there he is.

He looks like shit. His hair sticks up wild as always, and he hasn’t shaved. A dark, blue-black smudge is beginning to develop under one of his eyes; as though he’s been punched hard in the face.

You take a step forward as he offers Bear an awkwardly-exaggerated nod. “Um, hi. I’m Peter.”

She looks pointedly from his black eye down to his shitty, dirt-scuffed sneakers. “Berenice.”

“Peter?” After him ditching you last night, you’d been prepared to be annoyed with him. But now that he’s in front of you, you can only stare. Why? you want to ask him. What have you been doing to yourself, to keep getting hurt like this?

He ducks his head as he passes Bear, making a beeline straight for you. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?”

You blink up at him. “Me? What about you? What the fuck happened to you, Peter? You disappear while I’m asleep then you show up looking like you’ve been run over by a forklift?”

He frowns, leaning back slightly. “I had to go see my aunt. She lives alone. And she gets scared sometimes, at night. She heard a noise outside and wanted me to come check it out.”

You snap your mouth shut. It doesn’t feel like an outright lie. But he says it just a little too evenly. “I’ve got your key,” you say, gesturing. “It’s in my room.”

He seems to understand the hint, turning, pointing. “This one?”

“Yeah.” You follow him in, pulling the door closed and catching a glimpse of Bear’s bemused expression. 

Peter stands in the middle of your room, his posture hunched, looking around. Clothes are strewn across the floor, and there are several empty bottles of water on top of the pile of books on your nightstand. You reach for your bag, tossed carelessly beside the door to your closet. “Here,” you say, extracting his key and holding it out to him.

He sticks it in his pocket without looking at it, taking a step closer to you. “Are you…definitely okay?”

You pick distractedly at the skin beside your thumbnail. You must be showing signs of tension clear enough for him to notice that something’s up. You hadn’t even considered that he’d pick up on it. It’s uncomfortable.

You’re trying to think of a way to tell him about what had happened after you’d left his place last night, but every version you can imagine sounds overblown and implausible. How are you supposed to tell him that you were so busy thinking about him you barely noticed you were in trouble until it was too late, and, insanely, the guy painted on the side of every bus in the city had to come flying out of nowhere to rescue you? You don’t want to sound crazy. And it doesn’t even feel real. So you brush it off. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I was…confused. When you weren’t there.”

He tilts his head to the side. His soft brown eyes are wide, fixed to yours. “I just. I thought. I guess I thought you’d be—”

“Be what, Peter?”

He shakes his head, still not breaking his focus on your face. He’s so close now you can count his eyelashes, his typically-quiet voice now down to a whisper. “Nothing. I dunno. Doesn’t matter.”

You exhale, sinking down onto the edge of your unmade bed. You want to demand honesty from him, but you don’t even know what that means. What if you don’t like the answer? 

You swallow, measuring your next words carefully, though each one feels like you’re driving a shard of glass deeper into your own chest. “I don’t want you to think…I wouldn’t be cool with you seeing someone else. We both agreed this was just supposed to be clean and easy. And if you feel like you need to lie to me, or sneak around…then this is just gonna get real messy, real fast.”

He crouches in front of you. His expression is pained, eyebrows together. He blinks several times, looking from your hands to your face, his soft lips parted like there’s something stuck just on the back of his tongue, something he can’t dislodge, no matter how hard he wants to. 

It’s difficult to watch, so you reach out your hand, pressing your palm to his narrow, scratchy jawline. He leans into your hand, his eyes silently searching. “You don’t need to say anything,” you tell him. After the events of last night, and now this morning, your head hurts just as badly as your heart. 

You decide you’re sick of talking. So you lean forward, your nose brushing his, until your lips are barely touching.

He lifts his chin to meet you, both of his hands coming up to push your hair from your neck, and you sigh into his mouth. 

You’ve each begun to learn, by now, how the other works. You don’t try to coax his lips apart; instead you wait for him to take your lower lip between both of his own, pressing his teeth gently into the give of your skin, his tongue tracing the edge of yours. His hands coast down your neck, until they rest at the base of your throat, where you know he’ll be able to feel your heart thrumming.

He’s not close enough for your liking, so you spread your knees, leaning back to draw him forward.

He braces himself up onto his arms to follow you; his hands depressing the mattress with his weight on either side of your thighs, and you lean back further, half-reclined on your hands.

“Touch me,” you urge, and he pauses, leaning back.

“You sure? You feel good?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” you huff back, impatient. You don’t want to think about the jeers from the alley last night, or the clap of the man’s hand on your arm. And you aren’t thinking about it, you realise, as he slides his hands up under the hem of your dress, finding the edge of your underwear and gathering the fabric easily down off your legs. 

He gently pushes your knees apart, running his palms up the insides of your thighs and baring you to the room. As his fingertips spread the lips of your cunt, you drop onto the flat of your back, letting your eyes roll closed. 

The feeling of the pads of his fingers circling against your clit bursts stars behind your eyes, and you stretch your arms out over your head. You can feel your chest rising and falling, tightness winding into the pit of your stomach, when he pauses, and you lift yourself up onto your elbows to look down at him. 

He’s biting his lip, his attention fixed between your legs, and you groan quietly as he sinks his middle and ring fingers inside you, his palm facing upward. He curls both fingers, right against the place just inside your opening that makes your muscles contract. 

It’s the same movement as last night, and, just as it did last night, you feel it dropping you out into a freefall as heat floods the lower half of your body. 

But unlike last night, you watch the way his wrist flexes, the tendons standing out in his forearm from the gesture. The sense of falling turns into a sense of swooping instead. This looks natural for him; the pressure concentrated in those two middle fingers, curled back toward his palm. It conjures another image, and without meaning to, you imagine the sweat breaking out on your skin is rain-mist instead. 

You throw your head back, sinking your teeth into your own hand to bite back your cry. When you come, you’re flying high above the city streets all over again. 

He drops onto the bed beside you to wait as you catch your breath. His thumb is smoothing small circles into your skin when you roll your head to the side and trace your fingers around the purpled edge of his orbital bone. “What happened here?”

“Headbutted the showerhead,” he says, smoothly. “Had water in my eyes and couldn’t see where I was standing.” 

He has no reason to lie to you about this, you tell yourself, as you roll your underwear back on. Not now. And yet it’s with a sense of distinct unease that you stand, straightening your dress, smoothing your hair.

When you walk him out, Bear is sitting on the sofa, her legs curled under her body, eyes fixed to the book in her hands. Peter half-heartedly mutters a farewell as he slips past. Waiting in the entry, he nods down at his feet, one hand in his hair, crooked smile in place. “So. Um. Bye.”

“Bye,” you say, your arms hanging dead by your sides.

Almost like an afterthought, he leans down and buries his face in the top of your head, scrunching his fingers into your hair as he kisses you. It only lasts a moment, just long enough for fresh warmth to creep up your neck, before he’s turning and walking out into the hall.

You shut the door, and press your back to it. “Don’t start.”

Bear turns over a page without looking up. “I didn’t say a word.”

You don’t answer her, dropping your face into your hands.

[lloydskywalkers]

let me just start out by saying i love ever single one of your stories!!! i’m pretty new to the show and your works just add so much more feeling to everything and it’s sooo good!!! i don’t know if you ever do requests or not, so don’t bother with this if you’re busy!! but if you ever get a chance could you write smthg abt Jay and Kai? their friendship is so underrated but so good and i live for the moments in the show when Kai’s big brother instinct(tm) kicks in for him as well as Nya and Lloyd

aH thank you so much!! i’m so glad to hear that :D and this isn’t...exactly what you asked for, but Kai and Jay have this fun of dynamic that reminds me a lot of me and my brother, and i’ve been tossing around little bits of interaction between them for a while now, so i tried to make something coherent out of those :’D

Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at the whole compartmentalizing thing, for the most part. Mainly because he actually knows what it means, and it is not, for instance, locking your team up in a literal compartment while rushing off to fight the other compartment that is your resurrected homicidal father into submission.

“That was one time,” Lloyd will grumble, as if he’s only almost-died once. And then Jay will flinch, because that’s where his compartments come into play.

(Nadakhan gets one, Unagami gets another, the whole fun-times adoption reveal another, and everything else can get stuffed into the metaphorical attic since they won’t pay rent.)

Unfortunately, the attic is where the bad stuff lives.

Metaphorically.

If Jay had a nickel for every time he almost lost all of his friends, he’d have two nickels, plus another nickel for Cole falling into the fog, and another for Lloyd getting crushed by a roof, and another for Zane blowing up, and another for Nya in that awful dress with paling skin as her breathing stutters and the light in her eyes draining and —

And Jay is way, way too familiar with how it looks when his family dies, and all the nickels in the world won’t help that.

So while Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at compartmentalizing, he also thinks he’s got a valid excuse for the way he reacts when Lloyd goes down in the fight that afternoon. Sure, some vague part of his mind remembers that they’ve got a plan they’re running, and Lloyd should easily be able to handle a tiny little stumble — but Jay’s mind is stuck in glaring oranges and health bars, the unsteady gasping noise Lloyd had made before he went down, dissolving into digitized cubes just like everyone else, and Jay—

Jay can’t handle that, compartments or not, so he clears the space between them in a heartbeat just in time to take the bullet that comes hurtling Lloyd’s way.

It’d probably be a very noble and touching scene, if one) Jay didn’t make a hideous squeaking noise when it hit because bullets hurt, and two) the bullet would have missed Lloyd by a good two feet anyways.

Ah well, he thinks, as everything devolves into panicked yelling. It’s the thought that counts.

Except thoughts do not count when Kai is involved, apparently. Or any of the rest of the team, for that matter.

“What is wrong with you?” Kai hisses right in his face, eyes wild and sparking. “I was covering Lloyd, what were you doing?”

“Filling in for you, obviously,” Jay retorts. He has an excellent followup to that, real snappy and all, except that’s the moment Kai’s hand clamps down on the bullet wound in his arm to stop the bleeding, and Jay ends up stifling a shriek instead.

Great, he thinks, fighting back stinging tears of pain as he tries not to take Kai’s apparent wrath too personally. At least Cole looks worried, along the the rest of the team, who are dutifully concerned for his wellbeing like proper teammates should be.

“He’s going to need the hospital,” Zane informs them, his voice a lot steadier and calmer than his words make Jay feel. Zane’s eyebrows furrow as he studies his arm. “Stitches, probably.”

Jay swallows, trying not to curse. There’s a sharp scream as Nya finishes taking out another attacker just beyond them, and Jay figures that’s good enough.

“Okay,” Lloyd says, squeezing Jay’s wrist briefly. Either in comfort about the stitches or thanks for trying to cover him, Jay’s not sure. It’s a nice gesture, nonetheless. “Kai, Cole, can you get him there while we finish up? Sooner the better.”

Cole gives a sharp nod, and offers to take Jay from where Kai’s got him in a death grip. Kai shakes his head, and Jay’s stomach sinks. Sure enough, as soon as they’re clear of the scene, Kai starts going off.

“What did you mean, ‘filling in for me’,” he grinds through his teeth, clearly not about to let this go.

Jay bristles in response at his tone. “I meant,” he bites out, through a hot flare of pain in his arm. Kai’s always merciless with the bandages, even when he’s not in a mood. “That you weren’t there. So I covered.”

He should leave it at that, but Jay’s in a foul enough mood to finish with a condescending, “You’re welcome.”

Kai’s expression grows thunderous. “You didn’t need to. I was right there, you shouldn’t have — you weren’t needed, you should’ve held back.”

Jay feels his chest go tight. His head is clouding with anger, and the pain in his arm isn’t helping, but — ‘you weren’t needed’? Kai really didn’t skimp on the jerk juice this morning, did he.

“Oh, like you could’ve done so much better,” Jay glares. “Lloyd would’ve been toast by the time you got to him.”

“I could’ve made it!”

“Yeah right—”

“I would have, and I wouldn’t have gotten hit!” Kai snarls back. Something in Jay snaps. Or maybe it’s just the steadily increasing blood loss, but of all the nerve—

“Well you didn’t, ‘cause you weren’t there!” he snaps back. “You were too slow, which is real funny since your brain is too!”

It’s not his best comeback, he’ll admit, but Kai looks as if he’s about to light him on fire, if he weren’t stuck carrying Jay like the cover of some awful romance novel, blood getting all over his uniform as they both scream at each other. Maybe Jay will get lucky, and Kai will combust, and they’ll both go up in flames before they can remember that Cole is right there watching them.

“Cut it out, now!”

Oops, too late. For all the incensed authority in Cole’s voice, there’s still a traitorous falter that lets them both know they’ve screwed up. They fall silent, the atmosphere heavy with the lingering tension and new sense of guilt.

And the disgusting sound of Jay’s blood leaking through the makeshift bandage and hitting the ground, truly revolting, he hates blood.

“Just…no more. Please, shut up until we’re at the hospital.” Cole marches forward, snatches Jay from Kai’s arms, and proceeds to beat the fastest route to the hospital at a militant pace.

Jay still looks like some helpless romance cover heroine, dangling from Cole’s arms like he is. It occurs to him that he doesn’t even need to be carried — it’s his arm that’s hurt, he can still walk—

But any protests die rapidly at the look on Cole’s face. And at least this way, Jay thinks sullenly, he can fixedly ignore Kai.

Then again, Kai’s got a killer glare, and Jay’s always been garbage at ignoring people when his feelings are hurt.

* * * * * * * *

Despite the fuss everyone makes, Jay’s arm really isn’t that bad. They hook him up with some pretty sweet meds so he remembers zero of the actual arm-fixing, and he wakes up just in time to complain about being held in the hospital for ‘observation’ or whatever.

“It’s to make sure there’s no infection, or that you don’t rip your stitches out,” Nya tells him pointedly. Jay cringes under the look she gives him at that last part. Geez. You get kicked in the stitches one time after sneaking out early and suddenly no one’s got any faith in you. Typical.

“Why couldn’t we have just gone to medbay,” Jay grumbles. “Pixal gives way better stitches than this, anyways.”

“Gun wounds get hospitals,” Nya reminds him. “And it’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on Pix when we can avoid it.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Nya glares at him. “It most certainly was that bad.”

“Oh, so when you get your arm crushed by a car, it’s fine,” Jay glares back. “But when I get a tiny little bullet nick, it’s that bad.”

Nya rolls her eyes, ignoring him. “Just think of it this way,” she says. “Now you have a little more time before Lloyd starts weeping apologies all over you.”

“Aw, no,” Jay groans, leaning back in the hospital bed. “Tell me he’s not blaming himself, Nya.”

“I think we had a promise about not lying to each other, or something,” Nya says, sympathetically. She winces. “Pretty sure he made the connection, too.”

Jay frowns. “What connection?”

Nya shifts, her eyes darting from side to side. “The, uh, the whole…Prime Empire, thing.”

Jay stares at her for a beat, trying to reconcile his blatant shock with the roiling nausea at the mention in his stomach. Nya looking at him all kind and sympathetically isn’t helping, either, because she might have made it down to the final two, but she was never all alone, and the reminder that she’d have been fine if Jay hadn’t gotten her killed twice is—

Bad. Real bad, not good, zero out of ten stars. Maybe he can take a bullet for Nya, next, and that’ll — that’ll help things, maybe. Equivalent exchange? Restitution? Some kind of fancy word that means Jay swears he’s gonna make it up.

In the meantime, he smothers the rising sickness in his throat and sinks lower into the bed, sulking. “It’s too easy to recognize trauma in this team.”

“I hear you,” Nya sighs, wearily. She nudges his shoulder, rising from her seat near the bed. “Speaking of. Someone’s got something they want to say to you.”

It takes Jay a second, but his eyes widen as Nya heads for the door. “Wait, wait wait wait, don’t you dare—”

“Love you,” Nya says cheekily, before taking her merry leave of the room. There’s a brief scuffle from outside, and the sound of Kai yelping, before Nya shoves him through the door, slamming it shut behind him with a damning click.

For a second, Jay’s tempted to hit the ‘call nurse’ button as hard as he can, in some desperate attempt to escape. Then he gets a good look at Kai, who’s turned a pale, queasy color that frankly looks awful on him, which is saying a lot ‘cause there isn’t much that doesn’t look good on Kai, but the expression he has on now—

Aw, man, now Jay’s feeling guilty and it isn’t even his fault. Stupid moral conscience center, he curses himself.

“So, uh…” he begins, because far be it from him to let this kind of awkward silence stretch on any longer. “Nice, ah, weather we’re having?”

Kai doesn’t respond, staring fixedly at the floor, and Jay sizes up the ‘call nurse’ button again. Just for the both of their sakes, of course.

But then Kai takes a deep breath, blows it out, and rocks back on his heels, fiddling with his hands. “I, um. I’m sorry.”

Jay’s jaw drops open. Which is probably an overdramatic move, all things considered, but unless he’s suddenly lost the ability to understand words, Kai just apologized to him.

Kai apologized. To him.

It’s not that Kai apologizing is some great big deal — Kai might have his pride, but he’s also an intuitive and good-hearted person who knows when he’s messed up. But to him?

Jay knows how he and Kai work. Kai knows how he and Jay work, and he’s breaking the rules. Because Kai and Jay don’t apologize to each other. Unless it’s some awkward expression of sympathy, they’ve never needed to. They fight dirty, aim for each other’s kneecaps, swear eternal vengeance and hatred at each other before storming off, then an hour later Jay’s bounding into Kai’s room to show him dumb meme videos and neither of them even remember what they were fighting about.

Acknowledging said fight with something as gushy as apologizing is not only useless since they both forget what they’re apologizing for anyways, but also useless because it’ll take too much time, and counterproductive on top, because it’ll most likely end in another fight about who apologized better. So for Kai to walk in and say sorry—

“Oh no, who did you kill?” Jay says, paling.

Kai spears him with a look, but it’s so pathetically watered-down and miserable that Jay forgets to glare back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jay mutters. “I just—”

“No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Kai interrupts. He hesitates, then sighs. “But that’s fair. I — I was unfair. To you, back there. Like, really unfair, in a bad way, ‘cause you were shot and I know you meant well, but you—”

Kai gestures wildly with his hands, his stream of words cutting off. Jay is left to stare open-mouthed at him again. Babbling like this is Jay’s thing. Kai is breaking all the rules today, huh.

“I just…” Kai trails off, ducking his head. “I don’t like watching you guys get hurt. I don’t — I don’t like watching you get hurt. And I get scared, but it comes out angry, and then I make a mess of things so I’m — sorry. Really sorry, for biting your head off.”

He exhales, a little shaky, fingers balled up in tight fists as his head hangs low, refusing to meet Jay’s eyes. Something softens in Jay’s chest, like gooey melting butter or something else equally pathetic. But it’s rare that Kai vocalizes this stuff, despite the fact that Jay knows he cares, and it’s nice to hear it, so he figures he’s entitled to all the butter he wants.

Jay’s own gaze falters, and the something starts to twist. He bites his lip, tugging half-heartedly at the bandages around his arm.

“Well,” he pauses, thinking of the way his brain had shifted to autopilot when he’d watched Lloyd falter, the razor-sharp shard of terror that always splinters through him when any of their teammates come too close to the awful images of death left in his head. He swallows. “I guess I don’t really have any room to talk,” he murmurs. “Be pretty dumb if I blamed you for that.”

He’s preparing to sink back into his own well of self-pity and loathing, resigned to spending the next few hours until they check him out of the hospital replaying bad memories in his head, when Kai’s next to him all of the sudden, shoving him over on the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, what’s the big idea—”

“Move, c’mon. You don’t need that much room, you’re a stick,” Kai grumbles, before grinning brightly in success as Jay makes him space. The contrast in expression is enough to startle Jay into silence, and Kai takes advantage. “I know that look. But you already got shot, so you gotta cheer up now.”

“So you’re forcing me into cheerfulness by stealing my hospital bed,” Jay scowls, but the sting is lost in the sudden surge of affection as Kai elbows his way on the bed with him, a steady warmth by his side.

“I’m gifting you my presence, you should be celebrating,” Kai huffs, as he pulls his phone out. “Now stop looking so sad and watch this video I got of a bunch’a geese chasing Zane at the park the other day.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Jay says, but he’s already snickering as he leans his head against Kai’s shoulder to get a better look.

He’s forgotten to tell Kai he forgives him, but like most things between them — Jay doesn’t really need to say it out loud.

[procrastinatorimagines]

Okay Part 4

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Halstead!Reader x Casey (eventually)

Warning/s: talk of death, arson, burns

Word Count: 1,722

Summary:  After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007​ // @louiselikeswriting

Jay was waiting for you as you and Casey pulled up outside of the hospital, heart pounding in your chest as you rushed out of the car towards him, mind racing. You weren’t at all surprised that Will had called him as well; someone was deliberately targeting this family. 

“Where are they?” You asked as you reached him, all three of you heading into Med together as Jay explained the situation. He looked tired, and frustrated, and you knew your brother well enough to know that he was angry with himself for not being able to do more in the beginning to help this case.

“Lily’s upstairs, she’s burned pretty bad on her arm but other than that, Will says that she’s going to be okay, they have her upstairs for observation, she took in smoke,” he explained and you swallowed hard, that little girl had just lost her mother and had barely made it out of her second fire in a week, she was anything but okay.

“What about the friend?” Matt asked, the look on Jay’s face being enough of an answer. 

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “She didn’t make it, lost her soon after Will called you,” he told you, watching the look of horror you shared with Matt as you all got into the elevator. 

“Do we have, anything?” You gestured in the air with your arms, voice shaking with the same frustration you’d seen in your brother only moments before. As much as it horrified you, you knew that this wasn’t over. The mother hadn’t been home when the first fire was set, and Lily had been put somewhere she couldn’t escape, and now this fire... Someone was trying to kill this child, burn her alive. Who would do such a thing?

“The friend gave us something in the ambo, a black dodge charger drove the block a couple of times throughout the day, only stopped once just before the fire started,” Jay informed you. 

“License plate?” Matt asked, but you knew that it would be too good to be true before Jay even answered.

“Not yet, but we’re canvasing and checking cameras around the area,” he tried his best to sound optimistic, but you could tell it was waring thin.

Your blood was boiling as you got to the PICU, your hands in fists as Jay flagged down Will and Nat. Boden was there too, you realised, talking in hushed tones with Goodwin off to one side.

Matt and Boden shared an acknowledging nod before squeezing your shoulder, offering you a reassuring smile before heading off to talk to the chief. You headed straight for your brothers and Nat, trying your best to take some calming breaths. Getting worked up wouldn’t help Lily.

“Glad you made it,” Will said, following your eyes to where they landed on Lily in a room off to the left. 

“Where else would I be?” Lily was lying in the hospital bed, left arm bandaged up and the right maintaining a death grip on the stuffed bear you’d first found her with. Her hair had been burned too, currently in choppy and mismatched lengths, and with her white hospital gown she looked like a ghost.

Your heart was breaking as you watched her, only half listening to Will and Nat discuss her condition and situation. DCFS had been called obviously, but she hadn’t spoken to anyone and she wasn’t in a state to be discharged yet, not that they knew who to discharge her too at the moment. If she really was the target - who would she be safe with?

The conversation going on around you was probably one you should have been listening to intently, but you zoned out more and more as you watched Lily, barely blinking as she stared a head of her, softly crying to herself. She looked in shock, unsurprisingly. 

You still hadn’t gotten over the trauma of your first brush with death, the suffocating heat and blind panic woke you up in the middle of the night, panting and sweating, so tangled in your own sheets that it felt like you were tied up again. But you were a grown woman, and Lily was a 7 year old girl who, on top of now surviving two fires, had just lost her mom. 

Before you realised it, you’d gravitated away from the conversation towards the door to Lily’s room. The others didn’t stop you, no one else had had any luck getting her to talk but you thought that you might, remembering the way she’d clung to you during the first fire. 

She looked up when you knocked, looking even smaller than you remembered, and although she didn’t say you could enter, she didn’t tell you to leave either, so you slowly made your way inside, offering her a small smile and sympathetic eyes.  

“Hey Lily,” you greeted her, talking and moving slowly so as not to scare her, “do you mind if I sit?” You gestured to the end of the bed and although she still didn’t say anything, her eyes continued to follow you and she curled her legs under herself to give you more room. Sitting, you watched her carefully, her frightened movements, hollow and distant eyes, shallow breathing... 

You wanted to pull her into a hug, wrap her in your arms and keep her safe from the world. She didn’t deserve this, and whoever had done this wasn’t going to get away with it, you’d make sure.

“Do you remember me Lily? I’m Y/N.” You tried, her chin tilting a little in a slight nod. 

“Found me...” she managed to mumble, her voice tiny and hoarse. It was the first time you’d really heard her speak, her bottom lip trembling as she did.

You saw the door open out the corner of your eye and Matt slid in, smiling softly as he took a seat next to you on the bed. Lily didn’t object, she actually looked a little less afraid, definitely recognising the both of you.

“Hey Lily,” Matt said, “how are you feeling?” He was good with kids, you’d seen it in the few calls you’d been on involving children so far, and Lily seemed to visibly relax in his presence. 

“My arm feels funny,” she told you both, looking to the bandages on her burned arm. She must have been on some kind of painkillers, you realised, which might explain why she was still a little out of it.

“How about teddy? I don’t think I caught her name the first time we met,” Casey leaned over you slightly and bopped the bear on the nose. Lily gave the faintest smile, but it was something as Matt leaned back, still very close to you as you both tried to sit on the bed and give Lily her space.

“His name’s Matty Bear,” she hugged the bear closer to her, pulling it right up to her cheek. 

Matt grinned at the name, “you know, my name’s Matt too.” The little light that came back into her eyes warmed your heart as your eyes flicked between her and Matt.

“Really?” She asked, her voice getting a little louder and more confident. Matt nodded and she smiled, satisfied with his answer.

“My mommy gave her to me,” she explained, “do you know when she’s coming to get me?”

Your face fell and you turned to Matt, watching the smile disappear from his face. She had been told, you’d heard Will say that much at least.

“This sometimes happens in shock,” Matt whispered to you, “it’s probably best not to upset her now, she needs her sleep.” You knew he was right, but it was still hard to hear, this whole thing was hard. 

You did your best to plaster on a smile as you stood with Matt. “You know what? I’m not sure, how about we go check and you can get some rest okay?” You suggested, squeezing her leg as she nodded, eyes already fluttering closed as Matt held the door open for you looking glum.

When the door was closed you too a deep breath, meeting Jay and Will in the hall. “Did she give you anything?” Jay asked but you shook your head.

“She needs rest,” Matt told him and Will very much agreed.

“I don’t want to leave her,” you said to no one in particular.

“I know, but we have shift in the morning and you need to get at least some sleep,” Matt advised. You knew he was right, but still, you knew you weren’t going to sleep anyway.

“I’ll leave an officer with her just in case, and I spoke to Boden before he left, we’ll head to both crime scenes again tomorrow, go over everything step by step, hopefully we’ll have a lead on this charger by then too,” Jay told you, patting you on the arm as he left to answer his phone.

“And I’ll keep an eye on her tonight,” Will promised, leaving you with Matt, who was regarding you cautiously again. You knew why, while this wasn’t by any means a typical case, Matt had been doing this job a lot longer than you, and he was the only one who’d seen your panic attack during the first fire.

In all the commotion of this case, you weren’t even sure if he’d told Boden or anyone else about it or not, and you certainly hadn’t talked about it again, but you knew he was thinking about it now.

“I’m okay,” you insisted, standing up a little straighter.

“No you’re not, and I don’t expect you to be, I’m not okay Y/N,” Matt said, meeting the defensiveness in your eyes. “How about we go see Lily during shift tomorrow? If not, we can both go straight after, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, grateful that Matt was facing this case with the same energy as you. 

“Now come on, I’ll drive you home,” he put a hand on your shoulder in comfort and support as you wandered back towards the elevator. 

You were exhausted, and you knew your shift tomorrow was going to be long, but you were determined; someone had tried to kill this little girl twice now, and you weren’t going to let it get to a third.

[jacks-jester]

Napier

 [Ledger!Joker x Reader]

Words: 3,123

Warnings: None?

Requested: Yes / No

Summary: You’re given the opportunity to reunite with your childhood sweetheart Jack, who now goes by the Joker. Is he the same mischievous boy you left behind, or is he the sadistic mass murderer the media portrays him as.

A/N~ This is sort of a sequel to my fic Longing? I will try getting to all my amazing requests soon, however I can’t promise anything. I’ve had some health complications due to my mental health and am trying to become healthy again. I’m getting back to where I need to be but some outside occurrence's are hindering that. I apologize to anyone I may have let down.

Your life had been fairly mellow since the last time you’d seen Jack on the television, though the shock was still just as present. Jack was the person you had always considered to be the love of your life, he was always sweet and thoughtful when you two were together. He never raised his voice, never raised a hand, and never made you feel unloved. The person you had seen on that television was not the same person you had left in Gotham, Jack seemed somewhat deranged now, wreaking havoc on the entire city. Part of you understood his grievance, his actions mostly costing those in wealthy position, it was clear what he wanted - tear down the corrupt city and take down those in power. He risked innocent lives in the process however, and that was enough to scare you of the man you had once loved with your whole heart. You doubted he cared, doubted he even knew you were here in Gotham, why would he? You left him years ago- but that made you ask yourself, what if you got caught in one his schemes? What if you were in one of the ferries last week when he decided to have his own social experiment play out just to prove his point.

You were conflicted and confused to say the absolute least after you caught the last glimpse of the man you loved so much. From the brief snippets of gossip you’d overheard at work, he was now back in Arkham Asylum- though your coworkers argued that he most likely would be broken out before the week is out. Hearing about where he was had sparked something in you, the need to see Jack. You had hoped you’d bump into him after moving back, but seeing as he was the most wanted criminal in Gotham, it seemed beyond unlikely. With him being locked up, you had the chance to possibly see him again, get the urge out of your system before it consumed you entirely. You were unsure whether or not Arkham would let you see him, but you knew internally how upset you’d be if you didn’t at least try.

You had finished your typical 9 hour shift at The Gotham Zoo, working as the head of the exotic mammals department- the last being killed in an apparent incident with Killer Croc. You let out a shaky sigh as you took in the large gates standing in front of you, the words Arkham Asylum written atop in meticulous metalwork. Your head swiveled to the side when a buzzing sounded through the air, a voice emitting from a small intercom to the left of the large doors. “What can I help you with ma’am?” You turned to face the small camera and speaker, a soft yet nervous smile appearing across your lips as you responded, “I’m here to visit a patient. Are visiting hours still open?” You knew for certain hours of the day the asylum was on lower security, allowing visitors to certain inmates though deep down you knew the chances of seeing Jack were slim considering how high-class of a criminal he was.

“One hour left before visiting ours are over. I’ll open the gate now, enter to the first building on your left and they’ll sort out your visitation at the desk. If you have any weapons or contraband on your person, security will take the force needed to remove you from the premises, am I clear?”

Your eyes widened at the idea of sneaking in anything dangerous and you nodded in respond, “Yes sir. Thank you.” You turned away from the camera, instead focusing on the large metal gates that were now opening before you, giving you a clear view of the entire asylum. You walked nervously through the gates, several armed guards lining the courtyard as you headed towards the visitation desk. Once in the building you relaxed slightly, the security having frisked and questioned you at the door, all that was left was to attempt to get a visitation in for Jack. A kind looking elderly woman sat behind the bulky and outdated white computer that sat upon her desk, her acrylics tapping quickly upon the keys of her keyboard. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat to gain her attention that she finally looked up to you, readjusting her glasses before speaking up. 

“Good afternoon, what can I do for you?”

You smiled softly at her before forcing you words out, “I was hoping to visit an inmate today if possible? I’m not sure how your visitations work here so I’m kind of unprepared.”

She looked at you as if this was a regular occurrence for her, simply nodding with a smile, “Of course, is your inmate new? Seems like we get more and more everyday.”

“Um, no. From my understanding he’s been in here quite a few times, at least that's what I’ve heard.” 

“Alright dearie, and what’s the patients name?”

You in all honesty weren’t sure what name he was under in their systems, so you went with the one you’d been hearing the most recently. “The Joker?”

The woman stopped everything she was doing and looked at you with a perplexed expression. “The Joker?” She took a moment to recollect herself before shaking her head, “We can’t let anyone in unless they are someone personal to the Joker, family only I’m afraid. He’s too high risk to let anyone but family see him.” You looked at her with confusion for a moment before replying with an unwavering voice, “I’m his fiancé, please.” She looked you up and down for a second before flicking her eyes to her computer screen. She knew nobody but someone truly close to the Joker would know his name, even his closest henchman didn’t know his name from what the GCPD had said. The hospital however, had his blood work and files from his youth at Gotham general, his name was in their files. “What’s the patients name?” 

You looked at her with a soft smile and replied quickly and short, “Jack. Jack Napier. Please, I just recently moved back here and just learned of this whole Joker business. I need to see him.” She let out a sigh and nodded, “You pass the routine check for relatives and associates, I have to give you a warning though. You’ll have to sign this contract, it means no matter what happens between you and the patient during visitation, Arkham Asylum is not responsible for what happens. This includes bodily harm, serious injuries, trauma, and death.” You only nodded and signed the form, “Can I see him now?”

Your heart was racing at the thought of seeing him again, though you couldn’t deny the dread that bubbled up inside of you at the prospect of coming face to face with someone unrecognizable. You wanted to maintain your positive image of Jack, the image of that charming school boy who never failed to sweep you off your feet, the boy who got into fights when he saw someone even look at you off, who never failed to make you fall deeper into love with him every time his lips met yours. The daunting reality that the boy you had fallen in love with all those years ago could be a thing of the past, a new darkness enveloping the person you cherished so deeply.

After the woman had made a phone call notifying guards of the visitation, you were escorted by two security men to one of the higher levels in the institution. The higher you rose, the more loud and prominent the screams of patients became- it was as though you were ascending into the madness itself as the elevator rose higher and higher. You ended up getting off at level 5 of the large building, the security taking you to a large metal door with a closed peep slot. The larger of the two guards turns to you while the other works on unlocked the door, “You have 30 minutes before we come in to get you. The door will remain locked for the entirety of those thirty minutes. Do you understand?” You nodded shakily in response before turning to enter the room as the door was swung open, creaking eerily as it shut behind you.

You remained silent as you took in the sight in front of you, it was him, no doubt about it. His head was bowed, looking down at his cuffed hands, completely ignoring your presence in the room. He was exactly the same as when you had left, well almost with a few exceptions. His hair was wavy and shoulder length, freshly washed, and the almond brown color you remembered so distinctly, though a few blotchy patches of green remained- long nights spent in each others arms as your fingers combed through that exact head of hair. You couldn’t see his eyes due to his gaze facing downwards but you could only guess they were the same honey color as before, green specks littering the dark brown ring on the outside of his iris, though you had to wonder if they held the same kindness, love, and mischief as before. He occupied one of the two chairs inside the room, a table dividing the two seats, and his body was in the typical white uniform you had seen the other patients wearing around the hospital.

You were taken out of your own mind when you heard a breathy laugh escape the man sitting before you, his head still bowed. “I have to give it to you, a lot of people have tried to get past security to see me and so far you’re the only one to have done it without shooting a few people along the way. So what do you want? Money? Power? Everything comes with a price, nothing comes for free.” You made your way slowly towards him, pulling out the chair and taking a seat opposite of his larger figure. “I was just hoping to see you.” You could hear the almost silent intake of breath he made before raising his head, those all too familiar brown eyes meeting you e/c ones. He silently stared at you, and as much as you hated to admit it, for the first time ever you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Long time no see Jack.”

You watched as his eyes darkened ever so slightly, his lips twisting into a deep-set frown as he took in your words. “What are you doing here?” His words surprised you, they were laced with what seemed to frustration and disbelief. You weren’t expecting a warm reception after learning of his new career, but you expected him to at least show some sliver of recognition. “I’m sorry?” His voice growled out his words again, his words a low tone as if biting back anger. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. I missed you Jack. I heard you were in Arkham while at work and figured I was most likely to see you if I came in for visitation, it didn’t seem likely for me to just bump into you like I’d hoped I would.” Joker looked you up and down and clicked his tongue in annoyance, “You shouldn’t have come bac to Gotham doll, it’s not safe anymore. I told you not to come back after you moved away.” You rolled your eyes at his words, he was talking to you like you were a child. “Yeah, well you also said you would get out of here soon after me. Looks that means we both didn’t hold up to each others expectations.” Your gaze flicked from looking at him to your hands which were fiddling nervously in your lap. “What are you doing Jack?” 

The man sitting before you let out one of his signature cackles at your question, “What do you mean?” You let out a sigh, your eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “You’re killing people, destroying the city, wreaking havoc. What is it all for? What do you gain?” Jack shrugged his shoulder lightly, his gaze meeting yours silently. “Because it’s not boring, and those I despise are being taken down like flies.” Your hand subconsciously reached across the table, interlocking tightly with Jacks own handcuffed one. “Why not leave? You clearly have the opportunity and funds to, why not build a life away from here. I know you probably already have a plan to escape from here given your history. Why not start a new life away from all this devastation and death? Like we had planned? Away from the violence and corruption.”

Jacks thumb had subconsciously began running soothingly across the top of your hand, an old habit he had when you two were together in your youth. “I have mission here doll, the chaos is fair and that's what Gotham deserves.” You let out a sigh and gazed into the honey pools that were his eyes. “Gotham deserves to burn, but you don’t need to be a part of it. I came back here hoping to find you, start where we left off, get back the years I lost when I moved. Run away, please Jack.”

Jacks hand released from your and beckoned you over to where he was sitting, and without a second thought you complied, standing to walk over to him. He raised his cuffs into the air, allowing you to take a seat on top of his lap, the cuffs lowering, trapping your body near his. You instinctively leant against his strong form, your head hidden in the crook of his neck while his arms held you tightly against him. He smelt the same as odd as that was: vanilla, greasepaint, fir, and the slightest scent of cigarettes and gunpowder. “I can’t leave, I have a lot of big plans and unfinished business to attend to doll.” You could feel a small piece of you shatter at his words. You were so close to him, so close to the future you’d be dreaming of, a one where you and Jack could go back to the way things were all those years ago. 

“Please don’t hurt me like this- not again. Please Jack. I’ve missed you, more than you could even begin to comprehend. I need you in my life.” You felt a hum pass through his throat as he soaked in your words. This was the side of him you knew, the side you remembered so fondly. He was caring, a bit rough around the edges, and loyal beyond measure- this was the side of him most people wouldn’t believe existed due to his public history of violence and insanity. But to you, this wasn’t the Joker. This was Jack Napier, the boy you grew up with, your first relationship, your first, your first heartbreak, your first everything. To you, Jack had always been everything. He was your past, present, and future. The idea of having a future without him absolutely devastated you, you wanting nothing more than love him completely. 

You felt a rumbling groan escape from Jacks throat as he soaked in your words. “The things you do to me doll.” He licked his lips quickly, his teeth chewing on the inside of his scars afterwards as if thinking through what he was going to say. You pulled back from his neck and instead rested your hand on his shoulder, your eyes looking deeply into his. “Please Jack, don’t leave me alone again.” His eyes seemed stoic as he looked to you, “Doll, I’m not the Jack you knew anymore you have to realize that.” You nodded in response, your eyes not leaving his, “But you are, your actions and words are proving that to me. If you were cold, sadistic, and blood thirsty like the news makes you out to be, then why did you welcome me into your arms so easily. Why haven’t you attacked me? Yelled at me? Why haven’t you pushed me away? Why do I see the same spark mischief in your eyes that I did when we first met in third grade. Why do you still show the same compassion and care you’ve always showed me. You held my hand the way you always did late nights when we’d stargaze on your apartment roof. You’re changed but you’re still my Jack, even if nobody else sees it. Sure you have a few more scars than when I left, and your eyes hold a new darkness to them, but that hasn’t changed you, not where it counts.” Your hand made its way up to his cheeks, your fingers carefully brushing against his mangled cheeks, your eyes holding all the love in the world as you gazed upon the all to familiar man who sat in front of you.

“When you break out, please find me. I live on South 102nd street in the old Bowers building, third floor, fourth window to right from the street, right near the fire escape. Please just come home, even if it’s just for a little. I need you Jack.” He didn’t respond, only leaned forward and captured your lips with his own, your eyes immediately closing instinctually as your body pressed flush against his. He never had been one to profess his love, even when he was younger. You’d come to learn his love language was that of physical reaffirmation, showing you rather than telling. Jack always did feel that actions spoke louder than words, the physical aspect reaffirming his feelings more than words ever could. You knew this was his way of agreeing, of reciprocating your words. He needed you, he missed you, he loved you. You didn’t need him to say those words aloud for you to know- the kiss told you everything you needed to know. 

The two of you parted just as the door creaked open signaling that your visitation was over. A voice boomed from across the room, the voice of one of the security guards from earlier. “Times up, come on.” You laid a quick kiss to Jacks lips before whispering quickly in his ear, “I’ll see you soon love.” He hummed in response, showing you he heard you and acknowledged your parting words. You cast one final glance at him as you were lead out of the room by the guard. For the first time since moving to Gotham, you felt some hope for the future, your future with Jack. It wasn’t going to be the one you’d imagined, but any future with him in it was worth it in your eyes. He was yours, and you were his. That's all you need to feel secure.

End

Time: 2 hours 2 minutes 26

This was not grammar checked or proof read before posting.

Final Note: I’m not very happy with how I portrayed Jack in this or how it turned out. But hey, at least I wrote something down. Maybe I’ll rewrite it at some point, maybe not.

[heckin-vivi]

I apologise in advance if this becomes a really long post so I am putting it under a read more just in case and also because some triggering stuff, but I really need help/advice on my current living situation and how to possibly escape it.

I currently live with my parents, a family friend and his kids due to living in a conservative rural area where getting hired as a trans person is practically impossible, even getting an interview only happens once every now and then here. My living situation has become progressively worse in the matter of months in all honesty. This family friend is already someone I have not spoken to for years because he is extremely ignorant, racist and trans/homophobic. Me moving in here was entirely because I have no other choice. I try to save up commission money to possibly move out if I am able to find a job in the next bigger city over (I can’t drive for health reasons so another reason I have been kind of stuck) but generally I end up being guilted into giving that money for the bills etc etc here, which I understand I suppose. 

Throughout the day I typically have to hear racist and transphobic jokes and I have to deal with it or I will most likely be kicked out. This man constantly misgenders me to the point that some of his kids have now decided that I am not the gender I say I am, as if I am a liar or something. Only one of the kids argues back to this guy (Which I am grateful for honestly, as no one else usually does or can). My brother is gay and goes through similar things, plus almost all the older kids of this guy have picked up entirely on their dad’s ideals so we hear it from them too. (Though I absolutely do not care and do speak up to them if something is said around me, especially towards my brother).

On top of this, he is super weird about my cat in kinda subtle ways. One day I was asleep in the room and my cat was in there with me (he always sleeps in the room with me) and his oldest kid came in trying to take my cat out from under my arm. Due to trauma from living with an abusive aunt, I am super alert if I get touched while I am asleep. I jolted awake and instantly smacked his hand which seemed to shock him. I asked what the hell he was doing and he said his dad wanted the cat. I told him no and did what I could to keep the door securely closed (It has no doorknob). I looked after this happened to see my brother had messaged me saying this guy had been talking shit about my cat etc etc just moments before this happened. I ended up not sleeping that day because his kid kept coming in trying to see if I was asleep to try and grab the cat from me. My cat isn’t a problematic cat either, he’s generally very chill and quiet because he has health problems. He only ever meows for food or if he cant find me (he has separation anxiety because he was abandoned as a kitten)

Another cat related thing is they let my cat outside, he has health issues (severe allergies etc) that make it even more dangerous than usual for him to be out. No matter how many times I tell them, it usually happens. I am pretty sure at this point they are hoping he runs away, stays out, or gets sick from it. On top of this, he recently took in a hyperactive dog who likes to chase the cat (This also being after he told my mom and brother that he hates having dogs inside so they weren’t allowed to get a puppy so that was already like bro...) and one day she was holding my cat by the scruff and I had to get her to let him go.

The tippy cherry on top is that again due to trauma and just general dissociation, I have an intensely hard time telling people no. He asked me if I would watch and edit his ghost hunting videos, and I was like yeah sure. I told him that I have other responsibilities like commissions, lessons etc etc and he knew this. Then oncoming days after I was given footage, he apparently told my mom and brother that I needed to get off my lazy ass and do it. This happened literally the night after I got the footage and the ongoing days after, even when I said I couldn’t edit hours of footage (especially for free) in that little of time. He has kinda been pissed at me for this ever since.

So pretty much, this living situation is getting increasingly bad and verging on dangerous for me, and even my cat. Any help is appreciated, I honestly have no idea what to do about this....or what to try or anything..

[spevonnie]

The Butterfly's Always Bigger in Somebody Else's Mind

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Of course Connie had heard the term before, her mother was a doctor. And it was certainly no surprise when her boyfriend was diagnosed, of course. It wasn't exactly a secret, and anyone could see how the weight that had been put on Steven's shoulders could cause such a breakdown and such a condition. Years upon years of shouldering the weight of his family and friends’ emotional well-being and the fate of the universe itself sinking heavily into his psyche. 

Being impressed, Connie thought to herself, is not always a positive thing. Many were impressed that it had taken this long for Steven to crack, though this didn’t mean that anybody was proud of the fact that he had hidden such a large part of himself for so long, it was merely a shock, acknowledging that it must have been incredibly difficult rather than admiring the feat that had taken such a toll on him. 

Recovery, or stabilization at least, was not linear, and she knew that. There were ups and there were downs, and while her lover was participating in therapy now, and taking his meds rather consistently, she knew that she couldn’t expect things to just magically get better as they had so many times before. And this, perhaps, was why she was now pacing around the kitchenette of her and Steven’s small apartment, her phone in her hand as she massaged her temple anxiously. Her dinner, which was a styrofoam cup of packaged noodles as opposed to her usual broccoli and oven baked chicken breast, sat on the counter, cold to the touch. Her fingernails, however, had been reduced to little nubs. 

Connie finally flopped onto the little love seat in the main area, curling up tight with Steven’s sweater, which she had pulled out the moment she came in from school. It was getting chilly outside now, especially at this time of day. The night was seeping in, melding with the sunset as if the moon were drinking away the last of the sunlight through an invisible straw. Steven had a busy day today, she knew. He had a shift at the pizza place down the street, and then Lion was bringing him over to visit Little Homeworld to fix up some problems they had been having with training and to visit with the gems of course, but he had to make it back for therapy that night. This was what worried her really, the fixing and then the therapy--She expected Steven to come home worn out, emotionally and physically, and to need lots of affection and care. She was happy to give this to him, of course, but it was a fine line that she tried to walk carefully. Showing Steven love, of course, always came with the risk of admitting that she was constantly haunted by her own nightmares, her own flashbacks, her own paranoia. It wasn’t about the war, though. No, her stress was all around Steven.

For months after the war, especially when Steven had had his break, Priyanka had plagued Connie with questions about how she was doing, how she was feeling, if she was alright. Each time, Connie patiently assured her mother that the war was stressful, but it wasn’t really following her the same way it followed Steven. The strangest part, she had realized, was that this was true. It wasn’t the war. The battles, the fighting, even being held prisoner by the Diamonds. All of it had been terrifying, and it the fear had clung to her like a thick slime for  weeks after, as it had with almost everyone involved. With good self care and some mandated therapy from her mother, she was able to put most of it behind her. She just considered herself lucky, or chalked it up to having expected some big battle when she had first started training with the gems and Steven. But there was still a lingering feeling  like a chilling force starting at the very core of her being, and it only worsened when Steven began showing symptoms--It was then that she realized she, much like him, had been shouldering her own weight. And, much like Steven, it was the weight of someone else’s well being. 

When Connie had first started training with Pearl, she was still a bright-eyed, sharp-minded twelve year old girl, and she longed for connection and friends. Steven had given that to her happily, just as eager for his own connections. Of course, they had both made other friends since then, and they never once regretted becoming friends, or thought that they were only friends as last resorts--They truly loved each other, and that just made it all the more difficult as Connie continuously watched her goofy, care-free, cheeseburger-backpack-wearing best friend turn into a literal monster created from suppressing his own trauma. 

Deep down, She thought to herself as she cuddled on the love seat, chewing her nails once more and glancing at her phone. I sort of always knew it was happening. She was right, of course. And subconsciously, she had always tried to help. She knew, when she had started, that she was signing up for a battle. She didn’t know that she was signing up to have to sit back and watch, feel helpless despite all her training, as the one who had brought her into this was torn into again and again by a blade whose wound could be healed with no amount of magic. 

It became evident to her that nobody else knew the extent of the trouble when they had fallen off the battle arena after accidentally unfusing in another panic attack, and she, despite falling to her own death, comforted the crying boy. Sensible through the panic, thereby saving them both. She still woke at night with a falling feeling, causing her far more panic than it would anyone else who felt the typical falling-as-you-drift-off sensation. She still spent sleepless nights staring at her snoring lover, watching him breathe, and snore, and sweat, just to know he was alive as haunting images of his half-dead, limp body laying in her arms wavered through her mind. She still would crawl on top of him in the night to prove to herself that he was no longer the huge, pink monster that destroyed himself and their city, and he was simply her loving boyfriend, who could still fit in her arms. She never told him this of course, for fear that he would once again try to fix everything for her at the expense of his own health, which was doing so well at the moment. She could never-

“Connie?” Steven’s voice sounded through the thick fog of thoughts, and Connie opened her eyes, seeing him crouching in front of her.

Steven was looking at her with a gentle sort of concern, and he reached out to wipe tears from her face that she didn’t even notice had fallen. She shuddered.

“Steven! Hi, I’m sorry, I--When...When did you get back? I didn’t hear the door.”

“Connie,” He said gently, giving her a little look. He sat on the love seat and pulled her into his lap, hugging her tightly. “It’s okay. I’m here, and I wanna help, I-”

“No!” She interrupted, wiping her nose. Steven looked taken aback. “I-I know you wanna help, Steven, that’s what I’m worried about! I’m perfectly fine, I-I just...I messed up on a test.”

“Um...Connie..? We both know that’s not it, honey.” He said gently. “I...I promise, whatever it is, we can handle it together.”

“Steven,” She shook her head. “It’s not a big deal. You need to focus on yourself and what you need.”

“Mmm,” He nodded, giving an air of thoughtfulness. “Yep. What I need is to give my beautiful girlfriend a kiss-” he paused and kissed her hand comfortingly. 

She smiled a bit, despite herself. Sniffling, she leaned against him, hugging him.

“There,” He said quietly, hugging back. “I’m not gonna push you, Connie, but I’m always here...Whenever you’re ready.”

“But...You have your own things to work through.” Connie said quietly.

“Well of course I do, Nini, but why should that mean that you don’t either? We can do this together.”

Connie smiled a tiny bit, and Steven smiled back. They snuggled together on the seat for a long while. 

Finally, Connie said, “Okay...”

“Okay?” He said quietly as the dark seeped around them like a dab of watercolor.

“I’m ready to talk.”

And the young couple talked until the sun rose, and when the light finally crept up, back into the sky, a very calm, loving Stevonnie lay in the small twin bed that they shared, the same sweater Connie had been cuddling wrapped around them.

[sagurus]

03. at gunpoint

Prompt was: My way or the highway: held at gunpoint

Using @whumptober2020‘s prompt today.

Buried in here is some Saguru trauma and some black org au. Once again, unedited and relatively incomplete. CW: firearms, some mishandling of them, although no graphic depictions of gun violence. (Someone does get shot, I’m just not descriptive about it.)

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

The first time Saguru had seen a gun outside of popular media, he had been thirteen.

It had been a hunting rifle in the hands of one of his cousins. At one of the family gatherings, he and many of those others deemed to be children had been left unsupervised. Away from watchful eyes, his cousin William had ushered Saguru and a few others he deemed worth to one of the manor’s display rooms. Mounted upon the walls were hunting trophies. Animal pelts. Dead eyes. And there was a safe - a sturdy, unimpressive thing. William began to boast about a recent hunting venture with his father and paternal grandfather as he opened the safe to reveal a small cluster of rifles. With a steady hand, he’d withdrawn one for the others to take a look. Saguru, who had enough exposure to media and articles detailing at length the dangers of a mishandled firearm, maintained his distance even as his other cousins clustered around to get a better look. William at least seemed to have the good sense not to pass it around. He made a dhow of aiming the gun at a statuette positioned in a display case across the room, explaining the sight and other minutiae of the weapon. He boasted about using it during his recent (only) hunting exploit.

As Saguru entertained the possibility of just walking away and leaving them to their devices, one of the others—Jonathan, older than him and younger than William—spoke up. “You’re awfully quiet, Simon! Don’t you have any history lessons or interesting facts for us?”

This was a game his family liked to play with him: somebody would invite him to share his knowledge, whatever obscure reading or research he’d done which coincided with a particular subject, and take pleasure in marveling at his strangeness as he went on and on, spilling out what he could. When he was too young to know better, he thought it was flattery. Now he understood that he was the punchline of their private joke.

Unfortunately for them, he knew better now, and he wasn’t interested in discussing firearms. “No,” he said simply.

The gun’s barrel was leveled at him then. He froze where he stood, and he felt his expression turn stony. The room had transformed into a vacuum of Saguru staring down the weapon, and his mind cycled in an instant through the science behind the way the mechanism worked to fire the bullet, where that bullet would strike, the biological, physical repercussions.

William guffawed, and lowered the gun. “You should see your face!” He mimicked some approximation of Saguru’s expression, although he doubted he’d pulled anything similar to the garish terror painted temporarily upon William’s face.

“You aren’t supposed to point a gun at something unless you intend to fire the gun,” Saguru said, clipped.

“Don’t be so serious! The safety’s on and it isn’t loaded.”

How many times in history had that phrase preceded tragedy?

Fortunately, that evening tragedy did not befall Saguru or any of his other relatives. William’s father had discovered the boys clustered in the hunting room and scolded them for getting into the safe, however. Saguru sat through the brief lecture and spent the remainder of his evening staying as far away from his cousins as he could and trying to forget about the cold dread that had taken hold of him.

—

Allegedly, citing that as his first in-person encounter with a gun was incorrect, although it was genuinely challenging for him to recall the first time. Remarkably, he had no recollection of the ordeal. This was especially remarkable, as Saguru typically remembered everything, could detail memories he possessed from when he was far younger. He was told he had a gun quite literally held to his head once, shortly after he turned four. There had been very real threats made against his life. If he strained to recall it, he could recall the terror, and the visceral feeling of restraining force, but no more than that. According to his parents, he’d been scared silent for days afterward.

—

The second time, or third, depending on how you decided to count it,  that Saguru had come into contact with a gun, it was because he had grimly requested firearm safety training. His mother had thusly made arrangements for him to receive this education. The fact of the matter was that Saguru was outright terrified of guns, their potential deadliness. He felt it bordering on illogical; a respect and caution for the weapon was understandable, necessary, but he couldn’t help but think that the amount of fear that firearms could inspire in him was not productive. Anyway, he figured it would be necessary to understand how they worked—not because he ever wanted to handle one, but because he felt the information would prove useful should he need to disarm somebody, or if he wanted to keep such a weapon out of more dangerous hands in a bad situation.

Saguru had not enjoyed firearm safety training to any extent. It was impossible for him to relax, and while he focused his way through the fear, it didn’t change the fact that he was still in knots the entire session, as well as for hours after the fact. Not only that, but he found he was a terrible shot. This was especially vexing since he performed at least slightly above average for an amateur in his limited experience with archery.  

He comforted himself by remembering that he had no interest in using a gun, anyway.

By the time he’d finished his gun safety training, he understood how to use a hunting rifle inside and out, and had a more robust textbook understanding of other varieties of firearms (although no hands on experience, thank goodness). He didn’t like guns anymore than he had before, and they still made him quite anxious, but at least he knew how to handle one.

—

And then there was this: the world feeling as though it had gone out from under him, a pistol pointed directly at him, the one wielding it wearing Kuroba Kaito’s face (although, underneath some light facial prosthesis, enough disguise to maintain plausible deniability). To say that none of it made sense was an understatement. The visuals of the situation were adrenaline-crisp, but what he could see was only confusing things. The gun trained on him. The stranger standing meters away from Kuroba, who Saguru had only minutes ago witnessed in the midst of planting an explosive.

Saguru’s heart roaring in his ears as it was, he almost didn’t hear when the stranger said, “Take care of it, Cachaça.” Cachaça. Fermented sugarcane. Liquor. Similar in nature to Rum, although less matured. Portuguese, in origin, he thought? Cachaça, in application to Kuroba—some sort of encoded speaking? Or just a nickname—code name? ‘Code name’ seemed a strange, overly paranoid term to apply, but this entire scenario warranted paranoia—

He hadn’t even managed to figure out what approach he was meant to take in order to talk his way out of this when the gunshot rang out. Saguru’s field of vision became a dark tunnel, every part of him braced for the sensation of bullet burying into flesh, ricocheting, bones and muscle and tissue protesting. The anticipation turned him lightheaded.

And then he realized: he was unharmed.

However, the stranger was a pained heap on the ground.

Kuroba (—was this truly Kuroba?) looked at him, and his expression was something Saguru might have described as rueful, or frightened, or agitated. He wasn’t quite prepared to trust his assessment of others’ emotional state right then, though.

Between one moment and the next, the gun was gone, vanished away. Not holding anything, Kuroba’s hands were flighty things, moving quickly and with no clear purpose. Fingers curling into fists and the uncurling, fiddling with something, and then putting away a moment later. “Damn it,” Saguru heard him say under his breath. Saguru had no idea what to make of it. He was shell-shocked.

“We need to go,” Kuroba said then, reaching like he might seize Saguru’s arm, then thinking better of it. He jerked his head in the direction they needed to move. Kuroba strode away. Saguru followed.

[mountainleafuniversity]

Undertow pt 2

(Artwork by @warrior-kitty special thanks to @gemellath

(This story is rated PG-13 for content. You have been warned)

Kit drove to Coin’s house that morning and picked up the jackelope chugging a bottle of water.

“Man, it’s hot!” he shouted.

“Hop in!” she told him. “Today is going to be crowded and you know it.”

Both of them knew that the beach would be crowded that day, but Kit was running late after not being able to find important things such as the umbrella, chairs, and sunscreen. Now that it was already late morning, they knew it was going to be hell to find just one parking spot but were unprepared for a bigger problem on their hands.

“Hey Kit” Coin said nervously. “Umm…I need to use the bathroom…”

“Hold on we’ll get a spo-“

Kit was cut off when she saw that the line for beach parking was a mile away from the beach.

“Oh no…Try to hold it in.”

However, they reached a parking lot and saw it was completely full.

“Alright then, let’s go to the other one…” Kit sheepishly stated.

“Man I gotta go like…badly…”

However, each and every lot was stuffed to the brim, and with each passing moment, Coin’s bladder was getting fuller and fuller until Coin was in excruciating pain with no end in sight with the traffic getting larger and slower. After the tenth parking lot, Coin was screaming and ran out of car.

“Go in the palm bushes!” Screamed Kit, panicking.

“There are families everywhere!” the jackelope barked back. However, a sign pointed to the beach bar they usually went to, prompting Coin to speed walk across the costal parkway with the honking cars blaring their horns. He tried to walk faster but was moaning in such pain he couldn’t even run without feeling the sharp pain on his bladder.

Roxie, meanwhile, was eating a bag of chips during her “bathroom break”. She had just dealt with cleaning up after a horrible rescue when she heard someone enter the men’s room in a rush. After a while the person did his business, washed his hands then sneezed.

“Crap! Forgot there’s pollen everywhere!”

The dispenser was out of paper towels, so he tried to enter the stall. Roxie in shock dropped the chips onto the ground.

“Oh, come on! Who eats chips in the bathroom?! And why in the men’s room of all places?”

“No one expects me to be here.”

“Hey wait a minute! GET OUT HERE!”

Roxie feared it was her boss, so she stepped outside, only to see her bandmate.

“Roxie…again?”

“I got hungry.”

“Its 11:30 you can wait. Plus, tomorrow is your day off to celebrate so don’t blow it.”

Coin guided Roxie back to the lifeguard chair where Harry was sitting.

“Oh thank God. It was much shorter…” he happily sighed.

“Hi Harry! How’s work today?”

“For me it’s fine. Roxie however just had a shitty rescue, which is why she was allowed on a break…”

Coin was puzzled. “What happened?”

Roxie closed her eyes.

“Another man was attacked by some octopi thingies and nearly drowned because they tried to force this seaweed into his mouth underwater. He projectile vomited all over me, so my boss made me take a shower…with a hose…on jet setting…”

“We’ve been seeing a string of these lately and the Dolphin Division of the police department is on strong patrol right now, so try to stay safe.”

Coin set his towel and chair down, texting Kit to meet him by the bar. After a long half hour, Kit finally showed up.

“Hey Coin!” Kit said from nearby “I found a spot by paying this guy money!”

“That’s great!” Coin shouted as he went over. “Want me to help you set up?”

After taking another half hour of bickering and arguing the umbrella was properly set up. They had put on sunscreen, and laid down their beach towels, so now both of them were basking on the beach immersed in their sunny naps. Nearby a small disturbance in the sand was kicking it all up and creating a path. It scurried under Coin’s stomach, shaking him awake by the disturbance. He looked around but couldn’t see a thing.

“Hey Kit…”

“Yea?”

“You feel that?”

“No. Probably a crab.”

However, Kit felt something try to jump up from under her back. She lifted her towel to see nothing was oddly there.

Behind the cooler a certain little mouse in a red prison outfit popped out of the sand. Rio climbed into the cooler and grabbed some ice cubes with a devious smirk on her face. She walked over to Coin, opened up his trunks, dumped the ice down, and watched him freak out.

“Whats going on here?” an annoyed Kit said to Coin.

Soon she also felt something pull on her suit, and ice was poured down her back. Bystanders looked to see who in the world were these two dancing clowns.

“Who did this?” Coin demanded.

“You thought it was ice, but it WAS ME! RIO!” Rio shouted jumping onto her perch.

“RIO?!” Coin shouted. “You busted out of prison?!”

“You’re not going to report me, are you?”

“No” Kit said, a bit disappointed in her. “But you’ll need to get out of that prisoner outfit. Hide in our bag and stay in there until we get back.”

“Hey guys!” D’Arcy greeted. “What can I get you two?”

“Hello D’Arcy!” Coin replied. “You are doing okay?”

“Other than going through the trauma of that e-mail sent to me…I guess I’m fine.”

“We’d like mouse-sizes for a t-shirt, shorts and swimsuit for Rio please.” Kit ordered.

“Didn’t she get arrested?” D’Arcy asked confused.

“Yea but it’s a gift for her anyway.”

“Oh ok.”

They paid and collected their bag of tiny clothing, with the jersey devil looking nervously at another clothing stand.

“Why does she keep vanishing...?”

“Who?” Coin questioned.

“Jill...” D’Arcy murmured. “She was a classmate at fashion school. Typical brainless spoiled brat if you ask me. She’s a sea serpent who almost got me expelled many times and always got away with it. She works the stand over there.”

“Is she someone we should worry about?” Coin said. “Maybe she sent the threat.

“Probably not, but she’s been going back and forth quite a lot through that pop-up store… anyways, I’ll see you two later, we’re holding up the line a bit…”

Now Linneaus was complete again and relaxing on the shore, sunbathing and enjoying the environment. However, that was all about to change, when Coin and Rio heard lovely sounding voices and giggling. They shook themselves up to see an elk jackelope wearing a mustard bikini standing above them.

“Hey there…” the jackelope girl said. “My name is Penny…”

Coin was so transfixed on her body, especially her blue eyes, that his eyes turned to hearts and with his antlers turning pink as well.

“Man, what a woman…” he said to himself. “I’m…Coin…”

“LOL SO COOL! And who is your mousy friend?” Penny teased. “I have one too~…”

Crawling from up her back, a fit and strong harvest mouse in purple trunks climbed up the antlers.

“You summoned dearest Rhine?!” he declared.

Rio was immediately smitten with feelings for him and his beautiful build with her face turning a bright shade of pink.

“Rio here!” she said. “It’s…a pleasure…”

Kit looked over and wondered why they were so instantly crushed. She brushed it off and turned on her music before taking a nap.

“We were wondering if you two would like to play volley ball with us…” Penny declared. “Mice vs Jackelopes?”

“S-Sure…”

“Hell Yeah!” Rhine shouted.

“Good…good…” a voice whispered from under the sea. “Bring them to me my creations…”

Meanwhile Kit felt her stomach rumble. Not paying attention to her friends, she opened the cooler and obtained her calzone. She heated it up using the sunlight and decided to sunbathe while she ate her lunch.

Her friends could barely contain themselves playing volleyball with the shady but sexy duo. Harry could only watch in sadness towards Coin as he and Rio couldn’t even play the game properly they were so unfocused.

“Hey Harold.” Roxie blurted. “Why are you staring so hard at Coin? He’s in love…”

“It’s just that it seems hopeless…He and his mouse friend just won’t look away from them.”

“Oh?! Like I didn’t catch you thirsty for D’Arcy’s ass again today!” Roxie exclaimed.

“She doesn’t tease me!” Harry yelled. “I go crazy for D’Arcy because I actually fucking like her no matter what!”

“Glad to hear you admit it…

“But look at Coin and that broad he’s with!” he pointed. He watched Penny shake her tail at Coin, then saw Rhine flex for Rio, both of them absolutely paralyzed by their feeling “They’re baiting them with looks! First off, I’ve been with women that do this, and second, it’s our job to stop what could be potential sirens! With the attacks going on I can’t risk losing anyone!”

“You really think that those two are sirens?!” Roxie said. “Lookie here, just because you can’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to tear others down…”

Harry wondered if Roxie was right, and both took their positions without saying another word.

Rio hit the ball and got spiked by Penny in the face, knocking her down.

“Winner!” she yelled, hugging a shocked Coin, surprised he won but also scared for Rio.

“Shouldn’t we check on-?”

“I think she’s fine…Rhine is looking after her!”

<<Oh, mon petite fleur!>> Rhine ran over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…I’m good.”

“See she’s fine!” Penny said.

“You know…I like you…”

Coin blushed. “Same here.”

“You and I will be boyfriend and girlfriend forever…”

They both pulled closer together until they shared a kiss, but suddenly Coin’s mouth was stuck to her’s, and seaweed was pouring into his mouth.

Rio, seeing Coin struggling, kicked Rhine, revealing himself to be a siren along with Penny. The siren kissing Coin let go and wrapped its tentacles around him. Rio ran towards the beach patrol screaming. Roxie sounded the alarm to get everyone away from the area as Harry ran over and tried to wrestle Coin free, only for the siren to toss him into a sandcastle as the beachgoers quickly ran out of the way. The dolphin P.D quickly swam close to the shore in order to wall the sirens off. The one pretending to be Rhine was caught trying to escape.

“This is lovely…” Kit said, eating her calzone, unaware of the chaos around her.

D’Arcy was just taking a photo with a fan when it happened. She swooped over until she found Roxie and Harry.

“What’s going on?!” she screamed.

“Coin’s being taken by a siren!” Harry screamed.

D’Arcy saw it swimming and trying to bring the struggling jackelope deep into the ocean. She flew over, kicking the temptress with her hooves.

The siren responded with using Coin as a weapon, trying to jab his antlers into her skin, but failed since she was impervious to pain.

“Sorry Coin!” she said before stomping his face.

“You aight…”

Now the dragon goat’s eyes gleamed red with rage, inflicting a curse on the siren. She summoned up her fire breath and torched the creature. Now distracted, D’Arcy dove in and tried to pull her friend to safety, but she wasn’t expecting the creature to splash water, blinding her. The siren threw Coin over the line of dolphins, who breached in an attempt to catch him. However, a serpent circled up from under them and caught the rabbit deer.

“Hey D’Arcy!” Jill screamed. “Remember me?!”

“Unhand him! NOW!”

“Love to talk D’Arcy, but I gotta work!”

The police dove down to catch the serpent but were unprepared for the brigade of sea creatures blocking them and sacrificing arrest. They could only watch as the poor jackelope was taken away.

“We want all fishing boats on alert!” the dolphin captain said. “Scuba divers, scientists, anyone! Suspect is a sea serpent with blue hair, nose ring, Che Guevara shirt…”

After the commotion had died down, Kit was still sleeping with sauce stains on her suit and fur, with the half-eaten calzone on her side. Her earbuds were ripped off and a large hooved slap woke her up.

“Hungh?” she groaned.

Roxie was standing above her with a stern look of anger.

“Coin was kidnapped by a sea serpent and you slept through it!” the rougarou yelled, eating Kit’s calzone.

“What?” Kit asked confused.

D’Arcy swooped down, red eyes glaring.

“He was taken to the bottom of the ocean…I should curse you, you ignorant vulpine!”

Kit’s guilt transformed her into Granny as she pondered what to do next...

“Can-can’t we go down there and save him?”

“We’d have to come up with a plan.” D’Arcy replied.

“I’ll see if we can get our set moved to tomorrow.” Harry interrupted.

“But Coin!” the snail-fox yelled. “He’s in danger.”

“Don’t worry about it.” D’Arcy comforted. Tomorrow morning, me and the girls are going to try and save him. The sun is starting to set so it’s probably best if we just go home for now.”

Even after being back to normal Kit still felt upset lying in bed. She knew that if anything else happened, she would have to do something to save her friend. She just didn’t know what to do.

[may8344]

The Journey of a Forgotten Soldier (Levi x OC)

Relationships:

Alana Frey (OC)Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s)Levi Ackerman/Alana FreyFurlan Church/Original Character(s)Furlan Church/Alana Frey

Characters:

Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)Furlan ChurchIsabel MagnoliaAlana Frey (OC) - CharacterErwin SmithHange ZoëPetra RalGunther SchultzEld JinnOluo BozadoKeith ShadisSpecial Operations Squad | Squad Levi

Additional Tags:

Graphic Description of CorpsesBlood and InjuryViolenceMurder

Summary:

Alana Frey, a girl born in the Underground City, longed to see the true sunlight every morning that she would wake up. Alongside her comrades: Furlan Church, Isabel Magnolia, and Levi, Alana’s life as a thug continued with no way around it; until the sudden day she and her companions were offered the deal of a lifetime.

“Once you complete this job, not only will you be generously compensated for your work,

but you will also earn the right to live above ground.”

Word Count: 2.3k

---

Chapter 13: I’m Not Leaving

Alana’s skin was turning cold and paler as the two conscious soldiers were racing back to the Supply Wagon. Levi let out an annoyed click of his tongue, gripping his reins tighter as he realized how far away they were from base. “Tch, hurry up!” He called to the cadet behind him, “We have to get there before she loses too much blood!” The upset soldier had already lost the other two members of his family, so he was definitely not losing her too. 

Both picked up the pace. After a couple of minutes, the brunette, Kurt Grinzor, began to see the grouped Scouts up ahead. “I see them! We’re going to make it!” His voice was shaky, but relieved. The cadet had gone through his own traumatic moments before meeting up with Levi, so he was grateful to see a ray of hope. 

Once they finally reached the wagons, the men were greeted by the sights of other wounded or terrified soldiers. With no time wasted, the ravenette quickly ran to the wagon to find medical supplies. However, he struggled trying to find the right materials and bandages. Another soldier witnessed Levi’s troubles and quickly moved to help. The two of them began to try to wrap Alana’s injuries--mainly the other soldier due to Levi’s lack of medical knowledge. Tilting his head down, the silver-eyed man leaned his ear by her face to try and hear her breathing. 

Alana’s breath was shallow as she struggled to breathe and her face was contorted in pain. Her long, dark hair had fallen out of its braid, lining around her sweaty face. She was a complete mess compared to her normal, tidy self. 

Levi was at a loss of words. So many things had happened to him over the span of a couple of hours. The initial shock of finding his ravenette friend again had worn off as he began processing the fact that they were the only ones left. How was he going to break the news to her about their lost comrades?

How was he going to tell her that he was incapable to protect the man she loved?

“Le...vi?” A small whisper resonated in the air. The mentioned man jerked his head to the voice. His silver eyes were met with bright, diamond blue ones. She looked dazed and unable to focus her vision completely. A stray tear fell from her eye as she cringed in pain. “It... hurts. Where are we…?”

Levi’s calloused hand quickly grasped onto her cold, soft one, giving  it a tight squeeze, afraid that she’d disappear if he let go. Words were never his strong suit, but he felt the need to at least say something. “It’s okay, I’m here. We’re heading back soon, and we’ll get you help. Stay with me, got it?”

Her face eased at his words while she gave him a reassuring squeeze of her hand. 

[~]

Like Levi had said, the entire Survey Corps began to return to the walls about half an hour later. The raven haired man followed closely to one of the horse drawn wooden wagons that Alana rested in. He made absolute sure that he wouldn’t take his eyes off of her; not even for a second. Thankfully the weather seemed to completely clear up as they continued their journey back. The Scouts were met with an occasional Titan on the way, but none that they couldn't deal with in the end. 

As they neared Wall Maria, the Garrison soldiers began to raise the gate. The remaining Scouts were led into the inner safeties of the wall and were greeted by the crowds of civilians belonging to Shiganshina. However, there didn't seem to be a single perky face. Some were screaming the names of their children, their family, or loved one. Some were looking at the injured soldiers with disgust and anger. According to them, the Scouting Legion was nothing more than a joke and a waste of taxes. 

To them, everyone should remain inside of the walls. 

“Joseph! Joseph, where are you!?” An older lady began shouting from the sides, searching for her son. Slowly, she limped her way towards the moving Scouts and begged them for answers. Unfortunately, she was met with the shake of a head, signalling that her child was one of the many sacrifices for humanity. The woman sank down to her knees and covered her tearfilled face while the rest of the soldiers continued on their way back to headquarters, ignoring most of the screams and cries from the rest.

Alana, though barely holding onto consciousness, was rattled awake from the large bumps of the wagon against the ground. It wasn’t the most comfortable ride, but she had endured worse. Although she couldn’t see completely over the sides of the wooden cart, she was able to see some heads of the civilians. So many of them were angry, but she caught sight of a certain boy, accompanied with a girl, in the crowd, who was trying to sneak a peek at the Scouts. 

The youngling had shaggy brown hair and emerald green eyes filled with amazement. A toothy grin was spread widely across his face until he realized how there were certainly less soldiers than there were the day they left. Shock filled his features, though it was obvious he still had admiration for the regiment. 

‘He reminds me of Isabel’ she thought to herself as a light smile made its way onto her face. After all, her redheaded sister’s smile was always very contagious. 

 [~]

Once the Regiment reached their headquarters in the interior of Wall Rose, Levi quietly accompanied Alana to the infirmary room. There were countless injured soldiers being taken care of by the nurses, who were scampering around with medicines and medical supplies. The wounded ravenette was carefully set on one of the beds as they worked to redress her bandages and stitch up her open wounds. 

The process seemed to take hours for Levi as he was forced to wait outside until she regained consciousness. He leaned against one of the hallway window sills racking his brain for a way to speak to his female friend. Typically, the silver-eyed thug wouldn’t have a single issue when it came to his blunt, quick remarks, but now he was struggling. Not to mention, he also had to deal with the agonizing pain of losing Furlan and Isabel mere hours ago that was sinking in.

“Yo, Levi,” a voice broke the silence. It was Hanji, who gave him a small wave as she walked down the hallway towards him.

The ravenette’s silver eyes darted towards the sudden noise, recognizing who was speaking. It was the female that he was forced to talk to the previous night. However, this time, he didn’t have Furlan anymore to guide his conversation. Instead, he chose to remain silent, not in the mood at all to talk to her.

“Silent treatment, huh?” Hanji questioned with a half-assed smile as she put her hands on her hips. “I’m happy to hear you survived. You really are the hope of humanity.”

“Shut up, shitty glasses.” He snapped with annoyance. 

Her face dropped slightly at his harsh words. Remembering what she came here for, the brunette’s head drooped slightly. “I heard about your friends. I’m really sorry for your losses.” 

Levi’s eye twitched at her words. “The hell you are. You don’t give two shits if they survived or not. They were nothing more than death fodder for you.” Although his words were harsh, he couldn’t care less. Instead, he just glared at her with his menacing gray eyes. At this point, he couldn’t help his attitude towards the brunette. Too many things were happening, yet none of them seemed to go in his favor.

“That’s not true! Every soldier here is like family, you included!” She argued back.

“I’m not part of your shitty family, nor will I ever be. Now get the hell away from me.”

Rather than arguing back, Hanji held her tongue and nodded. She was aware of the mental pain and trauma death could cause, not to mention the fact that he wasn’t close to anyone else here other than his injured companion. Turning on her heel, she headed back towards the barracks. 

About half an excruciating hour later, the nurses gave him an ‘all clear’ as they allowed him to walk inside of the infirmary rooms. He trudged his way into the room, scrunching his nose at the hospital-esque smell of disinfectants and medicine. While Levi loved having everything spotless, this was definitely not his favorite smell. His steel gray eyes darted around the room, making contact with all of the wounded men and women. They seemed more stabilized now, but most still have faces of discomfort. 

But then his eyes met hers.

Alana was in more of a comfortable outfit, stripped of her uniform. Her hair was still down and quite messy and she was sitting up with pillows stacked behind her for comfort. From this position, the bandages wrapped around her were completely visible. Although her face was full of scratches and bruises, she gave her ravenette friend a small smile.

Levi, however, remained quiet as he pulled up a small, wooden stool and sat next to Alana’s bed. His pained eyes watched her carefully, analyzing the poor girl’s injuries. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if I were able to keep all of them safe. If only I had stopped them from coming along.’ He thought.

“Levi? What’s wrong? Do I really look that bad?” 

“You look like shit.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Ouch, you don’t have to be like that,” she strainfully laughed. “Where are Furlan and Isabel?”

His breath hitched in his throat. Though he tried to picture a response earlier, nothing was coming to his brain now. Her eyes were so pure and innocent. Her angelic smile wasn’t prepared for the news. However, he had to say it somehow. 

“They’re gone.”

Die Stühle liegen sehr eng

You and I talk all the night long

Alana’s face dropped and she gave him a blank stare. “What… What did you say?” 

“They died during the expedition.” He responded with as straight of a face as he could manage, though his voice was low and pained. Behind his hard, steel-gray eyes, millions of emotions were threatening to flood out.

Dieser niedrige Raum ist nicht schlecht

We comrades have stories to tell

“You’re kidding, right?” But deep inside, she knew he wasn’t joking. Levi was always a blunt and serious man; he hardly ever joked around. Before she knew it, tears shone in the corners of the girl’s eyes. “I bet… I bet that they’re outside right now.” Her voice trembled as she kept talking. It was a strong habit of hers to try to smile and talk during a sad situation, but this had hit differently. 

This time, half of her family was gone. 

So ist es immer, that in the evening time

We drink and we sing when our fighting is done

Alana’s clenched onto her hospital blankets tightly. A small whimper left her throat and she squeezed her eyes together, trying to block off her threatening tears. “It’s just… It’s just a joke.” She sobbed out as her breathing became more rapid while her hands searched for something to grab onto, resulting in her tightly hugging herself. On the verge of a panic attack, the ravenette began picking and scratching at her restricting bandages around her arms while trying to pry them off. “They’re not- they can’t be.” She sobbed, now switching to pulling at the loose strands of her hair with her shaking hands. 

So ist es immer, we live under the burnt clouds

Ease our burden, long is the night

“It’s not.” He fought back, clenching his jaw tightly.

“They’re not dead!” She snapped her head towards him and screamed through a cry, not caring that there were others around them. “They’re not, they’re not, they’re not! Stop fucking telling me lies, Levi!” With bared teeth, Alana gave him a deadly glare, but behind her threatening eyes, pain was completely evident. 

“Lana…” He mumbled, not knowing how to help the trembling girl. “I made the wrong choice-”

Da die Sterne nicht leuchten

We are stars and we'll beam on our town 

“I said stop!” Her hands flew up to her necklace, gripping it for dear life. It took her a couple more deep breaths--a grounding technique of hers--to calm herself as much as she could manage. Once the fight had left her gaze seconds later, Alana pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes to try and conceal her tears. “Please…” she begged, substantially quieter, “just stop.”

Levi’s mouth snapped shut at her plea. Never had he seen his friend act this way, even in the Underground. Besides, he hasn’t been able to mentally recover from the difficult blow either. Instead, he stood from his chair and awkwardly engulfed Alana into a side hug. One of his arms snaked around the smaller girl’s waist and the other gently wrapped around her head. He calmly and lightly threaded his rough fingers in her silky black hair. While he was never one for physical affection, this time was different. He didn’t want to let go.

Not again. 

“I’m here,” he mumbled against the top of the shaking girl’s head. “And I’m not leaving.”

Although it wasn’t much, the younger girl found comfort in his embrace--as well as words. When she nuzzled her face into his chest, the smell of peppermint and cedar were still prominent to her, despite the fact that he didn’t have the chance to bathe since the beginning of the expedition. Recognizing the familiar smell and being engulfed by his warmth, she left the remainder of tears stream out until her eyes were red and dry. 

Schauten wir das Licht selbst an

Sing with hope and the fear will be gone

---

(A/N) As much as I hate to say it, this is the last chapter I had prewritten since I've started. Starting now, this may be done sporadically or--at the worst--left on hiatus for a while. I've been decently busy in life and I just need to catch up on all of my things (including waiting for SnK manga and anime). For all of you now, thank you for sticking with this story and supporting me! It means more than I could ever express through my words. Love you all <3

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 

[stillness-in-green]

Changeling: The League (1/3)

Being some errant nerdery combining two things I love very much into one thing that is exponentially more nerdy than either thing on its own: My Hero Academia villains as Changeling: the Lost characters!

This will(/should) be a series of three posts containing some mid-length write-ups on the League of Villains, the Metahuman Liberation Army, and some odds-and-ends on other characters/alternate takes.  

Some prelude: The most prominent question that kept coming up as I was brainstorming the write-ups below was, “Is this retelling the story of My Hero Academia using Changeling: The Lost’s mechanics and world, or is this exploring Changeling: The Lost’s themes using the My Hero Academia cast?”  Would these versions of the characters be NPC villains in Izuku’s story, opponents (or possibly eventual allies) in some grand, epic clash between Heroes and Villains as begun with All Might and All for One?  Would it be the story of a corrupt system, pulled down by the PC group that was Shigaraki and his motley?  I had ideas for both, but in the end, I decided that, rather than oblige myself to the MHA canon, I was ultimately more interested in just letting the implied “story” focus on the League and their histories of loss, trauma and recovery, so that’s the spirit in which these are written.  (Though things do get a bit plottier when their story intersects with the MLA’s.)

Lastly, these are, of course, completely AU, but if you don’t know who the Liberation Army is, you’re probably still going to trip over manga spoilers, so be mindful.  

First, let me lay down some backstory!  Specifically, the story of All for One, One for All, and the lives they drew into their story...

THE PROLOGUE

There is a realm in Faerie inhabited by a pair of binary-matched Fae, All for One and One for All, styling themselves as warring brothers.  They’ve been fighting for many long generations, each in their own fashion.  All for One has tended to keep his power mostly within himself, employing many underlings, but sharing his power with very few of them.  One for All, conversely, has shared most of himself with a succession of users, and in each generation, the pair clashes, with OFA not very "present" for the battles (and thus at less risk), while AFO is able to bring more of himself to the fights.  Before each battle, each user of OFA would be "freed" for a period to find and designate a successor (who would inevitably go missing a few weeks later), before returning for the battle.  They often did this with deeply tormented feelings, but saw little escape from the pattern.  Each one hoped that they might be the one strong enough to break the cycle, as OFA told them each time was a possibility--patterns grow stronger for being repeated, after all--but none of them was able to do so until recently.  Toshinori Yagi refused to designate a successor, and finally, for his stubbornness, was recalled to do battle without one--without having passed even a fragment of OFA's power on, he was finally able to defeat AFO.              

In his defeat, AFO was cast out from Faerie.  He had little memory of who and what he was, but retained a sense for fae matters and a limited grasp on his powers.  He spent the next several years setting up shop in the local freehold, dabbling with Spring and Autumn Court matters as his fancy took him, and racking up a fair amount of renown with the latter in particular when the former found him too ruthless, and not only with humans.  One day, though, he stumbled across what would eventually become his way home--a little boy who felt startlingly familiar, black-haired with a mole on his chin.  AFO struck up a friendship, and when he eventually met the boy's father, things began to click into place--he knew this family because he once fought their matriarch, and that connection was the key to his return.  As he was once defeated by this bloodline bearing his brother's power, for his rise, he had to defeat someone of the bloodline--but he couldn’t just do it straight out.  With his brother, there were pacts in play, old bargains and arrangements.  He couldn’t just waltz in and kill Shimura Kotaro.              

One of them needed to ask. 

THE LEAGUE

Here are the League roughly as we might find them when they’ve been out long enough to build a motley, solidify their bonds somewhat, and start taking on bigger, toothier problems.  All have 7 dots of Contracts except Shigaraki, who has a modest leader bump.  Just assume he’s been out doing some level-grinding the others haven’t.

Shigaraki Tomura

Quote: “There’s always a win condition.”

Type: Gameplayer Wizened.  A trophy/souvenir of AFO’s time on Earth, Tomura survived a durance filled with little but tests in the guise of games.  Survival, combat, endurance, manual dexterity, reaction time, strategy, academics, even odd trivia--he learned them all under his Keeper’s tutelage, in preparation for the next battle with his brother's champion (AFO having seen that his brother's way of doing things has its merits).  Tomura grew up believing himself responsible for his family's deaths (though he's blocked most of the specifics, he knows in his gut that he's responsible somehow) and watching the realm celebrate the champion who'd defeated Tomura’s Keeper, but who hadn't done a thorough enough job to prevent the cycle from resetting after all.

Toshinori, for his part, initially had no idea that AFO had returned with a child, a new champion.  But he did know that AFO had returned (the realms are connected enough that you can't really miss it), and so waited for the next battle with some impatience.  He thought that he, perhaps, just hadn't done well enough, that he'd be more careful, more thorough next time.  After all, patterns become stronger when they repeat.  He doesn't truly understand that All for One can't be killed--not in Faerie, at least--and so there will be no end to the cycle as it stands.  Eventually, he got tired of waiting and sought out AFO on his own--and was shocked to find a kid, just a kid, where he expected to find AFO.  AFO did not think Shigaraki was ready for this yet, and was not prepared to watch several years' worth of effort and his cute keepsake get slaughtered (and he probably would have been; Shigaraki could have all the lives he wanted in training, but an official battle against the sanctioned bearer of OFA would have been different), so he ejected Shigaraki from Faerie and fought the battle himself.  As to what happened afterwards, Shigaraki has no way to know, but the gradual return of various other servants of AFO may eventually begin to shed some light on the subject…

Shigaraki is, when his story truly begins, still figuring out his current game--outside of Arcadia, second chances are harder to come by--but he’s a sore loser and a quick learner, so he never stays down for long, and he’s already made a friend in Toga, who he met in his escape from the Hedge.  He still has very ambivalent feelings about his Keeper, which makes him something of an outlier amongst changelings, who typically feel only terror and loathing for the Others that upended their lives and scarred them in ways that will never--can never--fully heal.  No one, including Shigaraki, has quite realized his connection to the Emperor of Darkness who caused so much havoc in the freehold when he escaped back to Faerie five years ago.  Likewise, Tomura’s fetch, only ten years old, is still in a mental care unit in juvie for the murders of the Shimura family, but dealing with that mess will have to wait until Shigaraki can stomach the idea of even looking at that version of himself.  

Tomura looks much as he does in canon, thin and covered with scratching and scarring.  Behind his tousled white hair, though, his red eyes gleam and flicker as if they’re forever reflecting the dancing lights of a screen.  His masked form has black hair rather than white, and eyes the color of dark, old rust.

Court/Mantle: Autumn, the season of fear.  Shigaraki’s entire durance threatened him always with the fear of failure (and the fear of the consequences of failure), and he himself would rather intimidate than charm, but he also shares the Leaden Mirror’s inquisitiveness and discerning eye.  As such, even when he first emerged from the Hedge, it was with a strong Autumn mantle, and it’s only grown stronger over time.  He’s often trailed by dead, desiccated brown leaves, and Hedge foliage that’s in his presence for any length of time visibly begins to wither--but his mantle flares up even more when he’s being actively combative.  Chilly, dry bursts of air can wring involuntary chills from those on the receiving end of his wide grins and dire promises. When he’s feeling more playful, one can sometimes see small flickers of light in the shape of unknown words or hear odd little strains of music from unrecognizable (albeit somewhat tinny) instruments.

Contracts: 

     Fleeting Autumn I.  He’s not so concerned with becoming some kind of symbol of fear that he’s pursued this Contract very much, but it never hurts to get an idea of what your opponent’s afraid of.

    Eternal Autumn I-III.  It takes time, glamour expenditure, and good dice rolls, but he can kill people this way, withering them down to nothing.  Conversely, he can also make plants bear fruit.  It’s occasionally useful.

    Hours I.  He’s figured out how to consciously botch the activation of this clause so as to decay the targeted object instead of restoring it.  It usually works, but sometimes randomly backlashes onto him instead, causing him injury--the bigger the object, the worse the damage.  The Wyrd doesn’t like being toyed with.

    Lucidity I-IV.  Clarity is a fluid, malleable thing for Shigaraki, which can make him extremely frightening--he can thank his Keeper’s lessons in control.  With this series of Contracts, Shigaraki can and does laugh off the kinds of deeds that would make other changelings quail back in fear of what their own minds would do to them in the aftermath.  He can also be shockingly perceptive for someone who by rights should have terrible trouble distinguishing the boundaries between Real and Unreal, Self and Other.  However, his use of these powers does make him somewhat mercurial and difficult to predict, even to his motley, as derangements come and go with the artificial inflation or drain of his Clarity.  It’s a downward slope, but one he’s taking more slowly than would otherwise be the case.

(Hypothetical Powered-Up Shigaraki: Adds two 5-dot Goblin Contracts, Blood-Binding and The Fatal Transformation.  Be it the power of glamour or the breath of life itself, if Shigaraki wants an enemy drained and is willing to pay his pound of flesh, Goblin magic will provide.  It’s a good thing he’s got friends to back him up, as both of these powers leave him in a pretty vulnerable state.) 

Toga Himiko

Quote: “I met someone cute today.  Don’t wait up!” 

Type: Mirrorskin/Leechfinger dual kith Darkling.  Toga served her durance in the chrome-tinted underbelly of a glass-and-brass dystopia full of mirrors, learning to steal life as easily as she stole food, and to slip from one form to another to keep ahead of everyone who’d chase her down for doing it.  More free than she’d been in her old life, to be sure, but still not free to truly do as she pleased, she dreamed of being able to hunt people down the way she’d been hunted down, with no one to answer to for it.  In time, she managed her escape and, on her path back through the Hedge, crossed paths with Tomura--distraught, lost, but still with plenty of fight left in him.  Each decided that the other was dangerous but sympathetic enough to be a better ally than an enemy, and they teamed up to find their way back to the real world.

Back in that real world, Toga is learning to put herself back together.  Getting back home only to find something waiting there wearing her face was a shock to her system, but after some agonizing (and a bloodbath in her parents’ kitchen), she’s decided it’s for the best.  If going back to being that girl means giving up the amazing psychic buffet the world now presents her, it’s not even a debate.  

Toga in her masked form is dark of hair and eye, a school girl with a wide smile and swift, excitable hands.  In her true form, everything bleeds paler--she’s china white, even her hair turning paler than flaxen fiber, most of her features seeming somehow insubstantial except for the long points of her teeth and the gas lamp yellow of her eyes.  

Court/Mantle: Spring, the season of desire.  Toga, more than anyone in the motley, has embraced the fact that she wants things now that she never would have before, that she has desires that no human would ever understand.  And why not?  She doesn’t kill people, after all; she just likes to taste.  The air around her is always infused with heady floral scents, and when she walks, phantom flowers trail up behind her.  Hemlock and cypress vine, spider lilies and nightshade--all lovely, to be sure, but the language of flowers does give her away.

Contracts: Everything about Toga’s Contracts heightens her skills as a predator, and she’s unquestionably the best in the group at it.

        Mirror I-II.  Allows her to shape her form with more specificity and finesse.

        Darkness I-II.  Makes her targets more suggestible.

        Fleeting Spring I-III.  Lets her pinpoint what her targets want so that she can shape those wants or her reflection of them as needed.

Bubaigawara Jin

Quote: “Nothing’s too much for my friends!”

Type: Truefriend Beast.  Jin’s human life didn’t differ much from his canonical backstory, minus the super power, but went drastically off course when he was hunted down--even on a motorcycle, hunted down!--by a monster on horseback and the various other monsters tumbling before it.  His changeling life consisted of one cage, one chase after another, and while most of the people around him were shaping themselves into being better vessels for coursing, baying, sharp-toothed menace, what Jin most wanted was the pack solidarity.  His Keeper thought this was funny but not a very useful trait in a hunting hound, so they started taking him to dog fights instead, hoping to scour the excess sweetness off of him.  Lacking a pack to stay for, he escaped, but the wanting for one never left him.  

Toga basically tripped over him his first night out, and her kindness then meant he was more than happy to follow her home.  He later made the acquaintance of Mr. Compress and Magne on a bar crawl and, wanting all of his friends to be friends together, introduced them to Shigaraki and Toga.  He’s also trying to make friends with his fetch, who is finding the whole experience of having a clone pop up at him at unexpected times to be unbelievably disorienting and nerve-wracking.  Which one of them is the real one, anyway…?

His mask looks much as Jin does in canon, though his scars are in different places.  In mien, he  always looks a bit rumpled, with short, sandy brown fur and bright, emotive eyes.  He’s dog-eared (literally), one alert, the other floppy, and his hands have stubby, darkened nails.  Unbelievably expressive and more overtly doggish body language--he didn’t keep a tail in his flight back through the Hedge, but people tend to remember him as having one anyway.

Court/Mantle: Courtless.  Jin’s too mixed up in his own emotions to pick just one to focus on.  He likes the idea of Spring, but he’s also skeptical that just wanting is enough to keep people safe, and that fear is rooted deep.  He’s also not without his old sorrows.  Of the High Court emotions, wrath is his rarest visitor.

Contracts:

        Fang & Talon (Dogs) I-III.  Jin’s got an undeniable rapport with dogs.  He loves them and they love him.  There’s practically no mutt he can’t get some words out of if he asks nice.  He’s also still got a hunting hound’s nose, when he needs it.  

        Hearth I-II.  Deeply dedicated to his friends, the Contracts of Hearth make advancing the goals of the motley (or hurting the chances of their enemies) even easier.

        Eternal Spring I.  Easier to be a people-pleaser when you know what pleases people!  Toga taught him this one.

        Moon I.  It’s good to know what people want, but it’s also good to know what kind of crazy people (fetches especially) might be sitting on.  This one also helps the group nail down where Shigaraki’s head is at on any given day.

Spinner

Quote: “What a mess.  Where are we even going with this?”

Type: Steepscrambler Beast.  Spinner spent, by his best reckoning, four years in a Faerie jungle.  It was always sweltering, sickbed heat with air so wet you could choke on it, and after a few close calls with the serpentine river dragons and over-large birds of prey that prowled the place, he’d all but given up trying to search for a way out--the sea of trees just went on forever anyway.  A long-tongued madman named Stain convinced him otherwise, with talk of hidden trods and clues found in the bellies of gutted fish.  When Stain went missing, Spinner resolved to try again, and though he can no longer remember the method of it, whatever he did seems to have worked.  He got back to his shitty hometown, but found it just as bad as ever, if not worse, with a fetch still cooped up in his old bedroom, spiralling ever further into depression.  And so, fed up with the state of his life and the apathy his fetch reflected back at him, he did something that very few changelings are capable of doing--he left home.  

Finding his way to the nearest big city with a proper freehold, Spinner gravitated to the Summer Court and got set up with an apartment in a small complex the freehold maintains for newbies to stay in while they get their feet under them.  Not too long after, Shigaraki and Toga wandered into a Summer recruitment drive, with Shigaraki immediately managing to get on Spinner’s nerves--which made it all the more exasperating when Spinner went home and found the both of them moving into the apartment next door to his!  Spinner’s still trying to figure out what he thinks of the mercurial and difficult Shigaraki, but they have been bonding over video games of late.

Spinner’s mask is a sun-darkened young man with a prominent nose and a thin, terse mouth.  He’s straight-backed but with a certain nerviness in his eyes, a stance that suggests he’s ready to throw the first punch.  He has a street punk look--pointy fingernails and pink hair--that people without the sight to know better assume is achieved with a nail file and hair dye.  His mask looks exactly like canon!Spinner with one exception--changeling!Spinner has ears.  They’re pointy, green and finely-scaled, but otherwise normal humanoid ears and they make his face look just a little wider and more humanoid than canon!Spinner’s lizard profile.  

Court/Mantle: Summer, the season of wrath.  Spinner’s angry about a lot of things--the state of the world, the injustices served to his motley and the wrongs of his life in particular--but he’s also wrestling with a lot of self-loathing.  It’s easy for him to slip into fatalistic thoughts and get mired down in apathy, and every time he thinks he’s gotten past it, someone or something comes along that throws him off, and then before he knows it he’s back on the ground wondering how he’s ever going to get past this.  Leaning into Summer’s hot anger helps keep him focused.  His mantle is relatively weak, tending to manifest as a warm, dry wind only when he’s particularly fired up or activating Court contracts.

Contracts: Spinner’s well-rounded, but that’s because he has a hard time settling on anything.  His ridiculous spread of Contracts illustrates this.

        Den I-II.  Not interested in leaning into his animal instincts and learning to talk to lizards, Spinner has instead leaned into possessive territorialism.  Unfortunately, he still feels like a small fish, so it’s hard to muster up the swagger that would allow him to progress this Contract further.  

        Fleeting Summer I.  Need to pick a fight and score some quick glamour?  This is the clause for you!  Just make sure Dabi’s not around; that guy’s angrier than the whole rest of the motley put together and it skews the readings.

        Eternal Summer I.  Makes Spinner a walking thermostat. Yes, sometimes Toga and Mr. Compress take advantage.

        Oath & Punishment I.  There’s a certain capital-R romance to this Contract that Spinner likes, but he’d need to find something (or someone) to whole-heartedly devote himself to first.  At least he can do sick parkour jumps in the meantime.  

        Artifice I.  Temporary repair magic.  Handy around the house and when you fight with cheap knives.  

        Dream I.  Useful facts about the local Hedge and he’s generally content to leave it at that--he doesn’t have a lot of use for dream-spinning, not when Magne’s so good at it.

Dabi

Quote: “You’re mad, huh?  So what are you gonna do about it?”

Type: Gravewight Darkling.  Once upon a time, there was a barren couple who wished desperately for children.  For many years, it was only a wish, until Todoroki Enji finally found someone who offered him a solution.  Nine months later, Todoroki Touya was born, to be followed by a string of children, each haler and heartier than the last.  Seven years later, the firstborn child was taken away in the night.  No fetch was left behind--after all, the Other was only claiming the price they’d been promised.  Fifteen years after that, a changeling calling himself Dabi dragged himself out of the Hedge, having spent most of his life lighting funeral pyres and digging graves in Faerie until he dug his way out.

Dabi fell in with the rest of the League motley after being found by Magne after a fight went sideways.  She patched him up and offered him a group to run around with for a while rather than doing the solo act.  He accepted, but his pledges with the rest of the group are a bit different--more paranoid, less supportive.  Dabi is distant from the motley, and only time will tell if he eventually lets them in or not.  

In mask, Dabi’s a beanpole, wild black hair and bright blue eyes with a caustic grin, skulking about in a succession of black coats and heavy, workmanlike boots.  In mien, he’s even taller, a too-thin gaunt with great swatches of skin burned away by restless soul-fires, which still cling and flicker blue around his hands.  His skin fits him a bit too loose, and he wears staples to keep it all in place.  

Court/Mantle: Summer, the season of wrath.  Could it ever be anything else?  Rather stronger than Spinner’s mantle, Dabi’s manifests as heat distortions in the air around him and, when he’s particularly riled up, blasts of hot air like you’d get opening up a hot oven.  He has some trouble advancing in the Court proper, though, as he prefers to only fight battles he knows he can win.  He feels, all the time, sick with rage, but until he proves willing to make stands even when the odds are against him, the Iron Spear’s time for him will be limited.  

Contracts: 

        Shade & Spirit I.  If he’s going to see ghosts around all the time anyway, he might as well be able to talk to them.  They’re only sporadically helpful, but as a skeleton in the closet himself, he has some fellow feeling for them.

        Elements (Fire) I-III.  He brought fire with him out of Faerie, but it’s a difficult thing for him to master, foreign to his seeming despite sometimes feeling as if it’s nestled in his very bones.  

        Fleeting Summer I-II.  Dabi’s much at home with wrath, and very willing to shape it to his own ends.  Whether or not he sticks around for them, he likes starting fights.  

        Punishing Summer I.  An odd branch of Summer magic, but one that he feels has some promise for him.  Compared to the more straightforwardly righteous Contract of Eternal Summer, this feels harsher, longer-burning, and that sings to him in ways he finds very appealing.

Mr. Compress

Quote: “If we’re going to break the law, why shouldn’t we do it in style?”

Type: Larcenist Fairest.  A simple stage magician of modest fame once upon a time, right up until he was offered a promising and lucrative gig by a stranger who thought he deserved a better stage for his talents.  The stage in this case turned out to be--well, you can guess.  His client (Keeper) wanted things stolen--they seemed to enjoy the taste of things ill-gotten--and there was always some new diamond or painting or antique.  Sako’s time in Faerie (which he came to share with Magne) was like a string of heist films: glamorous and bubbly and thrilling, but the underside was rife with lurid, impossible violence waiting on the slightest error, the stakes always seemed to be climbing, and of course you could never say no…  But one thing you can say for heist films is that they always allot a proper amount of time for planning, and so over time Sako and the others planned their last heist--the one to steal themselves into freedom.  If asked, Sako will tell a dozen different stories about how it went, but the truth is his memories are fuzzy, and the only thing he knows for sure is that he and Magne emerged from the Hedge alone.  

Sako’s a bit disjunctioned in time--many more years have passed in the real world than he spent in Faerie, and he spent a good many years in Faerie.  His fetch washed up in a nursing home in the meantime, riddled with palsy and Alzheimer’s, and though Sako is not by habit or preference a violent man, the sight of it filled him with a primal loathing.  And it’s so easy, in an overcrowded environment, to make a mistake with a dosage…  Sako still has a piece of the detritus left over, just to remind himself of how his story could have ended, and how determined he is to not let such a future come to pass.  

In his mask, Mr. Compress (well, he needed a new stage name) is a handsome, auburn-haired man in his forties who gestures constantly, frequently toying with a short white cane, and speaks in refined if somewhat dated language in a rich, theatrical voice.  He always dresses a bit more nicely than he needs to, preferring clothes with hidden pockets and long sleeves, and is rarely without a hat to flourish.  His mien mostly serves to heighten all of that--he becomes impossibly graceful and compelling, his voice catching the ear like a song, and his clothes are revealed to be Hedgespun, the feather in his hat belonging to no bird an ornithologist could name, the buttons on his coat and the stone accentuating his bolo tie shifting slowly in pattern and shade the longer you watch, and the cane almost certainly a low-level token of some kind.  The most eye-catching thing, though, is the mask--he wears a white mask that always seems to have a different pattern on it, though it never moves while you’re looking directly at it.  He doesn’t seem able to actually remove it all the way, though he can slide it around enough to eat or theatrically squint or blink his eyes (dark and bewitchingly expressive).  If it’s forcefully pulled off, it’s only to reveal another one beneath it--though he’ll complain that it stings and ask you to refrain.  

Court/Mantle: Autumn, the season of fear magic!  Mr. Compress didn’t come out of the Hedge with a particular Court affinity, but he was drawn towards Autumn like a compass needle finding true north.  He’s only a limited interest in fear (though his response to his fetch shows that he has his share of it), but he’s endlessly fascinated by the ins-and-outs of faerie magic.  Trinkets, tokens, pledge-craft--if it’s a clever trick, he’s interested.  His mantle shows as pops and starbursts of light, and frequently as a cool, trailing mist about his feet.  

Contracts: The only person in the group more focused than Toga.

        Separation I-IV.  Escape magic fit for Houdini himself.  If it looks like Compress is locked up or restrained, it’s almost only certainly because he’s allowing himself to be.  

        Forge I-III.  Sleight of hand is even more impressive when you’re using magic!  Extremely convenient for those times when he needs a passable ID or a house key he does not in fact own.

Magne

Quote: “Take it easy, honey.  I’ll handle it.”

Type: Metalflesh Elemental.  Magne was a criminal before she was a changeling, and it was in that capacity that she--like Mr. Compress--fell prey to an offer that should have been too good to be true.  The heist team needed a bit more muscle, is the thing; they were getting caught too often without a good combatant.  And so came Magne, given a sturdier body (that could, incidentally, meld through safe walls when necessary) through processes she only remembers in her nightmares.  An odd thing happened with her, though--what Magne felt the pull of in Faerie was less the element she became and more the stuff of Arcadia itself.  Where her Keeper expected her to become hard as steel, instead she embraced dream conjury; where she was instructed to protect the rest of her band, that protection took the form of healing as often as it did squaring up for a fight.  It’s hard to argue with the results, though--Magne is a fierce and stubborn defender of any group that wins her loyalty.  

Currently in a live-and-let live relationship with her fetch--she feels a bit sorry for the poor creature, and would rather see her find a way to break free of the image she was forged in and make her own path than kill her.  It’s painful to be around her, though, so while Magne’s willing to extend some help from a distance, she would rather the fetch keep her distance.  Time will tell if her fetch--who has her own desires and very much shares Magne’s willingness to bust some heads over them--is prepared to abide by this.  

Magne in mask looks much as she does in canon, though she can afford nicer clothes.  Her preference for butch presentation is unchanged, but the jeans are designer and the shirts elaborate silk prints.  She has a collection of fetching sunglasses for any occasion.  Her mien is a gleaming ochre bronze, flesh hard and smooth, her hair (a bit darker in color than the rest of her) always a bit stiff but, on the other hand, difficult to muss.  Her body is in all ways a more chiselled, more perfected version of the body she went into Arcadia with, which Magne has mixed but overall relieved feelings about.  The flesh-to-metal transition her Keeper forced on her was bad enough; whyever would she trust the Others with gender affirmation?

Court/Mantle: Spring, season of desire growth. Magne’s desire is to never be held down by any sort of repression or expectation forced on her by others (the Others in particular), and this pride drew her strongly to the Antler Crown.  While she doesn’t exhibit the flowing, graceful beauty so prized in women of the Emerald Court, her passion for self-expression and her unstinting support of those fumbling their way towards the same has certainly won her her share of admirers.  Magne’s mantle takes the form of fresh-scented air and pleasant breezes.  She doesn’t leave flowers where she walks, but you can sometimes find ivy where her hands have been.  

        Contracts: 

        Dream I-III.  By leaps and bounds the most talented dream-weaver in the motley, Magne’s oneiromancy is light-hearted and nonjudgmental while her oneiromachy is formidable.  Everyone in the motley can soothe one another’s nightmares, but Magne is the best at it.  She usually has at least one or two dream-task pledges active with mortals, too, so she rarely struggles to keep her glamour reserves--or her wallet--full.  

        Elements (Metal) I.  Magne’s retained only the minimum level of connection with the metal she was forged from; in truth, her body is less important to her than what she does with it.

        Eternal Spring I-III.  Easing fatigue, curing wounds, and even bringing in         a gentle rain--Magne’s deeply in touch with the rejuvenative aspects of her Court.

BONUS TIDBITS:

Shigaraki experienced more deaths in Faerie than any other member of his motley.  After all, you might know the cheat code for unlimited lives, but that doesn’t mean you never die.  And it did feel like death, every time.  Of course, sometimes failure just meant Sensei shaking his head and Being Disappointed.  That still felt a bit like dying too, though.

Over the course of her durance, Toga had more than one knife fight with a cyber hero adventurer hunting through the city’s underbelly looking for a power core.  Also, changeling!Toga is much less murderous than canon!Toga because if she were as murderous as canon!Toga, Clarity loss would rapidly render her unplayable.  

Spinner was pulled into the motley over a planned playdate heist to see how well Shigaraki and Toga could work as a unit with Mr. Compress and Magne.  Being very familiar with heist stories by that time, Sako and Magne decided the group needed one more guy to provide muscle, and as it happened, Shigaraki and Toga lived next door to just such a one.

I have not decided on whether the Todoroki family are a mundane equivalent of the way we see them in canon, all deeply damaged by Endeavor’s ceaseless drive to fulfill his goals by way of his children, or whether they’re actually pretty normal and well-adjusted with the exception of Enji’s one dark secret.  Either way, Natsuo is the only one who has any inkling that there was anything “off” about Touya’s death/disappearance.    He has no inkling of the truth, obviously, but he always felt that Enji didn't react quite the right way to Touya's death, or thought Enji was behaving suspiciously on the night Touya vanished.  

The League’s basic motley pact includes the dreaming pledge, so they frequently take mental voyages into one another’s dreamscapes to clear out the nightmares and indulge in silly, impossible-in-reality lucid dreaming adventures.  The exception is Dabi, who would rather have nightmares than people in his head.  

Mr. Compress doesn’t jokingly call himself an old man anymore because he’s too traumatized by finding out what he’d actually be like in old age.  

Shigaraki, while beginning the story in a fairly ambivalent, uncertain place, eventually finds his way towards a goal of helping to free loyalists--from their hopeless circumstances, from their learned helplessness, from their starstruck adoration.  He finds this goal over the course of his late-game encounters with Kurogiri, Gigantomachia, and Re-Destro, and it is through helping them that he’s finally able to begin to process his own feelings of attachment and affection towards his Keeper.  It may well be that the fetch of Shimura Tenko is Shigaraki’s final boss.

[rosieengel]

the beauty and the terror

I’ve been contemplating starting a blog for a long time now, but felt paralyzed with terror because I couldn’t find a great opening post topic. This week, the topic found me. I’ve had the draft saved with my finger hovering over the “post now” button for a few days. So, here it goes. 

My first post is about my most recent brush with beauty and terror, best encapsulated, I think, in the mystical words of the poet Ranier Maria Rilke: 

Let everything happen to you Beauty and terror Just keep going No feeling is final

In one of my favorite books of all time, Awareness, Anthony de Mello ponders and unpacks those non-final, fleeting moments in life - he points to the fact that our cells live and die so often that we have to wonder, who am “I” after all? Was I the same person I was in the past? No. Not physically, at least, but isn’t our “consciousness” also comprised of a neural network made up of cells? So we are also not our feelings or our emotions. As a matter of fact, we have to liberate ourselves from our experiences altogether if we are to be fully present in the here and now, or we become hijacked by the filters that create our reality. This becomes even more interesting when we consider how many of our memories may be false or fabricated. How much of my past did I dream? How much did I experience in consciousness? “Don’t carry over experiences from the past... don’t carry over good experiences from the past either. Learn what it means to experience something fully, then drop it and move on to the next moment, uninfluenced by the previous one.... You’d know what eternal life is, because eternal life is now, in the timeless now.” In this book, de Mello suggests, no demands, that the reader, “Wake up”.  Wake up to how we filter reality. Wake up to our excuses. Wake up and be aware. 

I’ve always taken this book very seriously, but it became more important to me when I experienced my first pregnancy loss. The week before Christmas 2017, we experienced major emotional and physical whiplash; we were excited about the possibilities of the new life I was growing. We had told our family and friends, and like a lot of mothers-to-be, I was already dreaming about all of the amazing and absolutely terrifying ways our lives would change. I had spent my 20s and most of my 30s focused on my teaching and playing career, my health, and music. It was time to take care of someone else and I was looking forward to a new chapter (that I thought about my life then in terms of chapters is preposterous and that is worth another blog post). But the Universal Creator had different plans for us, as He typically does. At 12 weeks into my pregnancy and three days before Christmas, I had a miscarriage on the other side of the country and felt a tremendous sense of loss and confusion. In the ER, I could only hold tightly to E’s hand and eeck out, “Our little kumquat...” I was really shocked. I felt as if no one understood - I was grateful for the kindness of everyone around me, but at the same time, I felt as if they were too afraid to give me any comfort or love. Now I know that that is no one else’s responsibility but my own. 

Much to my surprise (and other women who have lost babies or children probably grok this), many ordinary and mundane things in life became very difficult. Particularly because it was Christmas. I found I couldn’t really think about the future at all. Holiday traditions and cheer seemed trite and fabricated. I fought back breakdowns whenever I was around children of any age. Drops would well up in my eyes whenever anyone started talking about their dreams of getting pregnant or starting families. I sat amidst the glee and celebration screaming inside, “HEY!!! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’M STILL HERE AND DONT YOU KNOW WHAT IM FEELING!?!??!?!” I would go to the bathroom bleeding, cramping, and sad as I waited for the miscarriage to finish playing out to its gruesome end. I was ashamed to burden others with my uncomfortable tears. I will never forget how I reached into the toilet to touch, pick up, and say goodbye to what I believe was the last of the tissue that remained.

In the days afterward, I came across what would become a well-loved piece by Brian Andreas:

This is how I came to see that first baby - as an angel who was with me so briefly, but made such a terrific impact on my life. An angel, who most certainly prodded me to “wake up” in a de Mello sense. Immediately upon my return home, I said my goodbye to her and started healing (and it’s still happening). I felt an enormous calling to help and to heal others too; in the process of healing with Craniosacral Therapy (CST), I decided to study it myself and enrolled in massage therapy school.  CST helped me to fully experience that pain and grief, down to the mitochondria of my cells, through my fascia, through my very center.  When my inner spirit sensed the healing presence of Erin, my therapist, emotions bubbled up through my solar plexus, through my left hip, my ribs, my sternum. They still do, even today. As an additional part of my healing, I dragged myself to talk therapy for a whole year. My counselor recommended EMDR, using vibration and aural cues because I’m a musician. Through this therapy I finally fully experienced some trauma that I had hidden, buried in my tissues. I came to realize and acknowledge that I had not held proper space for myself and my loss. I had been remiss in thinking that life should go according to my plans, that the world owes me certain things, that I have even a tiny bit of control over my path. The worst is that I held so much shame for all of the things I thought I had failed at in my life. I couldn’t live my pop rocks life because I was looking externally for validation that I was worthy in this world - I was looking everywhere but inside my own spirit. I believe this is what also attracted me to academia, a field where accolades, accomplishments, and the correct lines on your vitae become a measure of your life’s work. That was a tough pill to swallow, but I’ve come to terms with that realization. I’m still healing today in other ways and I probably always will be.

This week, I was gifted a second angel. Even though she is gone now, I will always think of her as Eliza Jane. We conceived her without really intending to around New Years in New Orleans. I love walking down Magazine Street toward the Quarter. When we would walk by the hotel, I would admire its historic, embossed vertical sign. I offhandedly told E that I would love to name a hypothetical daughter Eliza Jane. Two weeks later, I would learn that she was already there.

Early miscarriage is very common. Statistically speaking, 1 in 4 confirmed pregnancies end (that they know of). So - why don’t we talk about it? Why do I feel embarrassed and ashamed that I am part of this statistic? The answer explains why this post stayed in draft form for so long. 

I drove myself to the ER this week, in pain and bleeding. My midwife suggested that I go if I was concerned and if I wanted a quick answer. The answer was not good, but.... I knew the answer already.  I had felt the absence in my body, the little tug at my heart when her life left me. I won’t say that it was easier this time, but I knew what to expect. I knew what the pain would feel like; I would not be taken off-guard by the waves of grief and sadness, the emptiness, and in some ways, the feelings of loneliness and alienation. I was able to hold space for myself this time, to sit in silence, to be in my own home, my own bathroom. I didn’t have to speak to anyone. E was with me and we were together. These two losses have brought us closer together. As I laid in the ultrasound room, unable to see the images that the silent technician kept from my view, I renewed the gratitude in my heart that the Universe brought E and me together.  It may sound like a sappy cliche, but this is the only way I can put my love for him into words right now: the threads of grief in our souls are so "bare” when they are left alone, but when weaved together, make us inseparable and stronger than ever before.

When I got home from the hospital, I planted myself in bed to mentally prepare for the night ahead. Our scrappy, stray cat, Tikky, crawled into bed with me. She rarely does that. As I writhed in bed and moaned in pain, she planted herself next to me. Sprawled out against my belly, she stayed. Although I thrashed about, she remained, wide awake and concerned. Even in that moment, I was so present and grateful for her healing energy. She reminded me that the sick and pained don’t have to crawl into the corner, to lick their wounds alone. The strongest survive with the help and love of others. She sent me light in her own way, without saying anything at all. This is one of the many things I have learned from cats.

I’m sharing this story with the hope that it reaches others who have been through a similar experience. To you - you are not alone. Would this be different if I had a stillborn or if I lost an infant? No. Not according to my belief system. After the worst was over, I woke up before dawn to hear a robin trilling outside my window. In my world, nothing is a coincidence.

If you have not had this experience, open your eyes to those around you who are suffering in silence. Wake up. Just as someone communicates joy and celebration with new life and new possibilities, there is also someone who is crying and mourning the loss of a life. There are also those who did not want to create life and decide to end it (or they don’t). This isn’t just confined to miscarriage - there are people struggling around you. You must assume they are doing their best and it is not their responsibility to make you feel happy with your life.  If you find yourself riled up or offended because of someone else’s struggle, or what you feel to be their failures or incompetencies, just ask yourself - am I taking this personally? I ask myself that question often - that is part of the process of waking up. It’s the process of leading a more compassionate life. Death surrounds us and it is part of a cycle that is repeating. There’s something comforting to me about the cycles of life. My cycle, that of the earth and moon, and the seasons.  Your cells die, they shed, they turn over. It does not happen to us, it is us.

Of course, we should be happy. We should experience bliss and joy and scream it from the mountaintops, all others be damned! But can’t we also show our heartbreak, sadness, grief, and despair? Instead of turning and running from the pain, what if we leaned into the uncomfortable and said something. ANYTHING. Say you’re sorry. Ask if they are okay. Say that you don’t know what to say, but you are here to talk. Be there in silence. Be a shoulder or a hug. Hold space for them in your heart. Reach out. That’s something. Let yourself see the terror and the beauty, because if you don’t, your life will consist only of coincidences and you may miss the angels who are helping you along the way to wake up so that you do not miss your life.

Tikky didn’t leave me to lick my wounds alone. She nestled in and hunkered down right next to the pain. She leaned into it and sat there patiently through my tears and gibberish. Just as I am here to do for you, my friend.

[irondadgroupie]

Bohemian Rhapsody: Chapter 5

We want to pretend like the week-long hiatus was planned @intoresus but honestly, we would be lying :D First was Easter and- you know what we are talking about. 

When May Parker received the call, it had been a bad sign from the very beginning. There weren’t many people that would call her during work. The number wasn’t Peter’s, so it couldn’t be him telling her he was inviting Ned over - or staying for another night at the Stark Tower. It was a stranger talking on the other end of the line, calmly but urgently. He refused to tell what had happened, or why she was asked to come in the first place, just repeated he’d send a driver to pick her up and bring her to the compound.

There she was now, in the back of a small limousine - a little extravagant, as was everything coming from Tony Stark, but at least she was getting where she needed to be and had a little more time to try and reach Peter. A part of her knew he wouldn’t pick up, but the bigger, more optimistic part was always expecting to hear his voice at the other end of the line, or a new message, but nothing. The last one was from eleven this morning:

Dishes are washed. Mr Stark’s picking me up for lunch in a few. Be back tomorrow.  

May didn’t exactly dislike Tony, but she wasn’t entirely warming up to him either. She knew he was trying to be supportive, and that Peter had lightened up since Stark had walked into his life. However, she questioned his behavior. What did Tony Stark want? It was a question that didn’t let her go. He appeared as if he really cared for her kid, but so had other people in Peter’s life - people who had ended up using him, in the truest sense of that word. May still felt sick thinking about it. Who was telling her that this was about Peter and not about Iron Man needing a side-kick superhero? Or about having the kid work on some ideas Tony could present as his own in the future?  

As far as she’d heard – the man wasn’t exactly a hermit - it wouldn’t have been the first time. Back in 2002, there had been a heavy accusation of Stark stealing an idea for using concepts that were rumored not to be his. The case was dropped two years later due to the lack of evidence, but with the amount of Tony Stark’s wealth, he might’ve just bribed the entire court. Peter could spend a day talking non-stop about how the man had changed over the course of the past few years, but May couldn’t shake off her doubts. No one could make a 180 change after being an arrogant and eccentric millionaire for half of his life. Peter had a general tendency to trust people too quickly and too easily, believing in the good in everyone, no matter if they deserved it or not. The fact that he’d worshipped Tony Stark for most of his life didn’t help with that either. That’s what was getting her anxious about the two of them spending so much time together: If it were really about Stark’s intention to exploit her boy, it would be easy for him, and Peter probably wouldn’t even realize anything until it was already too late.

Twenty unlucky calls later they reached their destination, and May was guided inside the building.

“Mrs Parker?” She heard it before she saw it, her worst fears coming true. The woman in front of her her was wearing scrubs. She was a medic.

“Yes,” May answered tonelessly. “I’m here for my nephew, Peter.”

“Sure. Follow me, please.” The worst part about the entire situation was that May had been working in the medical field for long enough to recognize patterns. They guided her away from the main area, because the news wouldn’t be good. Because they wanted her to have a private room, a place to sit down before they’d fill her in. And that was exactly what was happening.

“I have to inform you that your nephew has been involved in an animal-vehicle crash earlier this afternoon.”  

May heard the words, but their meaning didn’t put itself together. As if she was trapped in a nightmare. Getting the gist of a situation, nothing more. “He’s receiving the best medical care in this facility, I assure you.” Yet another typical sentence. Nothing with vital information.  

May needed it. Needed some information, at least whether or not Peter was alright.

“How is he?”  

The shuffle. A second offer for a glass of water. Again, May shook her head.

“He’s suffered something we call a hypothermia, which is factually a lowered body temperature, alongside a concussion and a splenic trauma. His vitals are stable at the moment. However, I am obligated to inform you that the severity of his injuries had caused a cardiac arrest. We managed to take control of it rather quickly, but Peter has unfortunately slipped into a coma.”

The universe around May Parker didn’t exist anymore. She’d heard all those words before. Screamed along hospital hallways, whispered between some doctors. All of them had a meaning that she was well aware of. The medic offered her sincerest apologies and suggested she’d bring her to Peter’s room whenever she felt ready but May ignored her. She wasn’t ready.

Barely a few years ago she had lost her husband.

And now they wanted to tell her that she almost lost her nephew by the skin of his teeth?

No. This had to be a nightmare, a very, very cruel nightmare.

Peter was at home, with Ned, building Lego sets.

In Stark’s lab, working on some secret inventions.

Maybe outside, as Spider-Man, saving ‘the little people’.

Safe.

Not in the ICU of a high-class medical facility.  

She barely listened to the explanation of how it had come to the crash in the first place. The only informations she tried to keep in her mind was how the current prognosis and future treatment looked like. “Tests came back promising, and we assume that his healing factor will continue to have a positive effect. However, we can’t yet tell when he’s going to wake up.”  

Her vision blurred by tears that refused to fall and the pain was so awful it literally made her feel hollow, as if she was helplessly sinking into quicksand.

Episodes of sadness had been a constant companion ever since Ben’s death, and usually Peter was helping her out. That’s what they always did: Cheering each other up - balancing each other out. But now? Now Peter couldn’t. Now it was on her alone.

They were about to explain her that he was currently still ventilated, due to his lungs needing to recover from the effects of drowning, when they entered the room.

Her first glance didn’t meet Peter - she doubted she would’ve recognized him under the thick blankets and with the countless wires covering him. But maybe it would’ve been good if that’s the first she saw. It would’ve anchored her.

Instead, the first thing she saw beyond the waterfall in her eyes was Tony Stark - One hand in her nephew’s hair, the other resting on his chest, mumbling something she didn’t comprehend. The first thing she saw was him.

The man who’d driven the car Peter got hurt in.

In that moment, he wasn’t Tony Stark anymore. Not Peter’s hero, not the man who’d rescued him after the crash.

He was the enemy.

“You-“ You did this. But the words didn’t leave her mouth, this cruelty was tying her tongue. She saw Tony looking up in what she believed to be shock and surprise.

“May- I'm sorry-“  

“No. Don’t you dare attempt to apologize. This - you did this!”

“May,” Pepper stepped forward and tried to grasp the woman's arm in comfort. “We are all upset and shocked about this. How about you sit down, I'll get you tea-“

“No, no tea can solve this! You people caused this! It was your car he was in and you were driving,” She screamed at Tony. Tears spilled from her eyes and her face was read with rage. “You promised to take care of him and you broke it! Why? Because he had that good idea before you and you needed him out of the picture?”

“What?” Tony whispered and his shock and resentment flushed away to disbelief. “- I saved him! That doesn't make any sense!”

“What do I know about you rich people? Intern in coma sounds better than a dead one.”

Tony opened his mouth and closed it in the same instant, his chest suddenly feeling way too tight to speak, or even move. Somewhere outside of his mind, Pepper was asking him to calm down in a tone as worried as he’d never heard it before - which was huge, given the condition the woman had seen him in already, physically and mentally. But on the inside, there were only two things repeating themselves, one after another.

Peter could be dead.

You did this.

“May, you need to be careful. Tony is also healing. He can't take much emotional stress or his heart-“ Pepper told as she helped her husband to the bed. He wasn’t fighting her, and Pepper realized that she hated this more than him arguing with her. It meant that May’s words, spoken in terrible grief, had left an invisible, but no less painful scar in Tony’s heart.

“Yeah, that can be easily arranged,” May sniffed. “I want you out.”

“What?” Tony whispered, eyes wide.

“Both of you, out. I don't want you anywhere near Peter or me. Only family is allowed and you are certainly not family. Leave us alone or I swear to God I am taking this to the court.”

“A lawsuit? She can’t be serious about that. What’d be the charges? Saving her nephew from drowning? We’re in America, not China, or the middle-ages.”  

Pepper kept her voice quiet only to avoid catching another deprecating glare from one of the night nurses. She and Rhodey stood outside Tony’s room in the long hallway. Although being on the possibly highest dose of non-anesthetic sedatives possible, Tony was in a light sleep, and Pepper did in no way intend to unnecessarily wake him. He needed rest, his heart and mind a break from conscious thinking. It had been hard enough to see how much the man had been suffering after May had insisted on him leaving. Doctors from both sides had tried to smooth down the conflict - arguing that it would be beneficial to both Tony and Peter’s conditions to not separate them, but May hadn’t listened. And with her being the boy’s legal guardian, there was nothing they could do about it.  

Tony had been devastated, in a way that Pepper had never seen him. He’d been crying, unresisted, the entire way back, and even after they’d shot him the sedatives to lower the risk of a further arrhythmia, he’d still mumbled “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry” until he finally fell asleep.

“She’s in shock.” Rhodey reasoned, and Pepper frowned at him in return.

“As is Tony. We all are. Hell, I certainly am.” Curses weren’t exactly in her typical daily word-repertoire, but this certainly wasn’t a typical day. “Gives her no reason to lash out at us that way. Her behavior could’ve caused Tony a heart attack and god knows I would’ve gone to court if that happened.”

“Pep.” Rhodey sighed. “She’s raised the boy.”  

He almost made a step backwards at the ice in Pepper’s eyes when she looked at him. “I’m not saying I understand what she did, I’m just -“ He massaged his temple. The day had been nerve-wracking and horrible, and he was slowly feeling the pay-off. “Just imagine it’d be your kid in there. You, I, we all know Tony the way he is. We’ve seen him grow over the years, we have seen evidence enough that he isn’t the 00’s Tony Stark anymore. He proves that to us every minute of every day.

“For May... For May he’s the man that everyone’s talking about. America’s most criticized person. Everyone who owns a functional TV has heard of him, and the media doesn’t have a reputation of showing people at their best. For May, he’s the billionaire superhero that supports her son fighting crime at night. She has no idea who he really is or how much he really cares. He’s honestly just that guy in the driver’s seat for her, but it’s her son that’s caught the worst of this crash, and she needs someone to blame, because otherwise, all of that might be too cruel to handle.”

Pepper did not answer, but the words stuck with her. After all, Rhodey might be right. From the outside perspective, with just the media as a source of information, she probably wouldn’t trust Tony either, no matter how hard it was to imagine that. To imagine that no one saw her Tony as the gentle, loving human being that he was.

“You’re staying with Tony till morning? I’ll leave her for the night, and hope she’s a little more at ease tomorrow. We can help her through this.”  

And Tony’s going to break if she refuses to let him see Peter for longer than a day.

Tony woke up in the middle of the night, feeling like someone had smashed a building right on top of him. He needed a while to recognize his surroundings, and to scan his memory for the reason for his pain. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t.

The worst seconds after trauma weren’t those when you’re confused about what’s been happening, but the flashes of minutes - hours even - burning themselves through your mind all at once.

His movie had an injured Peter as the main protagonist, and May’s angry voice as soundtrack. Her accusations stung. They stung, because after all, he’d thought that May would know him better than that.  

The story she was referring to had happened years ago.  

Some “upcoming star technician”, that had just started his small independent business, had denounced him because some of the blue-prints that Tony had used for filing a patent for his latest invention looked similar to his. It had become a top story; people believed it to be more realistic that a billionaire would steal ideas rather than a small company would use the indictment to sneak themselves some money and attention.

It wasn’t just that Tony’s ego was far too big to ever steal someone’s idea to enrich himself.  

He could never do something like that to Peter.

The project the kid had been working on every time he’d been in the lab for the past couple of months had grown into something solid. There were still some edges on it that’d need fine tuning and Tony had gladly volunteered to help fix those, but this would always be Peter’s invention entirely, his baby and he would make sure that he’d get all the well- deserved credit for it.  

He wouldn’t take that achievement away from the kid.

And he certainly wouldn’t cause a crash to... he couldn’t even finish the thought without feeling sick. His breathing would’ve quickened along with his heart-rate under normal circumstances, but with the amount of anti-arrhythmias rushing through his system, his body seemed to be stuck in its rhythm.  

That didn’t make the idea any less hurtful. The image of how different the day could’ve ended for both of them. A world without Peter Parker would be a gruesome world, without light or colors or sounds, just a hollow emptiness. That’s what Tony had almost pictured hell like: A hollow place.

Sleeping had become impossible now. If he’d close his eyes, he would always see the picture of Peter’s lifeless, pale body in front of him. But staring in the darkness didn’t help the awful feeling either.

Rhodey was sitting in the armchair next to his bed, head hanging on his shoulder, snoring lightly.  

For a moment, Tony considered waking him, aware that Rhodey would definitely be mad if he didn’t do it, but he had no intention to have the following conversation about how he felt, or that he should rest and not worry.

He turned his head to the other side, searching for the access button they’d given him that’d give him a light dose of painkillers if his pain became unbearable, but his eyes met something else: a metallic object glistening in the moonlight shining throught the window.

Oh please, let it be.

It was indeed his StarkPad, and Tony suddenly relaxed. This was better than painkillers. This would keep his mind busy enough for a while not to be sucked in the downward spiral of anxiety.

His arms moved sluggishly, and for a moment he feared he’d drop the Pad, but he managed to settle it quietly onto his lap.

A memo turned up.

You should really sleep, Tony.

But I love you, and I know you won’t, so take it easy right now.

Tony let out a breath and smiled weakly. Pepper had put up shortcuts to all his favorite music tracks and some brain-melting arcade games. However, Tony had other intentions. He couldn’t find it in himself to allow the distraction of playing simple mobile games - worse enough that Peter had infected him with that BlockMastery hype a few weeks ago - and music was the last thing he needed right now. He doubted he could ever listen to a rock song again. Not with one of them being so closely associated with this day.

No. He needed to do something else.

The ObserverSystem refused his command.

Access denied It reported, and Tony already frowned, checking the command protocols until he found the error: A foreign protocol called “Recover & Rest” that blocked all functions aside from games, music and video-platforms. Pepper knew him to well. But she should’ve known that this wasn’t keeping him from doing what he had to.

//Override. 496e76656e746f72 He typed, and the protocol was immediately turned off. The next burden didn’t come as a surprise, and the needed code was easier to type.

//Override. 50726f746563746f72

The system needed a few seconds before the medical database was fully loaded. After that, it was a matter of seconds to get the access to Peter’s data and connect himself to the kid’s vital monitors. Audio output was still turned off, and for almost a minute Tony just appreciated the wonderfully rhythmical spikes on screen and the ease that came with not having to wait for the sound underlying one of them.  

He changed audio delivery to his headphones and the rhythmic beeps audible were more calming than even the best movie soundtrack could ever be, because each of them meant that Peter’s heart had made another beat, each of them meant that for now, his kid was alright.  

It was the soundtrack that guided him to sleep.

[tenpin-boleyn]

I procrastinated and this mess happened

It’s horrificly bad but it’s inspired by this doodle I did when I was, you guessed it, procrastinating :))

So enjoy this pile of Millie’s cat sick :)

“I’m glad I found Chocolate Milk now because if I found it before I wouldn’t be able to drink it.” Anne stated, her face the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Why? Are you lactose intolerant?” You replied back, blissfully unaware of the past Anne hid. “I was beheaded? Duh” she laughed.

You had known Anne for over a year now, but not once has she mentioned being beheaded in a past life. You had seen Anne in Six obviously but you’d just assumed that was a character she had taken on. Like that time you played the Virgin Mary at age 4, probably not the best decision eh Mrs Keeping but there we go.

Anne suddenly looked as white as a ghost. She had forgotten that you didn’t know. For what it was worth Anne was a great actor. Onstage she was competition to a gremlin, but to a select few she was Anne. Just Anne. Anne with no tragic backstory. Just a girl who liked milkshakes. “I’m so sorry Anne. I didn’t know” you said lovingly, placing a hand onto Anne’s. It was a small gesture but it made you feel better that you could bring a bit of colour back to her rosy cheeks again. “Shall we go to yours? I want to show you something that will open your eyes forever.” Anne nodded to this, happy that you hadn’t dragged out the topic anymore.

You had hoped Anne wouldn’t already know what you were about to show her. It might be common knowledge to most but she had a tickling feeling that Anne wasn’t part of that percentage. You took her hand and ran down the street, passing the Queens house, which made Anne raise an eyebrow. Jane liked everyone home by 9, and it was already half 7, so she couldn’t go on a wild adventure to oxford on a random bus. “Look Y/N-“

“Tah dah.” You stopped and raised your hands at the sign above you.

“Tesco? You brought me to Tesco?”

You smiled at the green minx, “ah my child this isn’t any normal trip to Tesco. This is a life changing trip”

You managed to pry Anne away from the chocolate bars- you had a feeling that the sugar from the milkshakes was already getting to her head- and led her down the dairy isle. While Anne was distracted with a carton of purple milk you grabbed the carton you were searching for. “What do you think goes into purple milk? Cow blood mixed with a taste of WKD? ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN DONT YOU DARE THINK ABOUT TOUCHING MY ALCOHOL CABINET. Well now I don’t have to” She laughed.

“Anne what I have in my hands will change your entire life.”

You presented her with a carton of chocolate milk and you smiled to yourself as you watched her eyes widen and start to twinkle.

“You. Can. Buy. Chocolate. Milk?”

When you finally went back to the Queens place, you couldn’t help but worry. You had literally bought Tesco out of Chocolate milk. You knew Jane was a strict mum so perhaps introducing Anne, loud, insane Anne, to a new sugary invention wasn’t the best idea. Especially when you are carrying 27 cartons. 26, Anne just drank one. “Shall we take these up to my room?” Anne was obviously thinking about not having to share, rather than what Jane would think. “You do realise you need to keep milk in the fridge right?”

“But I thought- cause its chocolate-“

She looked downtrodden. “Do you want to sleep round? It’s getting late anyway and I just changed my sheets after months so it’s not a biohazard anymore!” You giggled to yourself, Anne truly was special. “I’d love to. Will the others mind?”

“No they love you!” And with that Anne unlocked the door.

“I’m telling you they’re dating!”

“No, id have read about it by now.”

“Huh?”

“Am I the only one who reads her dia- hello. Welcome to the very normal and casual conversation we are definitely having.” Cleves exclaimed from where she was sat, having realised that both girls were standing in the hallway.

“I’ve missed you guys! How have you been?”

“Great, I’ve finished my book on why men are absolutely pointless and serve no use on this planet!”

“And I made cookies for the first time! Who would have known that chocolate cookies aren’t just overcooked cookies?”

Anna noticed the bags we were carrying. “Do you two care to explain why we now own a farms worth of chocolate milk?”

“To cure my lacking toes intolerance”

“To help feed children in Africa!”

You both panicked. Anne, because she didn’t want to share, and you, because you didn’t want to get Anne into trouble for spending an absurd amount on flavoured milk. “Put them Into the garage fridge before Jane sees them! Lord knows what she’ll do with 40 cartons of confiscated milk.”

You glanced at Anne and giggled, you had noticed that her eyes were just a bit more bluer today, a trait you learnt meant that she was happy, and a darker blue meant she was going through a rough patch. “Before Jane sees what?” A blonde figure asked.

Before either of you could panic out another excuse, Cleves piped up again. “ I was just asking the girls to take my deliveries upstairs into my fridge” Anne winked at you both “because my back hurts awfully”

Jane smiled sympathetically at Cleves, unaware of the truth she was hiding. “Alright hurry up you two, and it’s lovely to see you Y/N!”

“You too Mrs Seymour!”

“Call me Jane.” You smiled. Although you called her Jane to Anne, it was only because that’s what Anne used, Jane had never formally told you to call her Jane, so you didn’t think it was proper. It felt nice to know that someone liked you, even a tiny bit.

“I’m telling you it’s not going to fit.” You declared as Anne tried to stuff 25 cartons of milk into the tiny mini fridge Anna had in her room. Yes Anne had drank another carton and was nearly bouncing off the walls. To your surprise 23 of the cartons fit inside of the fridge. “Looks like we’ll have to drink these then” Anne smiled mischievously.

The pair of you had been sat in Anne’s bed for about half an hour, just enjoying each other’s company whilst sipping the chocolate milk when you couldn’t stop yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me you got beheaded?” You had to admit, Anne’s slip up earlier stung. Didn’t she trust you with that information? But she trusted a room full of strangers?

Anne couldn’t look you in the eye, she was quite engaged by the edible glitter she had poured into her milk. You didn’t think she heard you so you started to ask her again.

“Why didn-“

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. It’s just, I’m so happy when I’m around you, and I don’t want to waste a second of it talking about my last life- it was hell, yes, but I’m over it. I’d rather talk about scrunchies than kerplunkies” and with that she motioned a quick beheading with her fingers and tongue.

To be fair, you hadn’t expected that reply. You hadn’t expected a decent reply end of. You’d put it down to the fact that Anne was coming down from a 22 hour long sugar rush and was too tired to think about what she was saying. “I- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry that you feel that you need to keep things from me just to have a good time. I mean we could do 95% fun and 5% family trauma because god knows I’ve got tons. But I like hanging out with you to Boleyn.”

Neither of you knew what to say next. Not much had been said but it was enough to build a bridge that wasn’t previously there. Out of nowhere Anne gets a text from Kitty. It contained an emoji and a word. Typical kitty. “💋 her”

Anne was shocked, 1. Where was Katherine and how did she spot the silence and sexual tension, and 2. How the fuck did she know that she was gay. Sure the queens were open and accepting of being gay, but it wasn’t something that Anne spoke about. But despite all of the racing questions, Anne plucked up the balls she stole from Henry and leant in and cupped Y/N’s face. You were shocked at this movement. How did a discussion about beheadings lead to this? But you weren’t complaining. You had realised you loved Anne the day she fell off of her bike. She had never rode a bike before so you had been teaching her, at first she seemed promising, but she fell over and scraped her knee, causing a war amount of blood to pour. To your amazement, she started crying and asking for Millie. You panicked, who was Millie?? You thought it could be a pet name for one of the queens but you couldn’t be sure which. So you ran inside to fetch Kitty. “Who’s Millie??”

Without even speaking Kat ran upstairs and returned holding a ragged old dog teddy. Just the thought of Anne being so vulnerable, clutching the years old toy made your heart wrench- more than when your favourite TV show got cancelled and definitely more than when Ben and Jerry’s decided to stop selling Cookie Dough at the cinema.

You leant in to annes hands, and placed your lips upon hers in a frenzy of sparks and fireworks. You had dreamt of this moment, but you could never have imagined it would come true. Just the thought made you smile, making Anne laugh whilst kissing you. You suddenly pull away, realising that you hadn’t been honestly with Anne either. “ I was murdered. By my father.”

“Where the actual fuck did that come from”

From outside the door the pair heard giggles and a muffled shout of “language Anne!”

Of course the other queens would be spying on the pair of you. You weren’t blind,or deaf. You’d heard the comments kitty and Cleves make when they think you can’t hear, and you’ve seen the silent arguments between kitty and Jane.

It did feel nice to have people who cared. Even if they were looking out for Anne. They felt like family. It felt like home.

“ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH MY BIBLE EVER AGAIN-“ Catherine of Aragon burst into the room, past the other queens listening intently outside the door and you suddenly realised that you were still locked in an embrace with Anne. You quickly pulled away before whispering

“That impression was spot on.”

[notgonnarememberthis]

Paying Attention- Chapter 7

We come once again to the end of a fic. I’m especially proud of this chapter (and mildly freaked out). Long story short I write in chunks and come back later. I wrote half of this (up until Sherlock telling Watson what had happened) last Friday in between classes. The rest I finished today in a spur of writing because I noticed a few startling similarities between my writing and the canon. I was already shocked at Watson being in danger at the hands of Michael. Imagine my surprise when the FBI is accusing Watson and that he was beaten to death. If it’s revealed next week that Moriarty killed Michael I’ll lose my shit.

Shoutout to my best friend in the world Rey for being my sounding board once again for a story and helping me work out kinks in the story even though they’ve literally only seen 2 episodes. See y’all in the next story

Sherlock nearly smiles at the sight he comes upon as he stalks down the stairs from his latest experiment. His first sight is the bright green baby blanket spread across the hardwood floor signifying tummy time for the younger Watson. This was to be expected as it was on schedule for him which Joan follows quite strictly. However, what he did not expect to see as he descended was Watson, herself, lying on her stomach across from her son making exaggerated faces. Her eyes flash up to him upon hearing his footsteps and he hears a small noise of distress from Leo, who’s protesting the sudden loss of attention. Within a second her attention is back on her son making an ridiculous angry face to which the boy erupts into laughter in response of.

“He’s getting quicker with his responses.” She remarks proudly. She swoops Leo from his lying position settling him in her lap when she readjusts herself to sit up. “He especially likes making faces.” She bestows a kiss on her son’s head filling his heart with warmth.

“I could see that.” He teases gently. Upon hearing his voice Leo finally seems to notice his presence with a repeated announcement of ba!

Watson amuses the small boy pointing at Sherlock with a smile. “Is that ba?”

“Ba!” He yells out again.

“You know Bà is far from Uncle Sherlock?” He settles on the couch across from the pair.

“And you know sh, r, and ck are some of the hardest phonetic sounds in the english language for children to learn.” She raises an eyebrow challenging him. She’d caught him late one night reading on the speech patterns of children. He’d tried to excuse it as crucial to the case but she knows him far too well for that to be even mildly excusable. He’s as smitten with the youngest addition to the family as he is. In fact, little Leo Watson seems to have everyone he meets wrapped around his little finger. “Besides, I think Bà is cute.” She beams.

He opens his mouth to present an argument against the title but is swiftly interrupted by the doorbell. Her sly smirk is enough to tell him that she is under the impression that she’s won this round. “This isn’t over.”

“Sure it’s not.”

In the month since Watson’s capture they’ve settled into odd patterns of behavior. One of which is his refusal for her to answer the door. It’d come with the repeated nightmare of Watson being shot, bleeding out in his arms. Despite their new sleeping arrangements of him settling into her bed whenever he’d find himself tired enough to sleep, the nightmares didn’t quite go away. Yet it was comforting to wake with her head on his shoulder, dark hair slipping over her face in slumber.

The same goes for when she suffers as well. She’ll startle herself awake enough to bring himself to attention. He keeps still as not to push her away but he can feel her fingers digging into the spot on his chest, unconsciously checking for a pulse to match her own racing heart against. They never talk about it in the morning but he will always end up in her bed and she’ll curl towards him at some point during the night.

He opens the door to reveal Detective Bell looking rather grim.

“Marcus, come in. I’m sure Leo would be happy to see you.”

“As tempting as it is to see the little man I’m here for strict business.” The smile fades from Sherlock’s face as he adjusts himself. “Michael Rowan was found in his cell last night beaten to death.”

“I hope you don’t hold it against me that I find that relieving.” He frowns. He’d known this was coming for a while but in all honesty it’d taken longer than he expected. Moriarty was normally more keen on these sorts of things.

“I don’t but the FBI probably will.”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock chokes out.

“You and Watson are the prime suspects in the murder of Michael Rowan.” Marcus passes the papers to Sherlock with a regretful look. “You’re both to turn yourselves in the FBI as soon as possible.”

“We didn’t-”

“I know.” He shifts from one foot to the other in disbelief. “But they know you got the motive.”

“Watson still hardly has the range to walk down the stairs much less take down a man twice her size.” He says quietly not to disturb the pair in the other room.

“I know. That’s why the Captain sent me to warn you. Get your stories straight and have someone watch Leo. They’ll be here in a few hours but I got a head start on them.”

“Thank you Marcus.”

“I got no worries you two will get outta this one but I’d rather them not catch you off guard and having child services take Leo.”

“You’re a good godfather.” Marcus smiles despite himself patting him on the shoulder. He watches the detective drive off before walking back inside to give the news to Watson.

When he catches her this time, she’s bouncing with Leo across the room humming some pop song that must be stuck in her head. “I heard Marcus.” She says suddenly breaking the moment of peace. “We have a case?”

“I’m afraid not.” His eyes flash to Leo who seems to catch onto his distress furrowing his eyebrows. “Why don’t you play him some music. You’re not going to want him to hear this.” The mood in the room shifts dramatically. Her posture tightens and her movements are sharp, methodical. She flips on a song that is now embedded deep in his brain as it’s played consistently during down times. Honestly how a song about a family of sharks can be so hypnotising to a child is amazing. Leo’s babbling along fills the noise of the background.

“Honestly must it always be that song?” He tries to joke half heartedly.

“Coming from the man who used to constantly change my ringtone to annoy me. Besides, it’s his favorite.” Watson’s smile slips from her face and her arms settle across her chest as she comes to rest in front of him. “What’s going on?” She switches from mommy mode to business mode with ease. It would be one of his favorite things to see if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“Michael Rowan was found beaten to death in his cell.”

“I’d expect you to be relieved.”

“Yes well. I would be if we were not the FBI’s prime suspects.”

Watson shifts off her bad leg, though she mostly doesn’t have the need for crutches anymore he learned it still gets sore if she remains standing in one position for too long. “We have more than enough evidence to prove we were home. The baby monitor, the cameras that I know are still up, and the surveillance outside.”

“Not if they think we hired someone to kill him for us.” Sherlock frowns.

“Even if we wanted to you gave away all your inheritance.” She shrugs. “We’ll dig up the paperwork and that should be more than enough evidence for them to discharge us. I’ll just call Mrs. Hudson and ask her to watch Leo for a bit. We’ll be fine.”

“Not if what she was paid in wasn’t money.”

Watson goes deadly still realization hitting her like a wave. “Sherlock what aren’t you telling me?” She asks in almost a whisper.

“I couldn’t catch a solid lead. Even with your baby monitor hint the judge denied our plea for a warrant was denied. The NYPD, Everyone, I even called my father.”

“Sherlock…”

“Nobody could find a solid lead. After the video I called Moriarty.” Disappointment paints across her face. A look he can’t stand to see on her. “I couldn’t find you. I failed and I panicked. He was going to kill you. I can lose anyone else but not you Watson. Not you.”

Tense silence fills the air and it seems for a few seconds Watson is stuck in time.

“You were right. When Michael took you he took the person I cared about most in the world. He took you right from our home. I should have known. I should have protected you.”

“You couldn’t.” She whispers.

“I should’ve. Instead you were hurt. You suffer from trauma due to a battle between me and another. Your son almost got caught in the crosshairs for god sakes.”

“You’re wrong.” She says after a beat. “I didn’t get stuck in the battle I was fighting on your side the entire time. I helped point out leads. I talked to his best friend. I continued the search while you healed. I didn’t get stuck in the battle I was as much a competitor as he and you. Leo has both of us to protect him. You can’t fill your head with almosts because I caught him and saved our son.” His breath catches in his throat at her words.

“Watson.”

“No, I’m not done.” She cuts him off. “Michael could have gone for any one of us. Gregson, Bell, me, you. We had no way of predicting that any of this would turn out this way. As for Moriarty you know damn well I would have done the same if you were on the other end. You and Leo are everything to me.”

He’s not sure who’s more shocked by his movement Watson or himself, but the next moment he’s gathered her in his arms hugging her tightly to his chest. Neither of them can say for certain how long they stay there soothed by the other’s heartbeat. He feels her shift again when her leg becomes sore once more but she doesn’t pull away. Rather her arms, which at one point had wound themselves around his wiry frame hold closer.

“What do we do now?” She mutters against his chest.

“We pay our deal with the Devil.”

Bà = Dad in Chinese I got inspired while doing baby research and found that “ba” is typically the first sounds a baby makes it only made sense for Leo to assign it to Sherlock. May end up writing more little fluffy oneshots with Leo

[animesshadow]

Did I create a monster?

It was late at night already. Erza was enjoying a book while comfortably sitting on a couch in her apartment in Fairy Hills. Every now and then the sound of thunder could be heard from outside. There was obviously quite the storm outside. Lightning could be seen flashing frequently from the window behind her. She was so absorbed by the content of the novel that it took her a few moments to realize that someone was knocking on the window behind her.

Eventually, she snapped out of her book and shifted her attention towards the window. She looked outside to see who it was that came knocking on her window at this late hour.

Through the rain, there was a small hooded figure standing on the branch of a tree that was close enough for a person to reach Erza’s apartment. It didn’t take her long to figure out who it was. The boys signature white scarf gave it away immediately.

Erza opened the window in surprise.

“Natsu? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?... It’s important”

The small Natsu said a little nervous. 

Erza knew well that no boy was allowed in these dorms but she realized that it must have been something very important for him to seek her assistance at this hour. It must have been something that couldn’t wait

“Alright, get in.”

Erza said with a sigh and gestured him to climb through the window. Erza stepped aside and Natsu effortlessly climbed through the window.

Natsu was still a child. A child that Master brought to Fairy Tail a few years ago. Apparently, he was a so-called dragon slayer and the dragon Igneel who was a father figure to him went missing. He was completely on his own from that point so Master took him in hopes to give Natsu a place to stay and people he could see as family.

Master Makarov told Erza to keep an eye out for the boy. She was the most disciplined and reliable S-Rank mage in Fairy Tail so she was the perfect person to look after someone with such a strange magic. Natsu was typically a shy boy and didn’t talk out much to other people but over time Natsu seemed to grow kinda attached to Erza. He thought of Erza as something like an elder sister to him. She was basically the only person he can open up to in the entire guild.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Erza asked the troubled Natsu in front of her. She was worried because Natsu seemed to avert her gaze for some reason.

“Oh.. yes.. umm...”

Natsu fidgeted around before hesitantly pulled something that he hid in his wide raincoat. 

It was a bloody knife.

Erza’s eyes widened in surprise. She knew exactly what this meant. You see, Natsu had a few... problems. 

Before Master Makarov took Natsu in a few scientists found him by himself. They were fascinated by the human child that had the magic of a dragon inside of him. Apparently they did experiments on him to make a human-dragon hybrid weapon out of him. Even though Natsu was able to flee, these experiments didn’t leave Natsu unscathed. He developed some kind of bloodlust that always clouded his mind.

After Erza found out about this she tried everything she could to suppress these twisted emotions. However, none of her actions seemed to help. Recently Erza secretly let Natsu help out a butcher in his slaughterhouse. There Natsu could vent his bloodlust by killing animals that would have been slaughtered for meat anyway.

At first, this seemed to help. Killing animals helped Natsu reduce his bloodlust so much that it didn’t affect his mind. Natsu’s sadistic desire to torture and end lives was not something to take lightly. Erza watched Natsu at the slaughterhouse a couple of times. The sadistic joy on his face as his took an animal life with his own hands was outright horrific. Even with Erza’s experience the sight of a child that only seemed to feel alive by joyfully killing others made her turn pale in anxiety.

“... What happened?”

Erza asked. She still hoped that her worst fears didn’t get real and this was just misunderstanding. Deep down she could already feel that that wasn’t the case.

“It happened Erza-neechan... I... I killed someone...”

Natsu softly replied with his head hung low. He knew he did something terrible. That’s what everyone else would say at least.

“I see..”

So it finally happened. Even after everything they tried Erza knew that it only a matter of time until Natsu crossed the line.

“Tell me what happened. Every detail”

Erza looked sternly at Natsu expecting to hear the full story.

“I went to the graveyard again because it’s the only place I can fully relax... There was a man. He forcefully dragged a woman with him to a dark corner. The woman tried to scream and resist but the man was too strong and overpowered her easily... I went after them to see what happens. The man made a disgusting face... he took out a knife and threatened to slice the lady’s throat open if she continued to resist. He ripped off her close and started touching her while the woman could do nothing but cry in agony... There I felt it. This person was scum... So I took out the knife I took from the butcher-san. I crawled out of my hiding spot, ran up to him and sliced his carotid artery open before he could react. He would have bled out in a few seconds but I forcefully stabbed him in the chest multiple times until he finally stopped moving... Everything happened so fast. My mind went completely blank and everything I felt was the desire to end his life...”

Natsu explained what happened in every detail. That explained why Natsu’s coat was soaked in blood even though it was raining heavily outside. 

Erza listened to the story in silence. She noticed how Natsu’s eyes lit up as he relived the memory of his first kill. There was no hint of regret on Natsu’s face. Erza could fully imagine the wicked smile on his face as he overpowered a full grown adult and stabbed the life out of him. For him, it was probably the best moment in recent years. A moment he finally felt alive again.

“What happened with the woman? Did she see your face?”

At this point, Erza knew that talking about the morale of his actions was pointless now. Natsu has tasted human blood and he loved it. The euphoria he felt in the moment of his first kill was something that could never be achieved by killing animals anymore. Natsu was still a child. A child Erza promised to protect so she had to make sure the woman didn’t identify Natsu as the killer.

“She was in shock but after a few moments she snapped out of it and hugged me real tight. She repeatedly said ‘thank you, thank you’ for a while... Her trauma didn’t seem to allow her to fully grasp what happened there.”

Natsu said in a monotone voice. He didn’t seem to care about that woman at all. Of course, he didn’t. It no act of justice, vigilance or anything like that. Natsu didn’t step in to save the woman, he just wanted to kill someone.

“Did you... Did you kill her too?”

Erza was not so sure anymore if Natsu was able to tell the difference in those two people at that moment. She hoped that the criminal was the only one that died by Natsu’s hand tonight.

“No, of course I didn’t! That would have been wrong, wouldn’t it?... I told her to please not to tell anyone about what happened... She agreed and went home after she wiped her tears and put her clothes back on.”

Erza was a bit relieved. So Natsu did seem to have a small sense of morality left. Of course, she couldn’t be sure if it was just his bloodlust that was satisfied with one kill or if he really held back because the woman was a victim in the first place. But after seeing the face of the small boy she promised to take care of, she couldn’t help but believe him. 

“Let’s hope she really keeps her promise..”

Erza had no option but to trust the words of this random woman. Even though she knew it was wrong, she did not want to lose Natsu. For some people, this small kid may have been a monster. A monster that put on a human act to fool those around him as he felt no real emotions anymore. Something that has to be locked up or even killed but during the time she spent with that boy she couldn’t help but grow attached to him. She did not want to lose him!

“Listen Natsu. We both know that you won’t be able to stop killing at this point.”

Natsu was a bit embarrassed at the disappointment in Erza’s voice. He tried to look away to avert his gaze from her worried face. He may not feel any real emotions but for some reason, he always felt uncomfortable when he realized Erza was sad.

“I now fully realize that there is nothing I can do to erase your bloodlust. If it goes on uncontrolled like that you will one day be captured and imprisoned or executed... To be honest, I don’t want that to happen. After everything you’ve been through in the past, I know that it is not completely your fault that you are like this. You are a member of Fairy Tail now, a part of our family. You are important to me and I don’t want to see go on a mindless rampage.”

The worry and anxiety in Erza’s voice made Natsu feel even more uncomfortable. Nothing he did made him feel even remotely like that. He always put on a facade and acted like he cared about the things other people told him about. He put on a smile and acted like a regular child in the guild but honestly.. he didn’t care at all. So why did he feel this annoying feeling when Erza is worried like that?

“I can’t believe I am saying this but...” Erza mumbled to herself. “I know that it is impossible to fully suppress that ‘emotion’ completely. So we have to vent it in a controlled way.”

Natsu was surprised, to say the least. Is the righteous Erza-neechan in front of him really suggesting what he thinks it is?

“You will not, under no circumstances, kill an innocent person!”

“You mean...”

“As much as I hate to admit it, there are criminals out there that the law alone can not punish. People that are beyond saving. People who did, or still do, gruesome and horrible things...”

Memories of her past flashed back in her mind. Erza hated to remember these events so she shook her head to get rid of them immediately.

“If you ever want to kill someone again, it will be one of those criminals. Fairy Tail is one of the strongest guilds in Fiore so we regularly get information on dangerous criminals and dark guilds in Fiore.”

“Are you telling me, I can...?”

“I am not saying that you can go and kill those people as you see fit! Only when it gets impossible to suppress those emotions again I will consider pointing you to the right way.”

Natsu couldn’t believe it. Sure, it was shocking that Erza was pushed far enough to even consider something like this but for the most part, he felt happy. Maybe, just maybe, there will be a time when they can kill those criminals together. Those thoughts made Natsu almost jump up in anticipation. In his own twisted mind, he considered killing together the most intimate two people can get. 

“But beware! You will always have to make sure no one will be able to trace you back after ‘that’... I will have to teach you how to get rid of all the evidence.”

Erza hated herself for going that far. She was basically helping a murderer. But she couldn’t help herself, her disgust was overshadowed by the wish to protect this cute little boy. She didn’t know herself what it was that made her feel so attached to Natsu. She just didn’t want a child that had a terrible past to destroy himself by having no one to help him.

“Now, did you understand that?”

“Yes, I did!”

Natsu shouted out in confirmation while making an exaggerated nod.

Erza made a sigh of relief. She still felt troubled over what they discussed just now but she couldn’t bring herself to imprison that small child. She loved him too much to do that. 

“It is a promise, okay? I trust you that will not break that promise. From now on if it gets too much for you to handle, you will only kill those that can not be redeemed in any other way.”

After that, Erza set a strict set of guidelines to help Natsu channel his need to kill so that he can satisfy his ‘needs’ and, in some sense, do some good. Natsu would always make sure to remember these guidelines as the Code of Erza.

‘Did I create a monster?’ Erza finally thought to herself. She knew that it would not always be easy to live with Natsu’s actions but she had no other choice but to help him. She didn’t want to lose Natsu. ‘Or did I point it towards the right direction?’