#wish i could cage fight my brain and force it to focus but that's just life ig

[wlwsakura]

so apparently i have 3 tests this week and then finals the week after next so i wont be on that much/ will probably not be posting and if i do, know that it was impulsive and i am indeed self-sabotaging in that moment <3 Hope y'all have good days and good luck with your finals if y'all got any

[kazuhasbunny]

Giiiirl, imagine you are on Baal's side, you are a general and commanding an army against the rebels' own general, Gorou.

You are all cocky and confident, your years of experience just keeping you aware enough so you won't be consumed by your pride. But oh, your face, when after all of those carefully thought out strategies and intensive training, you end up losing to that mutt.

He is insufferable. Even though his face and body is caked in a mixture only war can give-- blood, sweat and dirt, his smile is the biggest, smuggest thing you have ever seen in your life as a warrior. It does not help that you are on your knees, back stretching forward as the grip he has on your jaw tugs you up with such a force you won't ever believe an archer, a long distance fighter, would posses. The bodies of both sides lay scattered on the defiled land, but the purple spots decorate the most, as his last men stand straight and proud behind him, just as yours do, but the lack the attentiveness. Their tired and bored countenance ticks you in a wrong way. Why they don't look happy by this result?

Does your failure was already predicted? As if this end was something that was already calculated. Taken in account.

The man holding your jaw in a bruising grip let go of you, a mere blink of respite as the next second your left cheek explodes in pain, your vision swaggers for a second as you fall on your right side from the streght of that blow. You shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing; the fight left you completely drained, as much as your brain screamed at you to stand up and attack that man, your bones and muscles protested as you tensed in hopes of getting up, but ultimately you only made yourself look pitiful.

Gorou turns to were his men are, his gaze lingering for a second on your laughable attempt. His focus switches to the army as he starts to pace from one side to the other, the victory was already decided, but the energy from the feat itself brought a surge of emotions within him.

Another quick glance at you, and something on his mind switched. He was wondering what to do with you; killing you off felt as a meaningless action, as the Shogun won't care for someone as low as yourself. You only were deployed to fight against them to gain time for the real force, to prepare and learn how strong the rebels actually are. With how confident you looked hours ago, it seems that your benevolent Shogun forgot to grace you with such knowledge before sending you off with a bunch of newly trainees.

"First of all, congratulations, my friends, for this well earned victory" Gorou began. The group of men on front of him quickly acknowledge his words, paying attention to what he had to say.

"Even if the outcome resulted as to what we--" He turns around, your eyes opened when he began speaking. You both made eye contact, and Gorou's smirk transformed into a full smile. Was it okay for him to fill such giddiness at the sight of your equally wounded pride and body? After all, he was the one to bring you into that state, he was the one to put you in your rightful place with just one arrow, kneeling on the dirty battlefield as the geo power incased on the arrowhead did its job in petrify you.

The glint of defeat on, dare he say, those gorgeous eyes of yours really made them stand out. Actually, as he approaches your form, he's starting to see some other appealing features he couldn't notice from a longer distance. What was the Shogun thinking, in even allowing you a spot within her number when you clearly weren't made for war?

"--Expected" his pause brought your attention to what he was actually saying. So they had all of this calculated...

"But now, all that is left to do, is tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. Yours and their sacrifice will bring an end to this stupid decree in no time. We need to prepare for tougher, real..." He gives you a glance "...battles from now on. Don't let this win get in your head"

The crowd quietly cheers between them, some of them patting each other on the shoulder for a job well done. All of that camaraderie made your stomach hollow, as you recognise the same speech you have told to your former men after a battle well fought. Those piercing blue eyes of his made you painfully aware of the consecutive part of giving a victory speech, about what is waiting for the losing side, the pit in your stomach grew in size and you really wished that it could swallow you whole before the man in front of you does.

Gorou thrills in your despair. That pretty face of yours plunging into dark dephts, your mind weaving one horrifying destiny after other speaks a lot of your character, as only those who have layed a cruel end to those before them can conceive. He knows what kind of thoughts those are, but as much of a monster as you are viewing him now, he won't do such a thing. He was quite merciful while deciding what your fate will be, even if he didn't pondered a lot in the few minutes after your fall, you are but only a child with a weapon, sent to die by that horrible woman.

And something he prides himself of, is learning from mistakes. He won't throw away something that can fulfill very well other duties than warfare ones.

"Sir! If I may--" a voice spoke between the masses of helms and spears.

"I know, I know. The general" Gorou waves off his hand, his eyes never stranding away from your form for far too long.

A groan escapes your body as his foot steps on your ribcage, not too hard but your weak body sense as if he had nails attached to the sole, your skin felt cold and as if it was being prickled by a ton of needles. He pushes your your body with a gentleness unexpected from an enemy, until you were lying on your back. The new position put pressure in the arrow wound on your right/left shoulder, your dominant arm, and for a second you were grateful of the rigidness granted by the geo element yet covering half of your arm or else you are sure you would have cried in pain, the last thing you want now is to show more weakness that what you are displaying.

"What I am going to do with her... I didn't know myself when we first begun this battle" Gorou continued. He removed his shoe from your chest to your side on the floor, so you'll be cage between his legs while he looks down on you. His arms crossed across his chest and he tilted his head to the side, as in assessing you, taking on your face just as covered in grime as his but not diminish your beauty in the slightest. He really made a good decision in regard of your fate.

The soldiers stood still, the atmosphere felt heavy like the air on a hot summer afternoon that feels stuffy on your lungs as your breath in. Their general had an unseen aura surrounding him, his usual careless actitud makes everyone forget that there's an animal side to him, although they aren't sure they will presence it for the first time, their captain is definitely switching towards that side... they even feel a little bit of pity for the woman under him.

"But as I see her like this, beaten, it makes me remember something of old, that the victorous usually sow. Can you guys guess what it is?" He squats over you, sweetly combing a couple of strands of hair out of your face.

Whispers break among the army after the question. One of them raised his hand, no barely 18 years old as he was one of the shortest in comparison to his bigger and wider shouldered comrades. The young recruit promptly lowered his arm as the general wasn't looking at their direction but that didn't stopped him from answering, eyes shining with excitement:

"They take something as a token of their victory, sir!"

Gorou hummed in affirmation. "Yes, they did. A spoil of war, if you may"

Dread washed over you. He wasn't going to kill you, as a way to demonstrate their superiority? To be taken as a trophy, a possession... He surely won't mean that, right? They are going to torture you and extract every drop of information that you have, until the last thing left in you is blood to shed on their hands as your usefulness is cut short like your troath.

You needed to say something. Anything, as long as it would arise anger within the young male, anything as long as you aren't degrade far from what you have been.

Gorou raised his eyebrows as you coughed. He wasn't expecting a monologue from you but neither silence. Your sudden wish of speaking made the men jump into action, their spears pointing at you with such terrifying speed made you realise furthermore that this battle was destined to end like this, another stripe to the tiger just like a new blow to your pride.

"Just kill me already. I won't say anything, and if given the opportunity, I will end it myself" you spat. You tried to transmit all of your pain, hate and shame in one stare, you won't go happy until you make that man see what you feel, how big your abhorrence is to his being.

All the males stare in silence, until the general himself chuckled. Your cheeks burn with rage, your teeth clenched together as you tried yo surf this flare of emotions. How dare he laugh like that! He already won and you won't speak a thing about the Shogun, why acting like that? Isn't the rebels supposed to act with nobility and fairness?

Gorou took a breath in. He's happy he didn't went for the traditional route and killed you.

"Aw, now you just proved me correct, sweetheart. I'll enjoy making you into a proper wife"

All of that just to say "Imagine being taken as Gorou's prize and he makes you his whore wife" LMAO

(Also? In the part that reader coughs? I wanted to put that Gorou spits on your lips because you looked thirsty AODJFJDC)

THIS 🙏 yes i’d love to be gorou’s housewife he should really take me in and train me to obey him . please i’d do anything for him

AND pleasee omg ... if u actually put that in i’d die on my chair it’s too hot i can’t hjnhnggrh

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 25 - Easily

Masterlist; Chapter 24

Summary: Finally.

Warnings: 18+ (a lot of things happening 😌); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Hello 2 am upload 🙈 but at last... here we are. This one took a lot of effort... and getting into the zone. 10k words long scene... who else would be capable of this, huh?  🙃

I think this is as much of a crucial one as the finale will be and so I hope you’ll find it... satisfying. Enjoy (hopefully) and let me know what you think? 

P.S. the song for this one is Muse ‘Easily’ (which is also my favourite song hence you know *wink wink*)

The cabin was silent save for the sound of your shallow breathing. Even if you wanted to break the silence, there were no words for this. Nothing useful in the dictionaries to describe it. Ineffable.

With your heart fluttering nervously within its cage, you returned Neil’s intense gaze. You knew what this was – seeking reassurance. A question whether the kiss did what you needed it to do. In an answer, you could only lift your head and crash your lips into his in search of more. Your hands slid down his neck and arms to rest on the sides, slowly inching underneath the shirt. With Neil’s arms trapping you beneath him, there was nothing else to do but let go. The stifled feelings and desires took the lead as you kissed him with all the urgency of a starved beggar. That took him by surprise. He gasped when you tugged at his lower lip ferociously and grazed your fingernails over the skin on his back. He broke the kiss, darkened irises roaming over your face with evident infatuation. He seemed fascinated, as though the strength of your desire was unexpected. Idiot. After a moment, Neil leaned in again, setting up a slow tempo with his lips brushing over yours almost tenderly, building up the unavoidable heat. You shivered, letting out a quiet whimper that he caught, smiling against your mouth. Your tongue darted out, tracing the outline of his lips, drawing out groans. The overwhelming familiarity settling in with warmth spreading across your chest. It was always supposed to be like this.

Neil leaned down on his forearm, using the free hand to hike up your sweater and trace featherlike touches down your navel, as far as the band of trousers would allow. The simple gesture was enough to make you tremble. He noticed it, smirk adding a predatory gleam to his face, and repeated the torturous move. Teasing, tempting you as though you needed anything more to be convinced. Nothing else mattered. Only this. Frustration boiling over, you took hold of his chin with one hand, forcing Neil to meet your wild gaze. His eyes glistened with a passion that still had the potential to make you breathless. He raised his eyebrow in silent question, hand still roaming freely over your body, causing goosebumps wherever it went. Forcing the brain to work, you whispered out a command:

“More” meeting his gaze with unhidden desire, you licked your lips unconsciously.

He caught it, grin widening as his gaze flicked between your mouth and eyes as though unable to focus.

“Of what?” leaning in, Neil brushed his nose against yours.

“You,” using the hold over his chin, you swept your thumb over his lips, prying them open.

He did not need more information than that. His mouth collided with yours eagerly, wasting no time to deepen the kiss and take everything you had for him. It felt just like you remembered. No unnecessary tenderness as you both got lost in each other. Sighs and groans punctuating the moment with impatience. The pull that always took you aback was still there, making you cling as close as possible. With one hand resting on his side, just next to the familiar bullet scar, you could easily hoist your leg over his hip. You had to get closer. It seemed like the matter of utmost urgency. The change of position made Neil break the kiss. He was breathing heavily as his hand slid down your thigh in a gentle caress. Another simple gesture causing havoc in your veins. You gazed at him, exposing the inner needs by impatiently tugging on his shirt. Closer. Whatever Neil saw in your eyes gave him a clue. A mischievous spark in the blue irises before he started trailing kisses from the corner of your mouth to the jaw and down the neck. With each touch of his lips and brush of the stubble, you inhaled sharply. He always knew what to do to make you fall apart within seconds, expertly using the experience of all those stolen moments to choose the spots that were bound to make you squirm with increasing pleasure. A small peck underneath the ear. A light bite near the collar bone. Nerve endings alight. Defenceless, you exposed more skin for his use by tilting your head, helplessly letting your hands roam over his chest. The firm muscles an object of pure fascination. Yours. Soon you have been resolved to sighs and gasps, bucking your hips against his with undeniable need. The warmth spreading with alarming speed, hazing your mind. Only one clear thought remained. You had to have him. To make him yours.

“Neil, please…” the weak plea was enough to make him stop.

He placed a final reverent kiss on the edge of your jaw and met your eyes. No shame. A teasing smirk dangling off the corner of his mouth.

“Begging for mercy already?” the husky tone sent shivers down your spine.

Aware of your struggles, Neil ran his fingers up and down your thigh. Certain kinds of touches made the fabric seem almost non-existent. You wanted to put up a fight, to find a biting comeback. But that part of your brain has shut down, locked on that one incessant thought – closer. And so, you did your best to let that longing into your eyes, as you whispered:

“Let me touch you,” purposeful, shamefully desperate.

Neil swallowed, shocked by your honesty. The simplicity of your wishes. You caught a glimpse of something strange pass through his features before he once again captured your lips in a breathless kiss. You cupped his cheek, tracing all the sharp angles. He broke away, leaving a breath of space, the perfect opportunity for you to kiss the tip of his nose. You grinned at his stunned expression, filled with fondness that had the potential of shattering your heart into smithereens. It would be worth it. The soft smile assured you of that.

After a beat, Neil straightened, kneeling above you, extending a hand in an invitation to get what you asked. You took it without a second wasted, shifting on the bed so you could face him. A flutter of anxious butterflies swirled in your stomach as you reached out, fingers settling on his shoulders. Neil placed his hands on your waist underneath the sweater, caressing the skin gently. He was observing you curiously, fascinated by the urgency you have shown. You ran your hands down his arms, feeling the biceps, briefly intertwining your fingers. Encouraged by the lack of protest, you gathered up his shirt, lifting it, showing him what was necessary. Neil smiled, placed a kiss on your forehead, and took over your attempts, taking off the garment and throwing it to the side. Your mind went blank as it always did. Eyes darting to admire and devour what was already familiar. Then, as though caught within a dream, you placed your hand over his heart and met his gaze.

“Is this better?” a hint of a smile upon his lips as Neil pulled you closer.

Despite the need pooling in your veins, the heart let out a painful thump. After everything, it was almost incomprehensible. Him with you like this. Like it always should have been. Overwhelmed with love, you pulled him into a tight hug. The warmth of his skin feeling like a revelation, you hid your face in his neck. Without hesitation, Neil returned the embrace, nuzzling your temple with audible relief. Finally, you knew what home felt like.

“I missed you” the whisper felt almost like a confession of something far more substantial.

And you knew why.

Neil froze. Fuck. You could tell that something was wrong. Worries confirmed when he let out a strange choking sound and released you abruptly. Blood turned cold as the panicked butterflies went into a frenzy. Please no. Before you could read anything from his face, he quickly stood up and turned away from the bed. Muscles tense, shoulders squared. There had to be a solution. Fighting to keep the panic under wraps, you stood up, watching him closely. He was motionless, hands covering his face as he let out strained breaths. Whatever you did caused havoc within his mind. You had to help him. That much was clear. Courage, dear heart. You crossed the space, tentatively reaching out trembling hand to touch his back. Upon the contact, Neil gasped quietly, as if surprised you were still there, willing to solve it. Using the lack of objection as encouragement, you took another step closer and pressed a light kiss between his shoulder blades. Your arms wound around his waist as you closed the remaining gap, resting your head against the firm muscles. After a moment of reluctance, Neil’s hands covered yours. That was all the assurance you needed to ask the critical question:

“What’s wrong?” the emotions weighing down your voice, making it come out hoarse and quiet.

His fingers glided over yours, brushing the knuckles with the care you never dreamt of experiencing. Whatever was bothering him could not taint the truth. Your fragile reality locked within the intimacy of the moment.  Neil took a deep breath, tensing again as though bracing himself against something terrifying. Then he started speaking:

“You deserve an explanation after all that… mess, and yet, here I am trying to…” he trailed off, anxiety and frustration permeating every word.

Your heart cracked upon the realisation. Before you could gather enough words to protest, he continued:

“I worry that I’m pressuring you into this… that I’m asking for too much-” the weariness gnawing at your soul with force.

“Neil, stop,” you cut in sharply, tightening the embrace, “Don’t make it sound like it’s one-sided. I want it too,” your voice wavered as your face warmed up.

Obvious and yet… Admitting it felt like a step too far, like you were the one who could mess it all up by being too eager. The doubts were ready to step in, but you could not let them. Lost in the internal battle, you have not realised when Neil stepped away from the hug and turned to face you. He tilted your chin, making you meet his gaze. Conflict painted across the features you knew by heart. He was nibbling on the bottom lip again, eyes roaming across your face with worry.

“Are you sure?” he breathed out a question, blush tinting his cheeks, “Because it shouldn’t… it wasn’t meant to happen like this”

Briefly, you wondered how was it that neither of you could use the words for this. Actual adult words. But maybe those would come later. You understood his worries, feeling your fears creeping at the edge of the desire and love which took hold of every single cell within your body. There would be time to give them a voice after. Now, all that mattered was Neil and making him understand what you needed. Convincing him that what he tried to stifle was what you wanted. You took one of his hands between your palms, gently rubbing the knuckles:

“We will have to talk, but now… now I want to let go” meeting his gaze purposefully, you let the words fill the tense silence “After weeks of feeling unwanted, I want to forget. To let myself believe that this is real…” unwanted tear welled up in your eye “Only promise I need right now is that this will mean something to you” you finished the sentence, fingers thoughtlessly travelling up his forearms.

There it is. An offer he was free to reject. The only truth that mattered. Somewhere within the past hour, you have realised that you were ready. That no matter the regrets that could follow, you had to give in. Let him have everything should he want it. There would be nothing revolutionary about it, just a natural step on the journey that began months ago in that café in London. Unavoidable.

Neil was watching you closely, catching up on the meaning of things you were not saying. He took a step closer, the struggle slowly giving way to the longing you have seen before. And honesty that could easily murder you with its authenticity. He met your gaze before speaking:

“It will. I want you. And not only now. Not until it happens, but always” you felt like drowning in the boundless adoration you could see in his face “It’s just that I’m terrified of fucking it all up because I care… so much” Neil swallowed hard, frowning at his sentence “Christ, that sounds like a terrible understatement…” with the hand shaking slightly he ruffled the hair, betraying nerves “You’re everything I want. The reason why-”

Oh god. You feared that if he said even a word more, you might just about crumble on the spot. From the excess of love, affection, and disbelief. Each consecutive sentence felt like a stab into your heart. But there was no pain, just too much of everything. You wondered whether it was always supposed to feel like this. Like being on fire. Like the chest bursting from the abundance of passion. You closed the remaining gap, fingers curling around his biceps. Before he could utter that final catastrophic sentence, you whispered:

“Shut up” without waiting for a reaction you pressed your lips against his.

It was your time to lead, pouring everything you felt and could not dare say into the kiss. After a second of reluctance, Neil started kissing you back. The idle hands grasping onto the nape of your neck. Fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you even closer. Small sighs and groans he let out into your mouth kindling the spark. The fix for an addiction you were long due. The sweetest of relapses. The taste of absolution. Infinite potential.

After over a minute, he broke the kiss, gasping for oxygen, eyes clouded with infatuation. It was that look in his face that gave you the courage to reach out for what you needed. You took hold of his hands and breathed out the words that could destroy everything:

“Love me,” unable to meet Neil’s eyes you placed his hands on your hips, “Show me what it’s like to be wanted,” your voice cracked, exposing the storm unfolding inside.

You had to find a way of shutting up the doubts, the uncertainties. Of getting lost in him. Of getting what suddenly seemed just as necessary as water and food.

“I-” he choked out the syllable making your gaze snap up to meet his.

You could see it there. The three words ingrained within the blue eyes, lips parted and ready to proclaim what you could not dare believe. Not yet. Now the confession could kill you, delivering that final blow. He had to understand. It was the only way you could make it work. By acting on the instincts.

That is exactly what you did, rendering Neil speechless with something as simple as a kiss placed on his shoulder. Then more all along the collarbone, taking the sharp inhales and tightening hold over your waist as consent. At times you would let your teeth lightly graze over the skin, reminding him of the potential. Stopping at the sternum, you glanced up, only to be met with Neil’s piercing gaze looking down at you without any guards present. Only unbridled desire and love. Bravery filled your veins as you continued the meticulous exploration. Your hands gently caressed his stomach, tracing the various scars and imperfections. Once you reached the other shoulder, pressing a pious kiss on one of many beauty marks scattered over his skin, Neil lifted your chin. He kissed you on the forehead softly, drawing out a sigh. A thank you for something you would have given him anyway. Then, without breaking the eye contact and making sure you noticed every single emotion visible in his face, he cupped your cheek:

“May I?” one single question whispered with enough certainty to make your heart stumble.

Somehow you knew what he was asking. With blood pounding in your ears, you nodded. Once, curtly, decidedly.

“Yes,” a little breathless, cheeks turning pink.

Anything. Always.

In response, you got one of those smiles that lit up his whole face, making everyone understand why Neil was worth dying for. Without wasting time, he tugged at the borrowed sweater you were wearing and took it off over your head in one swift move. For once you were glad there were no layers. His eyes flitted over your torso covered only with a black sports bra. No judgement or calculation. Just as if he wanted to commit you to memory. As if you were an object of art one could fall in love with. The blush darkened as your breath hitched, awaiting the next move. Neil took a step closer again, a curious glint in his eyes as he leaned down. Featherlike touch all over your chest, followed by gentle kisses on the collarbones and shoulders. You gasped, the softness of his lips contrasting with the scratch of the stubble and the light bites. Testing the waters, returning the favour. You closed your eyes, focusing entirely on the moment, resting your hands on his sides. It felt almost too blissful, slowly making you crave more. Experimentally, you ran your fingers over his pelvic bones, grateful for the low-rise trousers and the possibilities given. Neil finished his study with a kiss on your neck, choosing the spot that always made you shiver with anticipation. You opened your eyes only to be met with a look of adoration:

“Thank you,” his words breaking the heavy silence.

There was something new in his expression. As if now, after everything, he realised that there would be no more hiding. And he was not afraid of whatever would happen. Blind conviction. Belief in you and whatever you had. Afraid of disrupting the moment, you lowered down your voice to ask:

“For what?” your brow furrowed, trying to understand what he meant.

Or why was he suddenly looking at you as though you were the centre of his universe. There was no getting rid of the blush tinting your cheeks. Of the nervous flutters in your stomach and fire flowing in your veins. You knew it would only get worse. Neil watched you closely, a small smile on his lips. Then he finally answered, with more confidence than you could ever deem possible.

“Being extraordinary,” he whispered the words softly, inches away from your mouth.

Oh my god. You did not even try to school the features, showing the boundless extent of shock, disbelief, and astonishment. He meant it; that was undeniable. Your heart stopped for a millisecond, unable to process a compliment like that. Far from a cliché. Exactly what you could need. Before your vicious brain could come up with a disagreement, you closed the gap, expressing how it felt through the kiss. A long, chaotic one that meant you soon lost the coherence and perception of surroundings. Everything was Neil, and Neil was everything. He always gave you his all in those kisses, opening his mouth almost instantly, brushing his tongue against yours. It was as if for him this was a way of getting lost. You could not help but wonder whether he would be like this further down the line too. In desperate need of oxygen, you took the breath from his lungs, earning a muffled groan along the way. You smiled against his mouth, certain that this time you would have the upper hand. An advantage.

That is until you suddenly felt something soft against the back of your legs. The bed. Your brain caught up at the last minute, a small yelp slipping out as Neil pushed you down to perch on the edge of the mattress. How even… Exasperated, you opened your eyes to understand the intentions. That too was a mistake. In a second, you were struck with the sight of Neil deliberately kneeling on the floor at your feet. He met your gaze with a tiny shrug as if you should have expected it to go this way. Any thoughts of blonde bastards and their antics could not win with the overwhelming fondness. He was quite the image. Shirtless, dishevelled, and bewitched. By you, of all people. The devilish glimmer in his stormy eyes added an edge to the look. A fallen angel determined to take you with him. As if you wouldn’t want to take the plunge anyway… On its own accord, your hand darted forward, fingers carding through his long golden strands. His gaze darkened; you could almost see the thoughts swirling, ideas about the next steps. Then, as you cupped his cheek, something clicked. Neil took hold of your palm and angled it to kiss the pulse point. You held your breath, unable to break the eye contact. The hints of a smug smile as his lips trailed down the tracks of your veins, leaving pecks every few inches. You never knew skin could feel like that. Like being ablaze.

As his study neared your upper arms, you could not stop yourself from blurting:

“Why-” the attempt got stopped with a finger against the lips.

“Shush” fuck.

Your eyes widened upon the command. It was the combination of the steel resolve and his low tone that did it. Or so you told yourself as you felt the familiar jolt within the core. Neil’s finger brushed over your mouth, tracing the outline of your lips. He must have noticed the increasing hunger in your eyes, for he grinned and resumed the caress.

You were not sure how the next few developments happened. In one moment, Neil was leaving kisses all over your forearm, leaning over your knees to get access. The next, he was comfortably positioned between your legs, one hand resting atop of your thigh, the other causing shivers all along your stomach with the careful strokes. From this position, he could easily do whatever he wanted. Which he did, his mouth travelling southward of the familiar territory, lips brushing the swell of your breasts and then below the band of the bra. You felt worshipped, seduced with utmost care. Another light kiss over one of the upper ribs was enough to make you whine in frustration you could not control. Neil’s eyes snapped up to your face, taking in the longing and frenzy painted all over. No smile this time, only a soft brush of his lips against yours and then:

“Can we go slowly?” the question was whispered almost shyly, “I want to learn you” to prove the point, his fingers ran down your side, checking the reaction.

You shivered, swallowing hard at the obvious implications behind the question. Somehow the idea that Neil did not mind your slow pace felt too good to be true. No one has ever been that generous before. Not daring to take chances upon him changing his mind, you nodded, lost in the way he was glancing up at you. Undiminished trust and fascination. So much love. Afraid to spill too many words, you retorted quietly:

“You know me pretty well,” the nervous smile tugging at your lips uninvited.

The electrifying mixture of tension and excitement travelling down your veins. You would not wish to be anywhere else, and yet the nerves were there too. A little anxious voice you had to get rid of as soon as possible.

It seemed like Neil had the same idea.

“Not like this,” he smiled softly before leaning down again.

This time he started kissing down your stomach. Each brush of his lips resonating through your body, culminating deep within. Adding on to the pile of issues. All of them relating to the man so religiously caressing your skin. You wondered how much longer you could survive without having to ask him for more. For help. Focusing on the golden mane of hair, you distractedly tangled your fingers in his strands.

“Is that a promise?” barely reaching the end of the question, the breath getting trapped in your throat with a sharp inhale.

Neil stopped right where the band of your trousers met the exposed skin. He glanced up from underneath the long eyelashes. His eyes were dark, filled with a proposition of much more than this. If you were willing to wait.

“It might be…” a murmur and then a gentle kiss on the navel.

You sucked in the remains of oxygen. Oh god. His lips glided over your skin carefully, showing the potential. The knot tightened as you released a shameless moan. Your body felt as though it could go up in flames at any given moment. Neil had other plans, however. He raised his head and stole a quick kiss without giving you a moment to recover. Then he slid down the straps of your bra one by one and reached for the clasp:

“Is it alright if I…?” a tentative question as his fingers trailed over your back.

Insecurities were one thing, the fact that he was waiting until you gave him permission was another. Too generous.

“Yes. You don’t have to ask” breathless, bothered, yet unable to care anymore.

Your dismissal got met with a serious affirmation.

“I always will,” punctuating the sentence with the action he got rid of the garment.

It was different in Oslo. Back then, you were too caught up in the haze to care. Now you felt exposed, seen by the person that mattered most. Neil was openly admiring you with an enigmatic expression in his eyes. That caused a spike of anxiety as you unconsciously started to cover your torso with your arms. Only to be stopped with a firm grasp over your forearm. Shyly, you met his piercing gaze. Your heart was racing, pulse pounding in your ears. There was no going back from this. Not for you. Before your brain could kick into panic, Neil tilted your chin to make sure you saw the adoration in his eyes:

“You’re beautiful” voice full of conviction.

You wanted to believe him, pulling Neil in for another kiss, letting him envelop you in an embrace. The skin on skin. Closer. Almost there but not yet. You still needed more than this. But it had to wait. Getting lost in the kiss was too easy at this point, the only way of making you forget about everything else. Following instincts, you drew him even closer and then fell onto your back on the bed, pulling him with you. Neil broke the contact, breathing hard, pupils blown wide by surprise and want. He stared down at you, speechless.

That is until you grinned, encouraged by the rare advantage. Your bold touch over the front of his trousers was what kicked him back into action. A groan, flash of something dangerous, and a slight change of position so that he could continue the work from earlier. Hands and lips united in one simple purpose – to make you understand that there was no room for self-doubts. It did not take him long to leave you breathless. A mess of gasps and shudders as he covered every inch of your skin in kisses. Light bites only making everything worse twice fold. Helplessly, your fingers scratched his back, urging him to get closer. The pressure was rising steady and strong, every touch of his lips in all the right places reminding you of what you were trying to ignore. Only it was getting more difficult. Following mind of their own, your hands travelled down his sides, fingers hooking under the band of trousers, pulling them down by an inch. Neil raised his head, eyes dark, predatory gleam shining through. His gaze flitted over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks and heavy breaths. Then grinned, satisfied with what he has done to you. Teasing fingers trailing ghostly touches down your navel, never going where you wanted them. Infuriating. Huffing in irritation, you got back to the futile attempt of getting rid of his clothes. Only to be stopped with a smug smile and a hand grabbing yours:

“What is it?” the sparks told you that he knew exactly what was going on.

And yet… Bloody bastard. Before you could articulate the thought, he gave you even more reasons for hatred. His hand ventured between your thighs, rubbing the skin through the fabric, getting closer. That combined with the attention given to your breasts was enough to cause another shock to the system. Your thighs clenched on their own accord, embarrassment and irritation flashing from your eyes. Enough. You knew what to do. What was necessary. And he would have to obey.

“Just… take them off. Please,” the intended force got lost between gasps.

To indicate the meaning, you sharply drew his trousers down, exposing black briefs. Fuck. Shameful blush spreading over your cheeks as you let yourself stare with fascination. It was nothing new, but it felt like it was. You dared not meet Neil’s gaze; it was enough that you felt its weight settled on you without mercy. Unconsciously your curious hand brushed over his navel. The darker trail of hairs, the protruding pelvic bones and-

“Thanks for adding the please there” his chuckle threw you out of the zone as your eyes snapped up.

Way too confident. And satisfied with himself. You considered punching him in the teeth, but that could be anticlimactic. Instead, you did what you wanted as you tentatively skimmed your fingers over his crotch. Just as expected… Swallowing hard, you faced him with the newly found resilience.

“Didn’t want to sound rude,” a cocky tone added in to show you meant it.

The only indication that it worked was in the way he hesitated, a strangled groan escaping through the parted mouth. You repeated the touch, just so he understood.

“Only eager?” the strained voice adding further encouragement.

Suddenly it did not matter how needy you seemed. There was no need to hide it. Getting what you wanted was much more crucial. Not letting a second go wasted, you used your hold over his hips to pull him down.

“…Yes,” lips crashing into his with hunger you did not want to control.

Chaos. Everything all at once. Neil’s hands roaming over your body, tongue entangling with yours. The beginning of the end. Somehow, he managed to lower down your trousers, the movement urging you to break the kiss to finish off what he started. Kicking off the garment, you waited for Neil to do the same, watching the messy moves with a grin on your face. It was good. Hopeful even. As soon as he was done you extended a hand, pulling him back onto the mattress. Using the lack of irritating barriers, you embraced him tightly. Your bodies flush against each other, save for the underwear. That too had to go. Soon. Another turbulent kiss as your hands explored each other, searching for places to worship and study. Lying like this, side by side, tangled in each other, you understood why this was only a natural step. It made so much sense. You took your time, gliding all over his stomach and chest. Fingers tracing the scars. Lips trailing down his neck in reverence. He was a masterpiece, and he ought to be treated like one. Neil kept on kissing you, taking all that you were offering, slowly inching down your stomach with careful caress. Then, as he bit your lip, drawing out a moan, his hand palmed your underwear. Christ. One flash of surprise in those blue eyes told you what you knew already. It was bad. Soaked fabric clinging to your skin, increasing the frenzy. Answering the unasked question, you let him get rid of the panties; insecurities and uncertainty nowhere to be found. Slowly Neil shifted so that he had you pinned beneath him again. Hand brushing over the navel, jolts of electricity travelling down your veins at the simplest of touches. As his fingers dipped between the folds, you could only shudder, helplessly staring back into his eyes. There was no pretending.

“Christ, you’re so-” the raspy voice causing an additional wave of sensations.

Without finishing the sentence, he searched your face for something. His hand backtracked, traces of shame preventing you from looking at the mess you have made already. Forcing the brain to cooperate, you breathed out a question:

“Are you surprised?” you stared up at Neil with confidence you did not feel.

Whatever was bound to happen would probably kill you. That much was expected. The relentless throbbing between your legs only reminding you about the evident fact – you had it bad for Neil. And he knew that, eyes slowly roaming across your naked body, taking in everything new and about to be claimed. In the flesh this time. Finally.

“No,” Neil offered you a confident smirk, hand delving between your thighs once again without warning, “But this is still very… gratifying” lazily, his fingers parted the folds, collecting some of the wetness.

You huffed, attempting to force him to do more than that. To act. But to no avail. The satisfied look on his face was frustrating.

The fire in the pit of your stomach was building steadily, increasing with every passing second. You had to do something. To have him. Ideally. At the moment, it seemed like the matter of life and death. Everything else be damned.

“I’m glad I can amp up your ego,” managing to string together a coherent sentence, your hands settled on his hips, pulling him down again.

Your lips met in a sloppy kiss, your hazed brain barely able to keep up the rhythm. Using the distraction, you threw your leg over his hip, bringing your lower body flush with his. A clear signal.

But he, naturally, had other plans.

“Not yet. That has to wait a little” Neil pushed you back down, a visible frown etched between the furrowed eyebrows.

Oh for fuck’s sake. You let out a frustrated groan and leaned back to study his expression. You knew enough to know that he was more than ready. The front of his briefs told you as much. But torturous bastards always had to know better.

“Why? You-” your protest got stopped with a kiss you could not deny him.

Those never got boring. Each one bringing a new wave of need and desire. Your whole being focused on him and what you could receive. It never felt quite like this with anyone else.

Neil broke the contact, cupping your cheek tenderly:

“Yes, but first I want to take care of you,” terrifying depth of affection in his eyes doing nothing to extinguish the burning fire, “As you deserve. Like I promised in that one alley in Tallinn,” the telling smirk bringing back the memories with force.

Oh my god. The implication made you gasp loudly, widening his grin in the process. Of course you remembered that one promise. The specifics of what he wanted to do. The thought itself was enough to make you shiver, thighs clenching tightly. Before you could articulate how that proposition made you feel, he added:

“Don’t worry, the mess I’ll make out of you will only help me in this situation” a flash of the devil in the beautiful face and then a kiss laid with astonishing gentleness on your forehead.

Fuck. The shock must have painted on your face for Neil grinned, a tip of the tongue poking between the teeth like a bait. An enticement. As though you would need any of that. Without waiting for a further reaction, he started leaving kisses down your body.

“You’re...” he got as far as the sternum before you could choke out the word.

One of your hands tightened on the bedsheets, knowing well that what will happen will need holding on. A shiver ran down your spine when he reached that well-explored spot on the navel. Neil looked up, eyes dark and merciless:

“What?” a hand running up your thigh, prodding you to part your legs for him.

Like you had a choice. Forcing out a word seemed like a godly feat, and so you settled on the simplest of them:

“Insane,” spitting it out with intended strength, making sure he heard the frustration.

He did. The trademark smirk confirmed it. His hand travelled up your body in a purposeful caress. The learning did not take long; he already knew how to take you apart.

“I’ll show you what insanity feels like” the remark fell upon your fogged up conscience like a guillotine.

Any further words got trapped in your throat as he leaned down again, kissing down the navel, eyes searching yours for consent. A fervent nod had to do.

It was hard to prepare for. Your cheeks were burning as you watched the blonde head bowing between your thighs. For a second, the panicked voice wanted to remind you that this was a potentially life-ruining mistake. That you were letting Neil have it all. That it could end badly. The voice was silenced with a flash of lightning as you felt the offensive tongue part your lips in an exploratory move. Your fingers tightened on the material, the other hand instinctively grabbing onto Neil’s hair. He groaned upon the sensation, the vibrations making you buck your hips into his face. As though he was expecting that, he slung his arm over your thighs, keeping them in place. Keeping you helplessly spread out for the act. He began slowly, giving you all the time to get used to the thrill. It took less than a minute for you to start writhing under his strong hold, pathetic moans piercing the silence. As expected, Neil knew what to do. How to destroy you with the use of his mouth alone. His lips slowly enveloped your heat, free hand finding yours and lacing the fingers together. A grateful sigh escaped your throat, thumb brushing against his knuckles in appreciation. It only got worse then. The coil tightened. A peril of sweat appearing on your brow as the heat kept rising. Just when you thought you could hold on a little longer, Neil switched the technique, delving the tip of the tongue in. Christ. You yanked on the golden strands, showing how well that was working. He chuckled, the low sound making everything even worse. He kept on confidently penetrating the most sacred of places. Mindless of your forceful tugs on his hair or the cries you could not hold in.

Soon it became a losing game. You could only interweave curses in between moans and gasps. You were sure you were close to crushing his hand with the strength of your grasp, tightening upon every single move he made. There was no mercy here. Just the most primal of needs taking over everything else. As Neil directed all of his attention onto being the sole reason for your downfall, one persistent thought appeared in your hazed brain. You wanted him. To feel him everywhere. To chase that high and then claim it with him. His tongue expertly flicked against your clit. A whimper. Hips rocking forward on their own accord. More. All of the words getting stuck in your throat as he started lapping at your heat, taking everything you could offer. Like you were his object of unconditional adoration. As though giving you the pleasure was everything he wanted. A tiny voice in your brain reminded you again of the burning need. You were sure to lose sanity if this continued. Absolution needed and necessary. But not like this. It had to be with him. Feeling the end approach with the speed of light, you brushed your thumb over his knuckles and used the hold over his hair to bring needed attention.

“Neil… don’t…” the ability to speak was long gone, heavy breaths interrupting the intended sentence.

He raised his head, the glistening lips catching your attention with an additional spark of electricity within the veins. Oh god. He licked them unconsciously you shuddered, unable to look away. Fascination almost as good as what he was doing. Almost.

“Why? You haven’t-” his eyebrows furrowed as though completely lost on you.

You wanted to show him. To make him understand. But it was increasingly hard to do with the fire consuming your body and unresolved frustration nipping at the core. Insanity like no other. Speechless, incoherent, you forced the words out:

“Not without you” surely he could not miss the longing in your eyes.

You could point out the exact moment your word sank in. Neil’s pupils widened; lips parted a little letting out a sharp gasp. The blue eyes showing you boundless infatuation and astonishment as though your desires were unexpected. Swallowing hard, he found the voice:

“… Jesus, you-” a gulp, unable to finish the sentence and then a flash of something strange “Are you sure? Because we don’t have to. I can-” oh no.

Not this time.

“Neil” cutting in sharply, you made sure to show him the extent of urgency through the look in your eyes, “Please, I need you” as simple as that; the regrets would come later “I can’t- Don’t deny me that” you raised his chin, thumb brushing over the lips.

Collecting the remains of your fall from grace. Nothing else mattered. Neil looked as though what you said has crushed his heart. He moved back up to face you, careful hands leaving caresses along the way with breath-taking precision. As his eyes met yours, he breathed out the confession:

“I love-” not yet.

You took the words off his mouth with a kiss, tasting yourself in the process. It had to wait. This moment had to be about getting lost, about letting go of everything that was weighing you down. Words like those could only bring harm. Letting go, you whispered the explanation:

“Tell me after,” a resolve to break down his doubts.

It worked if that half-smile was anything to go by. He seemed to consider something quickly before shifting to a kneeling position above you. Following the simplest of needs, your hand darted forward, courageous fingers tracing down his stomach. Stopping at the familiar scar, you mused:

“You never told me why you did that” there was no need to clarify the meaning his eyes met yours with clear understanding.

And something else. A faint laugh as if Neil was amused you have not caught up with the obvious just yet. And then a glimmer of joy, looking down upon you with fondness:

“You’ll know… after,” he grinned, using your moment of confusion to take off the final piece of clothing.

It took your brain an additional second to catch up with everything. After… could that mean- And then, distracted by the thoughts too good to be true, your eyes landed on him again. Only to be shocked by the picture. Your reckless quip from a few days previously coming back to haunt you with vengeance. Compensating for something… yeah, no. A nervous chuckle built up in your throat as you bit down on your lip, unable to tear your eyes away. Not that you expected anything different. Someone this beautiful was ought to be also… lucky. Slowly shaking off the paralysis, you met Neil’s eyes. He was observing you with something akin to uncertainty. As though he had a reason to doubt himself. You took his hand in yours, murmuring:

“Come here,” a faint pull to give him back the confidence.

A flash of a grateful smile as he tumbled back into your arms. Carefully, you wrapped him in a tight hug, your racing hearts beating in the same tempo. Finally getting what you have been craving for so long felt strange. Almost unreal. But it was real, and so you let yourself breathe him in, hands caressing the skin slowly, with purpose. After a moment of quiet tenderness, you leaned back, cupping his cheek, you gazed into his eyes. Nothing to hide, only all of the feelings that you did not dare put into words just yet. Hope, love, faith. With the courage kindling within your heart, you allowed yourself to explore all that he revealed. The simplest of touches darkening his pupils, the hold over your waist tightening. A sigh here, tremble there. Enough to make you braver, kissing down his throat, fingers continuing their dance. Giving him back all of the pleasure and attention. Even if it was only a quarter of what he deserved.

Suddenly Neil tipped your chin, forcing an end to your ministrations, a hint of something strange in his eyes. That same uncertainty. Hesitation. Your chest tightened; heart unable to process the meaning without risking another crack. Finding words, you asked:

“Are you nervous?” gently, you ran your hands over his chest.

Feeling the steady beat beneath the fingertips, the warmth of his body giving security and protection from whatever could harm you. Home. The gratefulness in his eyes increasing the feelings.

“A little…” a hint of an insecure smile, “This is you and-”

Oh. A tiny pinprick of pain resonating through your heart. It never occurred to you that he could be anxious. Because of you, at that. But there was no need to be, no expectations to match up against. All you needed was for Neil to be there, to lose the inhibitions and just let it go.

“It’s only me” interjecting, you added the necessary emphasis “Nothing to worry about” a reassuring squeeze of hand as you made sure to show him the conviction in your eyes “I’ve got you” ending on a whisper, you offered him a small smile.

Before you could process anything, Neil kissed you hungrily, pouring all of the words into the act. It was gratitude and acceptance. As if what you said was exactly what he needed. Only once there was no breath left, he broke the contact, pressing his forehead against yours. Eyes boring into yours with unspoken confessions. And then, as though a switch has flipped, he allowed his hands to resume the familiar moves. Slowly building back up the tension, showing you that there were no more doubts. That was the needed cue to give you back the boldness, studying Neil with the necessary detail. You never knew it was possible to get so lost in something as straightforward as touch, the feeling of naked skin, the look in each other’s eyes. Maybe that’s what love should be.

As though sensing your changing mood, Neil searched your face before following the gentle pull of your hand towards where you needed him most. Just to show how bad it was. How urgent it felt. The flash of understanding in his eyes told you he knew what to do. A sigh escaped your lips as he carefully parted your folds with the fingers. The slow movement, teasing and preparing for what was to come. Letting go felt easy, effortless even. Listening to the most basic instincts, you used the hand that was not tangled in his hair to keep Neil wanting more. To remind him about his desires. Hiss in an answer was gratifying, making your lips twist in a smirk. It was good to know you held power too. Before you could become even more daring, Neil met your eyes with dangerous sparks in his gaze. It could only get worse. And you were right. Retracting his hand from between your thighs, he raised his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. Never breaking the eye contact; a rogue smile making everything worse. Fuck. A violent jolt shook your core at the sight. Bastard. A strangled groan escaped through your lips, frustration rising at the self-satisfied face expression.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you rasped out, showing him the extent of annoyance through the look in your eyes.

A contradicting hand tracing invisible confession onto his back. The words would come soon enough there was no doubt about it.

“Don’t be so dramatic” Neil flashed you the happiest of grins.

Of course. With a ridiculous laugh bubbling in your throat, you stared back at the blonde man, overwhelmed with every emotion on the spectrum. Too much and yet not enough. Now.

“You’re an idiot” tipping his chin you captured his lips in a short kiss.

The relief and devotion in the blue eyes were palpable.

“Yours though,” he cupped your cheek, a soft smile lightening up his face.

With the three words on the tip of your tongue, you whispered the command:

“Show me” the resolution in your eyes aiming to tell him all that you could not express.

Neil nodded, placing a final kiss on your forehead, and shifted to hover above you. The nervous flutters in the pit of your stomach slowly getting consumed by something else. Need, conviction. It was simple. Never breaking the eye contact, your hands ran up his back to tangle the fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’ll be gentle” a whisper passed from his lips to yours coupled with a kiss.

Finally. A flood of feelings threatening to overspill at any given moment. There was only one answer.

“I know,” the affirmation swallowed by a sigh as Neil covered your body with his.

Easy. Then it was almost natural. A gasp from your mouth mixing with his sharp inhale. Lips brushing but not quite kissing. Your fingers digging into his shoulders, bruising the skin. It felt right somehow. Good. Neil slowly inched in, giving you time to adjust. One of his hands tenderly cradled your head, thumb caressing the flushed cheek. His eyes locked on yours without a second of exemption. Assurance and affection.

Once you could feel him inside you completely, a nod was all he needed. Slow thrusts, building up a rhythm. Kisses interrupting the shuddered breaths. Your hand found Neil’s again, interlacing the fingers and pinning your joined palms to the bed. The feeling of his pulse alongside yours was like a revelation. The closeness you have craved for so long was finally within your reach. He was yours. With the fire steadily building up, you bucked your hips to meet him halfway. An answering moan was good encouragement to do it again. And again, matching his pace. And then speeding up. No words were found for any of this. Instead, you kept on gazing into his eyes, letting your breaths match and mingle in the space between. The unguarded look telling him all he needed to know. The feeling in your chest letting you know that there is no coming back from this.

It was the sudden wish to get even closer that prompted you to change the angle. Hoisting your leg over his hip, and then the other. Crossing them over his back, bringing your pelvis flush against his. A telling guttural groan and the darkening pupils told you it was the right move. The chaos that followed was expected. With the different position, it did not take Neil long to find the spot that made you cry out in pleasure. Your fingers scratched his back, nails tearing at the skin, claiming him in the darkened room. He kissed you roughly, lips bruising yours without traces of moderation. That was no longer necessary. You knew it would not take long. The string tightening and straining. The fire within your veins raging and consuming. Soon.

As Neil upped the tempo, your laced fingers untangled to resume the abandoned caress. Your fingers were trailing over his back with increased urgency. Mindless of the bruises and scratches, you wanted to mark him for good. Your heart was close to bursting with the amount of love, the excess pouring out with every sigh and kiss. You peppered kisses all over his neck and shoulder, using the newly found closeness to adore him in new ways. It felt perfect, pleasure swallowing every thought and idea. Till it was just Neil, his hands cradling your body, his warmth keeping you safe. Simple, primal even. As you responded to his forceful thrust with a circular movement, he met your gaze again. Eyes dark, the blue hazed with lust and adoration. Lips parted to let out quiet moans and gasps. The unspoken confessions passed through your locked gazes. Waiting felt worth it. Even if for moments like this when you knew that giving yourself away was the only logical solution. You were his no matter what, this act only signing off the fact.

It was a long kiss that he gave you then that tipped the scales. The heat became unbearable, so many words getting stuck in your throat. Urgency causing you to lose the rhythm, fingers digging into his biceps for support. Your muscles clenching around him on their own accord. The edges of your vision darkened, helplessly meeting his questioning gaze.

“Neil…” a half sigh, just enough to let him know.

A whimper interrupted whatever else you could want to tell him as he reached down between your bodies. The additional pressure placed on your clit to make sure you could get what you needed. The gratefulness passed on a louder moan, fingers tangling in his hair, bringing him closer. Close enough to whisper in his ear:

“You’re mine,” just like that.

That was all you were capable of afore the world exploded before your eyes.

“Only yours,” the affirmation falling on your ears like liberation.

Nothing else was needed. Your muscles tightened, clinging to Neil as though that was everything you were able to do. A sharp cry breaking the silence. Absolution. Everything leading up to this, the moment itself worth every second pain. The ultimate sacrifice in the name of love. You could see it in his eyes, drinking in your downfall with undivided attention. Strained breaths and chaotic movement telling you he was not far behind. Using the last sparks of the high he brought you to, you captured his lips in a slow kiss.

That was the needed push for Neil. He moaned your name, forehead pressing to yours as his eyes screwed shut. His body stiffened and then relaxed with a groan, holding you close. Recovering from the experience, you embraced him tightly, offering any comfort you could think of as he trembled, riding out the high within your arms. The vulnerability of the moment striking you with an unexpected wave of feelings. There was nothing beyond this for people who were not even together. A little voice in your head suggested that perhaps now you were. That maybe this was it. Before you could pay it more attention, Neil raised his head, eyes meeting yours with a haze still darkening the pupils. There was something new in his expression. Relief, certainty, as if nothing could sway him anymore. As if his creed came true, and he did not need any proof. You cupped his cheek, drawn in by the sight he presented. Blush tinting the cheekbones, golden hair falling into his eyes. Gaze focused only on you. And…

“I love you,” the words interrupting the silence with their clarity.

Your pulse picked up, heart hammering in your chest as though triggered by the confession. Speechless, you stared at Neil, trying to find an answer. But the small smile upon his lips told you he was not looking for a response. It was only a formality, just as you asked. To be told after. Now. It could not be… but it was. It was real, he was real, his heart belonging to you just like yours was his.

With the facts slowly sinking in, you pulled him down into another long kiss. As a way of saying all that you could not just yet. As an acceptance. Lips moving in sync, unrestrained, and entirely open to one another. As Neil broke away, breath ghosting your mouth, nose brushing against yours, you stared right back, unable to stop the worry from voicing its problems:

“I can’t-” say it.

Because you could not. Not with the heart bruised and shattered. Not with the fire still burning in your veins. If it was the right one at last, then it had to be proper. As though sensing your growing unease, Neil interrupted you, soft sparks in his eyes:

“It’s okay,” gently brushing his thumb along your reddened cheek, “There’s time,” finishing off with a kiss on the forehead.

Without waiting for you to find the needed words, he slid off your body, settling on the side with a quiet, contented sigh. You glanced at him curiously, desperate for a distraction from the sudden onslaught of feelings and thoughts. What if you’ve fucked it? What if he wanted you to leave? What if-

The monologue of qualms got cut short with an arm encircling your waist and pulling you closer to him again. The intense gaze searching your face before he tightened the hold and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. The tenderness could be lethal. With your heart racing, tongue threatening to spill everything it has been forced to hold back for months, you fought for clarity. Anything. And then… maybe this was okay. Maybe this was it. Sparks of hope triggering the playfulness you have dearly missed:

“Am I not allowed to leave?” eyeing him with an arched eyebrow, fingers idly tracing symbols onto his chest.

The warmth and the steady heartbeat everything you could need to anchor in the moment. The mirth in his eyes telling you that too was requited.

“I’d rather you didn’t…” he trailed off, the flash of something darker in his gaze making you breathless “I… I might have some plans for later,” he added, one of the hands stroking your thigh deliberately.

Right… You could only blame that sudden wave of excitement on his charm. And the look in his eyes, suggesting that this was not the end. That he wanted more. The idea alone made you shudder.

“Christ… Neil, you-” ignoring the satisfied smirk, you stared at him in feigned exasperation.

His grin widened, fingers teasingly running up and down your stomach causing the butterflies to awaken. Not that they had a longer break…

“Yes, my love?” picking up your open-ended frustration, Neil traced the outline of your lips, bruised and swollen from the multitude of kisses.

My love. The endearment on its own was enough to shut up the potential doubts. Unable to stop the grin from spreading on your face, you buried your face in his chest.

“… I see how it is,” your murmur triggering a low chuckle as he pulled you even closer.

You took it slow then. More breathless kisses, hands tangling in hair, sighs, and silent confessions taking up the non-existent space between your bodies. Once kisses and touches stopped being enough for either of you, Neil gave you the control with desire burning bright in his eyes. You claimed him again, making sure he could not forget it even if he ever wanted to. What you received in return assured you that your heart would never let go. It could not. Falling asleep after everything was almost too easy. For once, no fears creeping in the darkness. No regrets gnawing at your heart. Only the steady pulse, a hand holding onto yours, fingers gently caressing your skin. A promise of home.

[stardust-walker]

World on Fire: Chapter 4 {Loki X Sigyn!Reader}

Summary: Sigyn was supposed to have died almost 100 years ago. A peace mission to Migard gone wrong and she had never returned. Everyone had thought she was dead until Loki is shown someone who looks too familiar when he comes to Earth on a mission. Sharon Odell. Shannon Orwell. Sidney Orwell. No matter what name she goes by, it’s all the same. Now that Gods and heroes are real, there’s no use hiding who she really is anymore.

Chapter Summary: in which Loki makes Sidney relive some painful memories and Thor is the just the best bro

Masterlist

Chapter 4: Suffer With Me

Sidney didn’t know what sort of reaction to expect from him but it definitely wasn’t this. Instead of any show of emotion, Loki resumed his slow pace along the front wall of the glass cage. “Why have you come?” His voice was cold. “To extend an offer of peace?” He scoffed.

Sidney furrowed her brow as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I need to know why. It’s not like Odin to interfere much with Earth anymore.”

“You speak of the Midgardians like you are one.” Loki came to a stop in front of her. A shiver ran down her back in spite of herself. “How disappointing,” he drawled. “I do not come on the orders of Odin.” The venom behind his words confused her. What had happened while she was gone that could change so much?

“Then why do you come?” 

“I come to free them all. Free will is an illusion. I wish to be a just king that the...people of Midgard need to remind them of that. Perhaps you need to be reminded along with them.”

Sidney let out a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose. This wasn’t the Loki that she knew.

“On the other hand, you could be useful. You know Midgard more than I.”

Her temper flared as she dropped her hands to her sides. “I am not some tool for you to use! I will not be some part of your hair-brained scheme.” She jumped slightly as he slapped a hand against the glass a few inches from her face.

“You underestimate me?”

“You tried to kidnap me, Loki,” she hissed through gritted teeth. The last thing she needed was Fury or someone else hearing them fight like this. Especially since she was sure she knew him well enough to know what was likely to come next.

“Kidnap you?” Loki let out a laugh as he slowly shook his head. “Was it wrong of me to simply want to see if it was truly you?”

“If that’s what you wanted, you would have arrived on your own and not sent two SHIELD agents after me. Heaven knows they’ve caused me enough trouble as it is.”

“Yet you sit on their airship as if you are a welcome guest.”

Sidney frowned. “Nick Fury owes me. Many times over, I don’t suppose they really had a choice after your agents aimed a gun at me and forced my hand.”

A glimmer of another emotion crossed Loki’s face. Was it panic?

Sidney cut him off before he could spew more venom towards her. “What has become of you? You were always a trickster, you enjoyed your practical jokes. You were never cruel.” She glanced away from him for a moment. The blonde needed to regain her composure before she turned back to face him. As if in a trance, she took a few steps closer to the cage. “Tell me what happened to you.”

“I can not.” He looked more distressed now. 

Sidney held her hand up so that it lined up over his against the glass. “Show me.” She wasn’t even sure if it would work. They had done this before, sure, but that was when her powers were at their full strength. She was certain that she didn’t even have all of them back yet. Perhaps it was something she would need to focus on more. At least she was sure that she was capable of removing the blocks that she had put up in her own mind long ago. Was it worth it to be able to fit in with her friends on Midgard? She couldn’t yet tell.

“You will not like what you see,” Loki warned her.

Sidney grunted in annoyance as she slowly closed the distance between Loki’s hand and her own. The young woman sucked in a deep breath as her hand touched the glass. For a moment, she thought it wouldn’t work. Then her eyes squeezed shut as a sharp pain cut through her skull.

Being able to view someone else’s memories was never a pleasant one but it was certainly a way around having to discuss them. She could no longer feel the solid metal ground underneath her feet. Instead, she could see only what Loki wanted her to see. At least Sidney was still aware of the cool glass under her hand that connected the two of them together in that moment.

Her insides churned as she was thrust into the first memory. Where it all started to go wrong.

“I don’t understand why this mission to Midgard is so important,” Loki sighed as he lounged on a chair in the corner of the room.

“The Allfather says that the whole planet seems to be on the verge of war, Loki.” She had looked down at her hands. She remembered it well that she couldn’t even bear to look at him.

Loki’s face contorted in a mix of emotions before he settled on a look of vague concern. “Of all the warriors to send, why you?”

“Perhaps he would like to ensure the victory of the right side.” It made sense to her until Loki pointed it out. Why shouldn’t he send the goddess of victory to help the Midgardians?

Loki rose up from his seat quickly and took long strides across the room. “Where are you going?” She rose from her seat and brushed her hair from her face.

“To speak to my father. Maybe I can make him see reason.”

“No, Loki.” Her voice was stern as she stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. “If this is something that I must do, then there’s no use fighting it. If the Allfather...your father thinks I can be of use, then I would like to prove myself.” Her light eyebrows furrowed as her dark eyes scanned Loki’s face for any response.

His thin fingers wrapped around her own. He slowly raised her hand from his chest and pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers. “If he’s looking for success, I’d say he’s chosen the right person for the job.”

A sad smile spread across her face before she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him.

The memory faded almost as quickly as it had come. Before she had time to regain her composure another more painful one entered her head.

“What am I?”

“You’re my son.”

Odin? Her breath caught in her throat as the Loki in the memory turned around and she was able to take in his appearance. His skin was no longer pale, but a startling shade of blue. His eyes were red and his skin bore strange markings.

“The casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day was it?” Her footsteps made no noise as she trailed behind him. His slow advance towards Odin made her feel sick to her stomach.

“In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the temple and I found a baby. Small for a giant’s offspring. Abandoned. Suffering. Left to die.” Her brain swirled with a million thoughts as she took in Odin’s words. Loki was no son of Odin he was-

“Laufey’s son? Why?” The hurt in Loki’s voice was apparent. 

“You were an innocent child.”

“No.You took me for a purpose. What was it?” She felt like she could cut the tension with a knife and she was almost certain her physical body jolted as Loki shouted at the top of his voice, “tell me!”

She didn’t get to hear Odin’s explanation as the memory faded until she could only see the black behind her eyelids. Sidney’s eyelids fluttered open as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights that shone from inside the cage. Loki looked as stoic as ever as he stood tall. There was an expectant look in his eyes as he watched her for any sort of reaction.

In spite of herself, she felt a tear begin to slide down her face. Her free hand raised to wipe the tear from her face as Loki sneered.

“Why do you cry? I don’t need your tears. Your pity and sympathy mean nothing to me.” His face was twisted into a cruel mask though his voice cracked.

Sidney opened her mouth to protest before a strange sensation swept through her. It was similar to the disorienting feeling that she’d just experienced but there were no images. Just feelings.

It started out as a warm sensation in her hand that began to travel up her arm. Her eyes widened in shock as she found she couldn’t bring herself to move her hand from the glass. Sidney’s dark eyes darted from her hand to Loki’s face in distress as it just seemed to grow hotter. “Stop this!” 

Loki shook his head. He wasn’t doing this. 

Sidney had tried her hardest to keep quiet while she had come to find out what she needed but she couldn’t bear it any longer. A pained scream left her lips as she doubled over and clutched her head. She could swear she heard Loki’s screams in her head as she felt the unbearable heat grow stronger and stronger. She couldn’t see anything but she heard a name in her head that seemed to sear itself into her brain as Loki’s voice echoed in her head.

There was a dull sound behind her that she couldn’t quite place until she opened her eyes to see the reflection of the door sliding open behind her. 

“Loki, stop this!” The loud voice was familiar enough that Sidney cringed as Loki finally pulled his hand away from the glass barrier. She watched his feet stumble back a few steps as Thor’s loud footsteps moved even closer.

Sidney coughed and shuddered as her body slowly began to return to its normal temperature.

As she went to straighten up into a standing position, a strong hand on her arm pulled her further back from the glass wall. Loki’s eyes narrowed though he didn’t say anything as the tall blonde man grabbed her by the arm.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Thor’s voice was harsh. Sidney cringed as she allowed herself to be pulled from the room. One last glance over her shoulder was all that she spared towards Loki before the door slid shut behind her.

If looks could kill, the look Coulson shot her before he stormed back down the hallway would have at least injured her. Thor hovered over her with a concerned look on his face as both of them watched the agent stalked back down the hall. 

“Leave me be,” Sidney hissed through her teeth as she went to advance down the hallway. Her vision went blurry just before she stumbled into the wall. “I can handle myself.” She swatted Thor’s hand away.

His voice was still harsher than she remembered as he spoke again. This time was different, though. He spoke more like a concerned parent than a scolding one. “My lady, you should allow me to assist you to your room. Unless you’re sure you can handle yourself.”

Her dark eyes narrowed as she glanced up to shoot Thor a venomous look. The two of them were in a silent stand-off in the hallway for a good ten seconds before she relented. With a heavy sigh and a pinch of the bridge of her nose, Sidney allowed Thor to take her by the arm. “Very well.” 

As the two of them moved down the hallway, Sidney slowly found it easier to get her bearings. She had guessed that some things had happened to Loki while she was gone but what he had shown her had distressed not only her heart but her mind as well. She wished that Thor would just leave her alone but it seemed like she wouldn’t be so lucky.

“If I could ask,” Thor started.

“At least wait until we’re not in public,” she whispered. The least he could do was wait until he brought her to her room to discuss the elephant in the room. Thankfully, Thor seemed to take the hint at the very least and maintained his silence for the rest of the walk.

Once the door to her room closed, it was another story.

“I was sure it was you when I first boarded the ship, yet I didn’t want to ask,” Thor stated simply.

“Well thank the Norns that you didn’t,” Sidney rolled her eyes as she edged her way towards her bed to sit down. Thor was a large man and her quarters were small. “Do me a favor and at least get me a cup of water from the sink, would you?”

Thor busied himself with his menial task as she pulled a container of ibuprofen from her bag and popped one in her mouth. 

He handed her the cup of water as he knelt down across from her so he could meet her eyes. “You should not have gone in to see him. He is not what you once knew him to be.”

“I noticed that for myself very well, thank you.” Sidney sighed as she ran a hand through her hair. “Which is why I had to talk to him. I needed to know...something had to happen that made him into this. Cruelty and war was never something he took joy in.” Her pointed look at the god of thunder did not go unnoticed.

“Much has happened since you departed,” Thor hung his head solemnly. 

Thor took his time to explain as much as he could to her. Her supposed death had caused great grief for his younger brother; there was nothing she could do to change that now. Though she had explained her exile had seemed to serve a purpose and after a time she had chosen to simply adapt to her circumstances and perhaps she had blocked herself from Heimdall as someone had shown her long ago. Thor listened as she explained that she had feared after a short number of years that Loki would only express anger at her return so she had decided to remain on Midgard. The thought to return home had not crossed her mind in years though she had remained faithful throughout her time there.

Thor’s expression hardened as he spoke of Loki’s true parentage. His own exile to Earth which shocked her. Loki’s supposed plunge to his death had nearly brought tears to her eyes as Thor placed a comforting hand on her knee. “It brings me sorrow that we should all reunite like this, but perhaps Loki could see reason. Perhaps the three of us could return home together.”

Sidney placed her hand on top of Thor’s and almost laughed at how his hand dwarfed her own. “I think I would like that if it weren’t a pipe dream.”

“He will need to face consequences no matter what. He’s killed 80 people in 2 days according to the spy.”

“Her name is Natasha. But I’ve known you to kill 80 people within an hour,” Sidney quirked an eyebrow.

“Those were different times. My time on Earth has changed my thoughts at least on the people of Midgard. They were not deserving of that.”

“Selvig doesn’t deserve what Loki did to him,” her muscles tensed. She didn’t want to feel such rage towards the caged man but she couldn’t help it. Selvig was a good man and he deserved nothing but good things.

“I do agree with you on that one. Selvig is a good friend and a smart man. There must be a way to free him from whatever spell my brother has him under.” The two of them fell silent. “This is a lot to ask of you, I know this. But if you’re here as well, it must be for a reason.”

Sidney sucked in a deep breath. 

“I do not ask you to betray my brother, but to help him come to his senses. And if he will not do so, then to help me to stop him from doing something that he can not return from.”

Sidney opened and closed her mouth a few times before she settled on a nod of her head. “It’s not like I can jump out of this flying metal death trap. I may as well make myself useful. Though I’m not sure that Stark will want my help if the word gets out.” Her dark eyes sparkled with a hint of excitement as she met Thor’s eye.

“Your secret from them is safe with me.” Thor assured her. Sidney knew it was only a matter of time before her charade was up, however. Tony was a smart man just as his father had been before him.

Without another word, Sidney rose to her feet as a startled Thor practically jumped to his own as he mirrored her. The small woman held out a hand to the god which he took and shook sharply.

“We have a deal then?”

“It is an honor to be able to fight alongside you again, Lady Sigyn.”

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment at the name that she hadn’t heard in decades. Maybe even close to a century. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves there, big guy. I suspect we should try to find the others before they get too suspicious.”

“The Son of Coul…”

“Don’t worry about Phil. He won’t spill the beans if he knows what’s good for him.”

Thor nodded and began to lead the way back towards the lab. Sidney flinched slightly as the thought of the last memory she had been shown echoed through her mind again. One word played on her mind as she finally cleared her head enough to follow the blonde god.

Thanos. Who in the hell was that?

Taglist: @mysticunicorn7​ @lunamyangel​ @moncheriemoony​ @heyarely16​

If you wanna be added to the taglist just let a girl know!!

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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

[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

[asotin]

it's past two am and I was going to go to sleep but my brain screamed at me NEJI and refused to elaborate, so I'm going to do the only reasonable thing and ask my fav blog: do you have any hot takes about him?

I'm so sorry this took so long 😭 I have no excuses. My takes probably aren't very hot, but here we go:

We will not be discussing the disservice of his death

I dig his Shippuden look. The white and gray color scheme, the traditional clothing as inspiration, the gray... over skirt? Open kilt? Idk what it is but it gives me Shippuden Sakura vibes, and I enjoy it. I would have liked his hair better if it had been done differently, though. Maybe totally loose or pulled into a high ponytail?

He deserved to be angry with his entire family, including Hinata, and Konoha at large. I'm including Hinata because even though it wasn't directly her fault and she was also abused, it was a different kind and didn't prevent her from becoming a focus for Neji's trauma. Trauma is messy like that

Where's the structural change in the clan? Where's the acknowledgement that because Neji is clearly more proficient in their fighting style than Hinata, maybe it's reckless to use him as a shield for her? Even strong traditions get questioned

Neji and Hanabi should have scenes together. In a way, they've had opposite and identical experiences with Hinata. They're both stronger than she is, but where Hanabi was allowed to surpass Hinata in standing, Neji wasn't. If Hinata had been stronger, Hanabi wouldn't have the guilt of being chosen over her and Neji wouldn't have the burden of knowing he could be called on to die for someone weak. Their relationships are so complicated that I want to shake someone because we never deal with any of it!

He was a phenomenal comedic partner for Lee. He's so rigid and proper that Lee's enthusiastic nonsense is even more stark. It's kind of like Gai and Kakashi, but we know that Kakashi actually enjoys the challenges. I don't think Neji secretly enjoys Lee's screaming*. Unfortunately, his refusal to be carried on Lee's back made me blurt laugh

I love that good, good NejiTen content. I wish Tenten got to do things in general, but I also think she and Neji would be a great team in a fight. I would like to see her throw things to him while he's spinning and Neji throwing them back at enemies. Team Gai ultimate move: Tenten heaves Lee and a barrage of weapons at Neji, Neji redirects them all, Lee screams in excitement the whole time. That would be phenomenal

The bird in a cage imagery is really, really good. Arguably the best in the whole series. And actually, I am going to talk about his death because we got the imagery of the cage opening so the bird could fly free and I love digging into imagery

The bird in a cage metaphor doesn't work for Neji in Shippuden. He'd already gotten free. His cage opened after he found out about Hizashi and began to work with Hinata. His cage was the Hyūga system, but because of that system, he was forced into another cage. He was emotionally distant. He wasn't making friends because he didn't want them because why would he? But that cage opened, too. He made connections with other people. He was his own person, living a life he was choosing. His death scene didn't open any cages because they were already open. His death for the sake of Hinata wasn't consistent with his character arc. It was a rehashing of Hiashi and Hizashi, but unlike Hizashi, who hadn't found any freedom before his death, Neji's death not only shut his cage but dragged him back into it first. He died in Hinata's place because she couldn't protect herself. That torpedoed both his progress and Hinata's

Where is the battle where Hizashi beats the shit out of Hiashi? If I had left my kid in the care of a sibling who did what Hiashi did, I would destroy that sibling. Just erase them from existence

* I'm actually torn about this because I don't think he's like Kakashi and wants to take part in the nonsense, but I do think that Lee is special to him. We don't see them together enough, but it would be consistent with his growth as a person if he accepted that he was shitty about Lee's dream because he wanted to be able to reach like that. He couldn't be optimistic. But he wanted to be. He wanted Lee to succeed and break destiny

Side note: NejiLee? Underrated

[pandastern]

Gravity (Bakugou x OC)

Part 13:  Same Chains - Different Colours

If youd like to be tagged to the taglist for upcoming parts please dm me :)

Masterlist  II  AO3

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count:   1715

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance, slow burn

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected

By the time Artemis arrived at the tribunes where her class were seated, she still hadn’t quite shaken off her most recent discovery. Her classmates greeted her, Iida and Ochako making some space for her to sit down.

“Hey, Artemis! They announced you're dropping out of the competition. Are you doing okay?” Ochako asked.

“You missed the Cavalry Battle! Most of our classmates made it into the final round,” Iida explained in full class rep mode, gesturing with his signature hand chop motion.

Despite their enthusiasm, Artemis could sense the concern beneath her friends’ expressions.

“Yes, I’m okay. I guess I wasn’t as healed as I thought I was, so they took me out of the competition.” Artemis sighed inwardly and tried her best to crack a smile, despite the discomfort she felt. “I’m… sorry I worried you.”

“We’re your friends! You’re allowed to make us worry once in a while,” said Ochako.

Artemis frowned slightly, but decided not to respond. Was it really that natural to worry for someone? These people barely knew her, and yet all of them acted like they’d been friends for years. 

Taking a deep breath, she put on her best friendly face and listened as Kaminari and Sero behind her updated her on the latest events. She was a little surprised to find out that Ojiro had dropped out voluntarily, though she could understand his reasoning. For some people, pride was very important. More so than results.

“It’s as if that Shinsou guy brainwashed me or something. I don't exactly know what he did or what his quirk is, but Midoriya had better be careful,” Ojiro grumbled once he’d finished his story.

“Shinsou?” Artemis asked. “Wait… wasn't he the guy who tried to start shit with us? The fuzzy purple head?”

“Yep, that’s the one. Midoriya is up against him in the next fight. I just wish I could give him enough pointers to win.”

“Brainwashing, huh?”

That was an interesting quirk, Artemis thought. How was a person like that not in the Hero course? When you considered the possibilities a quirk like that could give you during fights, it seemed stupid and an incredible waste not to utilise powers like that for the Hero course. Then again, it explained his antagonistic attitude.

Before she could dive deeper into her thoughts, a lady with a snack cart pushed into their seating area, offering food and drinks. To Artemis’s absolute delight, she spotted a selection of much-needed energy drinks.

“Oh God, yes!” she groaned.

Finally, something was going her way today.

She jumped up, pushed forward and grabbed two cans of her very own survival liquid and a bag of chips. The thought of the treats was already lifting her mood. She’d paid and had just pushed past Denki to get to her seat, when suddenly a hand shot forward and grabbed the drinks in her hand.

“Oi, what-”

“Should you really be drinking that garbage, dumbass?” Bakugou growled into her ear.

Artemis hadn't even noticed the bane of her existence entering their seating compartment. When had he gotten up here? The sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine and her stomach lurched again.

“Are you gonna police what I drink now?” she hissed, though she didn’t look up at him.

The scent of burnt sugar wafted around her, making her heart race. Fucking hell.

Instead of arguing further, Bakugou pulled the cans out of her grasp and put them back in the cart before handing her an iced tea.

Words couldn't explain how badly Artemis wanted to throw his ass over the fence and watch his body plummet several stories down into the arena. She let out a frustrated growl and finally met his eyes, ready to snap at him, an action she regretted instantly.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realised just how close Bakugou was standing next to her. It also didn't help that her brain instantly replayed the scene in the infirmary. Heat spread across her cheeks.

Thankfully, Bakugou seemed to have the same problem, and Artemis decided that even though she was in desperate need of caffeine, it wasn’t worth causing a scene right here in the open. Especially since she now realised that everyone was staring at them.

She pulled away with a huff, took the tea and sat back down, very determined not to look at Bakugou again so as to calm down her rapid heartbeat. What the hell was wrong with her, anyway? 

“Dickwad,” she muttered to herself.

The curious whispers of the classmates who had witnessed the whole spectacle didn’t go unnoticed by her. However, she opted that ignoring it was the better strategy for now. Stubbornly sipping at the drink in her hand, she tried to focus her attention on the competition in the arena.

Artemis watched as her friend Midorya scored the first victory against Shinsou. And while she was happy for her friend, she couldn’t help but be more interested in watching Shoto Todoroki fight next. The words of his father echoed in her mind, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She’d never paid much attention to the quiet boy, mostly because he usually prefered to be alone.

As Midoriya and Todoroki’s flames clashed in the arena, Artemis realized that she’d never seen him use the fire side of his quirk before today. And seeing Endeavor’s reaction to his son activating his left side told her why.

With a loud roar, the number two hero’s voice echoed through the entire arena: “Shoto, have you finally accepted yourself? Good! It all begins from here. With my blood, you’ll be able to surpass me. You will fulfill my desire!”

Artemis’s body stiffened as the memories of her father started to flood her brain.

Your power is my gift! You shall pave the way for New Olympus!

Why was it that men like Endeavor and her father always glorified their own blood, thinking it justified to turn the people around them into tools, not caring about the price other people had to pay for their hunger for power?

Ice spread through Artemis’s veins. She understood. And for the first time, she saw Todoroki. He was like her, in a way, rejecting the chains that bound him to that monster he had to call father. Todoroki was a tool, a weapon in the eyes of his maker, existing purely for the selfish gains of a Hero who didn’t deserve his title.

The revelation hit her like a gunshot, flinging her back into the dark, cold room she’d once called her home. A cage built only for her, robbing her of any humanity she possessed, until she couldn't feel anymore. The rage she saw in his eyes was the same that burned inside her.

A warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her out of the endless stream of memories that threatened to drag her into the dark.

“Artemis?” 

Instinctively, she swatted away the hand that had touched her without consent, then flinched. Her head whipped around to the person who’d said her name.

Ochako gave her a concerned look. “Are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet. Do you feel unwell?”

Artemis took a deep breath and forced herself to smile at her friend. “No, I’m… I’m okay. Sorry.”

She could tell Ochako didn’t quite believe her, but she didn’t pry, which made Artemis very grateful. After all, her story wasn’t something she wanted to tell anyone. It was bad enough that she had to carry the memories inside her heart, having them haunt her dreams the moment she closed her eyes.

These flashbacks were getting annoying. It frustrated her that she had no control over what could trigger another episode, and the lack of caffeine that usually kept her brain buzzing and distracted didn’t help either. She’d have to come up with more effective ways to keep her brain busy from now on.

The Festival progressed without any further surprises. Artemis tried to pay attention to what was happening inside the arena as best as she could, but her thoughts kept drifting off. To her annoyance, the time her attention peaked was when Bakugou was standing in the ring. Watching him fight was fascinating, not that she would ever admit that to anyone.

It seemed to her that Bakugou was made of pure determination and strength. Every attack, every explosion, was well-planted. The man was a ferocious fighter and strategist, brimming with talent. So, it didn't come as a shock to her that Bakugou easily moved forward in the competition into the finale. And yet something felt off. Artemis couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something in Bakugou’s demeanor told her he was growing more and more frustrated by the second. 

Unlike the fight with Midoriya, Todoroki seemed to refuse to use his fire again, which seemed to rile Bakugou up even more.

Artemis leaned over to Midoriya, who’d joined them on the tribunes after his fight with Todoroki, and whispered into his ear. “Say, is it just me, or does Bakugou seem more aggressive than usual?”

“Hm, so you’ve noticed too,” Midoriya replied with a serious look on his face. “I can't be sure, but it seems to me he’s taking Todoroki’s behaviour as a personal insult.”

“Insult? Why? Because he’s not using flames?”

Midoriya nodded. “Kacchan has this mindset that if you don’t give a hundred percent, it’s because you think he’s not worth it.”

What was it Bakugou had said to her in the infirmary? If you can't give your best, why are you even here?

No wonder he was screaming at Todoroki to use his flames. In his head, he probably thought since Todoroki had used both sides of his quirk in the fight against his childhood rival Midoriya, he was looking down at Bakugou by not doing the same thing.

He didn't understand what using the fire side meant for Todoroki, what was connected to that part of him. Artemis wasn't sure he could even if he was told.

She couldn't explain why, but watching that fight was painful. Maybe it was because no matter whether Bakugou or Todoroki ended up standing last, neither of them would be able to enjoy their victory.

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@sammyluvzz​ @chicledechoclo

[soggybensolo]

Sweet Little Lies

CHAPTER ONE

Over All Summary: Reader is a princess taken from her homeworld after a deal with the first order went sideways. a reborn young man by the name of Kylo Ren ( her captor) had taken it upon himself to train the princess- who believes to be a force wielder- in the only way he knows how. she must endure the many trials he had to face in his awakening to the dark side. things over time eventually change when the princess develops a small sense of Stockholm and Kylo Delusions of grandeur. together they form a bond of codependency… UNTIL something happens that splits the two forever.

<INTRO

WARNING: DEPICTION VIOLENCE/ABUSE. PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE FOR FUTURE WARNINGS.

A/N: if you are uncomfortable with abuse and or uncomfortable with the ideas of NONCON, manipulation, or death please do not bother reading this. don’t waste your time. this is a work of fiction and does not depict my views. 

slow burn.

There was a muffled rattling sound and slight vibration in the floor. (y/n) had her eyes closed, she was too scared to open them. She had not seen sunlight since taken from Taigawa. She had no idea where she was or what she was being held in. As soon as she was brought onto the ship she was knocked out cold. The Jedi killer was taking precautions, he didn't want to risk accidentally killing (y/n). He had put her limp body in a cage used for rare animals and covered the cage with a thick heavy material. It was cruel and unusual, but he didn't care. Neither did his other comrades. He didn't get to where he was by being polite and thoughtful. He was none other than Kylo Ren, a wild card in Snoke’s deck and the best damn killer to bet money on. Kylo had a personal agenda to stick to. His job was to find the force user, present them to Snoke, and be praised for it. If he was going to live up to his expectations then he would have to put forth a hard effort and stop at nothing. He wasn't scared of dying and he wasn't scared of battle. Kylo Ren was jaded to emotions. The only thing he ever felt was anger and nothing else. Kylo had trained himself to be mind over matter. If he was hungry, he would think of food and he was full. If he were tired, he'd talk himself out of sleep and would build up energy by using the force. He was one step from being a complete sociopath.

  As the cage (y/n) was in came to a stop, she held her breath. She could hear two voices, one she had already heard before and the other she hadn't. When the voices had stopped, (y/n) opened one eye but still saw nothing. Then, all at once her cage was filled with light. The fabric covering her cage had been pulled off, and she quickly sat up. There was a throne in front of her and sitting in it was a very tall humanoid alien male. His skin was sickly pale and his eyes were a piercing pale blue color. It was the Supreme leader of the first order and current master to Kylo Ren. He rose to his feet hastily and hunched over. A deep unsettling growl rumbled in his throat.      

 “I had believed it was the king who was force sensitive but now I can see I was wrong,” he said. “Bring her to me so that I can have a better look at her face.”

The same knight as before, Kylo Ren, ripped open the door to the cage, and with a firm grip he yanked out the girl. When her feet wouldn't move he dragged across the floor and held her upright. The pale alien gripped her face tightly and examined her from every angle. His hand was ice cold against her skin and it felt as if he were just a walking corpse that somehow still had life from within. His sunken in eyes looked so hollow and empty. They were nothing compared to (y/n)'s.

  Her eyes were a rich and still had a very youthful and naive shine to them. Where she was from her looks were rare and only belonged to her father's bloodline. Her hair was was long and the color of it (h/c). She was all Ephraim. The only thing she took after Adah was her small frame and her petite nose. (y/n) was a beautiful Taiganian human female. 

“Where did you find this one?”

 “She is the king's sister, (y/n).” answered the Knight of Ren.

Master Snoke scoffed. “It was his sister all along. Pity, I was hoping to have a new apprentice.”

 Kylo's grip tightened more around (y/n)'s arm. Snoke had other apprentices before him but Kylo wanted to stay the main focus.

“What shall I do with the girl then, Supreme leader? Shall I kill her?”

 “There’s no need for that… but do what you must, Kylo.” sighed the old sovereign.

     Kylo tugged (y/n) all over the grounds of what seemed to be ruined and abandoned planet. shabby buildings were close in distance but all different sizes. The sky was gray and the air humid giving the area an overall murky appearance. She judged by the numerous storm drains, that rain was constant in the area. (y/n) couldn't help but wonder if the planet he had taken her to was Hell. 

 (y/n) stumbled as she was being led to one of the empty buildings that looked the most out of place, it was a hut. The hut looked mostly new like it had just been built not that long ago. It was an elongated adobe made for two. Upon entering the hut, right in the center, was a small clay oven likely used for warmth more than food. The hut was warm when Kylo wanted it to be but it was mostly ever dark, cold and lonely.

   Kylo pushed (y/n) down a narrow hall. He was taking her to one of the rooms that were not being used. It was smaller than his and just two steps away.  Across their rooms was a tiny washroom big enough for one person at a time. It was nothing compared to the luxurious refreshers she was used to. The hut, in general, was nothing compared to her home on Taigawa.

   There were nothing in (y/n)’s quarters. Just a high up glassless window and a pile of ripped up cloth on the floor where a bed should have been. There was no lamp for light or anything to keep the room warm. It felt more like a prison cell than a bedroom. The area smelled wet as if there was water but nothing was dripping from the ceiling and no puddles on the dirt floor.

 (y/n) wrapped her arms around herself, she was out of her element and all she could do was cry.

   “Shut up!” said Ren as he shoved the princess to the ground. 

   Her yellow gown dirtied the instant it met the floor. Curling up into a ball, she brought her head into her hands. Her sobs growing worse. She wished nothing more than to have been killed like her family instead of taken to a strange place by a strange man. She had no idea why her life was spared or why she was important to the knight at all. With the royal family dead, and her kingdom taken over by the first order she was no longer relevant. To the artisan and his apprentice, she was just a girl.

   The masked knight before her squatted down. He was silent for a moment, the room was filled with the sounds of her sobs, and the release of air from his helmet. “You still cry, how pathetic.”

  Young (y/n) lifted her head. Through tear-filled eyes, she peeked at his face. He could have been no older than she was. His physiognomy stern, but he was still very wet behind the ears. She could make out a large nose and what seemed to be scattered freckles and moles. Her vision was too blurry to depict anything else. She could not understand how someone who was practically still a boy, could be so wicked.

   “How is it you are the one the force chose?” he asked picking at a lock of her.

   “I don't know what you're talking about.”

   Kylo tilted his head, lips pouting. “You don't? I think you’re lying, I don't like liars.”

   “I’m not lying.” It was half true. (y/n) knew what the force was but she didn't know how to use it. She was never allowed to talk about it. When she had confided in her mother at a young age she was kept hidden from the outside world in fear she would be taken and forced to be a padawan and one day a Jedi. Taiganian's were not fighters, they did not stand for war. The day Hiram boasted about being one with the force she figured her gift was nothing more than an illusion, a game on her mind. That it was her brother who was meant to be a Jedi knight.

  “I felt it when I killed your family.” Kylo tugged on the hair in his hand. “You caused a ripple. You moved me.”

   (y/n) tried to free herself from his grasp but when she tried to move away he only tugged harder. She let out a small whine that only encouraged him. He tangled one hand at the nape of her neck and slapped down the other on her temple, the leather stinging her skin. He clenched his jaw and brought her face close to his. “Perhaps I shall demonstrate what the force can really do!”

   Searing white-hot pain shot from the center of her brain had filled her body entirely. She had lost control of her arms and her legs spasmed. She felt as if she were being crushed while set on fire, all while being skinned alive. Invisible needles pricked at her fingers and nonexistent cattle prod was poking at her heart. All she could do was scream. When He let her go, her body stayed glued to the ground. She had no strength to move, or make herself comfortable.

   Her lungs burned and her throat was hoarse, she was crying out loud but no sound could be heard. Kylo stared at her body unapologetically. “You didn't like that? Well, it was fun for me.” one of his large hands crept around her throat and pressured it. He was testing her capabilities, sizing her up, trying to determine her force. It was buried but it was there. “If you do not wish for this “fun” to continue, then maybe you should fight back. Show me the force! Use it on me!” (y/n) found the energy to shake her head no. it's not that she didn't want to stop him, she just didn't know-how.

 “No?” he mocked, pressing his fingers tighter around her throat. “You're so weak!”

   Kylo squeezed harder and harder till he shut off her airway completely, holding that her way till she had passed out. He was frustrated with her. He believed she was not worthy of the force. If she did not know how to use it, then she did not deserve it. He spent time coming in and out of (y/n)'s room debating if he should just kill her or not. Each time he entered he changed his mind.

      He would come close to taking her life but would then talk himself out of it. Not because he did not have the courage but because she had the force. He knew he could make something out of her. All he had to do was seduce her into the dark side. Show her all that it had to offer, but Kylo was not sure it would work. (y/n) was weak and her power was small. He would have to teach her the way he was taught. He himself was still learning.

      He would have to teach her.

   The night was still unlike the evening that had past. No crickets were chirping, no wind whistling and no rain falling. In some way in the stillness of the night, (y/n) had managed to drift off into sleep. 

  Not too long after she had cried herself to sleep, she was awakened. Kylo had ripped her up off the floor abruptly and shook her violently. “You don't get to sleep!”

   Her eyes went wide and she was scared. She had not been expecting him to just snatch her so suddenly. Kylo threw (y/n) halfway across her room then used the force to pin her to the wall. “You don't get to sleep till I say you can, and I will say you can when you show me the force!”

   (y/n) shook her head, not wanting to look directly at him. He was wearing his mask again and it scared her. She did not like not seeing his face. It left to much up for her imagination. He could be looking at her with murderous eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul. If she cannot see his eyes then she cannot see his soul. If she cannot see his soul then she cannot see his intentions. Shutting her eyes, she tried to use the waves around her but could not muster up the means to see through him. She had not yet opened her mind's eye because she had not been taught to harness the power of the force. Her efforts were useless.

   “You tell me, no but I can feel you trying to penetrate my mind.” his modified voice hissed low in his throat. “Show me what you can do.”

   (y/n) parted her lashes and shook her head again. She had no idea that what she was doing was actually using the force. Kylo grew angry and gripped the sides of her head.

   “Show me the force!”

   When she failed to comply, just like earlier, he took control of her mind. It was so much worse than the first time. Kylo was in her head and breaching her thoughts. He heard every thought she ever had and saw every memory she ever made. He saw things not even she remembered. Her entire life played before him like a cinematic movie. He knew all about her now; her ups, her downs, her likes, her dislikes, her language, and her culture.

   “If you want me out of your mind, then fight me!” he grunted over her screams. “Fight me!”

   But she couldn't fight. She did not know how.

      “Do it!”

        Nothing.

      “Do it! Use the force!”

      Still nothing.

   “I can feel the force in you! Do not deny it! Show me!”

   Absolutely nothing.

   Drunken by rage, Kylo threw (y/n) to the ground. His fist raised above his head collided with her cheek. She didn’t move she just stayed still. Her mind was racing, trying to figure what it was that just happened. When his fist came again she saw stars, and everything came together. He had punched her. Before she had time to recover from his blow he dragged her body from her room to the front of the hut. He was taking her outside. For what? She didn't know.

   Tugged to her feet, (y/n) struggled to stand straight. She was nearly knocked back when he threw a long wooden dowel her way. She had hardly caught it in time before he had grabbed a stick of his own and whacked her with it. (y/n) fell into a puddle of mud, her dingy yellow gown, now wet, clung to her legs. Pushing herself up to her knees, she pulled herself from the puddle, gripping the sopping heavy fabric as she crawled. She was so focused on getting out of the mud that she hadn't seen Kylo come at her.

   THWACK!

   (y/n) winced as the thick dowel came across her back, knocking her back to the ground. Rolling over she stared up at the sky. Streaks of luminosity were barely peeking through the clouds. The morning was arriving. She had survived one day of torture. 

THWACK!

   The wooden dowel had collided with her stomach, and all the air had left her body. Gasping hungrily at the oxygen she almost missed the stick coming again. (y/n) rolled to her left, dodging him. He came once more, and she rolled to the right landing right back into the liquid dirt.

   “FIGHT!” Kylo let his stick fall from his grasp.

      Straddling (y/n), he flipped her over so her face was in the mud and he held her head under. She kicked her legs but it wasn't enough to knock the boy off of her. She would have used her arms if he hadn't been restraining them behind her back. His hands were large and her wrist was tiny, it didn't take any more than a couple of his fingers to lock them in place. He was bigger than her and far stronger than her. This was a boy who was trained personally by the supreme leader of the first order, and the boy was his apprentice! She did not stand a chance against the likes of Kylo Ren.

   He lifted her head and brought his mask to her ear. “Why do you insist on being so weak? Why do you not try? Is it because you're not strong enough?”

   She only cried out in pain. There was nothing she could say to him.

   “Submit to me and I will teach you the ways of the force.” He said just above a whisper. “Let me show you what the dark side can do for you, and you will never be weak again.”

   “No.” She finally spoke.

   PLOP!

   He pushed her face back into the mud, smothering her some more. After ten seconds he pulled her head back up. “Let me be your teacher!”

   “No!”

   PLOP!

   Her screams were muffled by the mud. Although her voice could not carry out loud he could still hear her. She was struggling to breathe and if he wasn't too careful he would kill her. So, lifting himself off the ground he brought her up with him. (y/n) gasped for air and spit up wet dirt. She was relieved she was still alive but frustrated in his antics. He was being very childish.

   “If you refuse me then you shall be considered a traitor!” Kylo locked (y/n) back in her room and he did not return for three days.

   The hut was silent and still. (y/n) could not feel anyone home, he had left her alone. She could have made an attempt to escape but she did not have the energy. She had not slept in the time he was gone, because without him there she knew other things could get her and she wanted to be awake in case he returned and tried to wake her like the last time. 

You don't get to sleep till I say you can… I will say you can when you show me the force. 

Show me the force.

   Submit to me and I will teach you the ways of the force.

   … let me show you what the dark side can do for you.

   His words were implanted in her like a seed, sprouting over and over. He had left a mark on her and she thought carefully. She was not raised to pick a side whether it was good or evil.  She knew Jedi were good and that they were one with the force. However, no matter how many times Luke Skywalker roamed Taigawa he never came to her like Kylo Ren did. Surely if he had found her first she would have fallen in the right hands. Kylo did not ask her to join his side, he took her. Would Luke have taken her against her will like Kylo did? Would Luke have killed her family? Was she meant to be a Jedi?

   If she were meant to be a Jedi then the light side would have taken her before the dark side did. Though she did not surrender to the dark, it was the path that claimed her first. Even if she did choose to submit, she would not make it. (y/n) could not use the force because she believed (in denial) that she did not have the force. Kylo claimed to have been moved by her and claimed he could feel it in her but she did not want to believe it! To use the force and to join the dark side would be to betray her home and her family's legacy. The Taigania's were not forgiving people.

     After three days Kylo Ren had returned. 

   “Have you reconsidered my offer?” his voice was clear as day and it sent jolts through her bones. It was the only voice she ever heard now.

   When (y/n) did not respond, Kylo nudged her with his boot. “Answer me, girl.”

   “No.” she whispered frail. 

   He said nothing, only dropped to his knees suddenly and gripped her head. She cried out in pain and her back arched from the cold hard ground. He lifted her head once only to slam it against the floor. (y/n)'s brain rattled in her skull and the pain in her head was nothing compared to the pain that came with the force torture. Every time she thought it couldn't get much worse, he found a way to take it up a notch and every time he tortured her mind it always felt different.

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[squidpro-quo]

Hi I absolutely adore your writing, please never stop!! Also for prompts if you ever need some ideas; - Katsune Jaskier that follows Geralt like a shadow, which he's aware of but doesn't know who/what it is and it drives him mad until he finally sets a trap to catch him and lo and behold, it's a cute famous bard - THE HANAHAKI DISEASE AU BUT NOT FATAL - just Geralt secretly loving Jaskier's voice and pining for his singing - Feral Antisocial Geralt who's only Soft with Jaskier is my shitok

 AN: I'm so sorry this took so long! The world went to shit and my brain went along with it, but I loved your prompt so much I needed to write it, even so late >.

   It starts small. Geralt thinks it starts with the djinn but it really began much earlier, years earlier when Jaskier burrows past his defenses in a way that he barely even realizes and plants the seed that will turn Geralt’s life upside down. But it does start with the djinn, in a way. 

    The tickle in his throat had been growing for months, in hindsight its progress was likely inhibited by the twisted physiology of witchers, and Geralt ignores it in favor of working towards the next job, the next town, the next good night’s sleep. Until it turns to an itch that he can feel with every breath, keeping him tossing and turning on the spring earth like a dying beetle. He doesn’t sleep easy in the first place, even with swords in reach and Roach nearby, but the faint pressure in the back of his throat leaves him grasping for even the thinnest veil of peace every night. 

    Naturally, his only solution to this dilemma is to find a djinn. The net’s wet cords are unwieldy until he’s thrown it over three dozen times, more beyond that when he loses count until Jaskier’s voice cuts into his frustrated groans. He’d never admit that it might have been the bard’s lucky presence that wins him the amphora after so many hours of fruitless searching but even that thought is quickly tossed away when he sees what the djinn has wrought on Jaskier. 

    The long rides on his search for help are time enough for him to listen to the ragged breaths Jaskier fights to take and Geralt swears under his own at the foolishness his sleep-deprived brain had concocted as a solution. He’d bear the itch in his throat for the rest of his life if it meant Jaskier’s voice wasn’t torn to shreds between wheezes like this. His traitorous mind wonders if the solution to his problem of sleeplessness might have even happened if he’d had Jaskier’s strumming in the evenings to drift off to, that he’d gotten used to and only found he missed when the bard had left for the Countess de Stael. But it doesn’t matter, the hands weakly gripping his waist are what he should be focusing on. 

    He keeps a hand on Jaskier every second until he stands before the mage, the back of his throat scratched with how many times he’s cleared it in the past few hours and the exhaustion bleeds into his voice just slightly as he hears that haunting wheeze whistle from Jaskier’s lips again. 

    “Just a… friend?” Yennefer arches a brow with enough refined subtlety that he barely understands. 

    “Companion.” 

    “Ah.” The unimpressed look on her face doesn’t stand in the way of her offering help however, for a price Geralt would gladly pay many times over. The guilt that gnaws at him seems to crawl up out of his stomach and nestle in his lungs, his usually slow exhalations paced fast enough to almost be a normal human’s. The change would be disquieting if he wasn’t more worried about someone else’s chest rising and falling faster, and easier. 

    He’s standing over Jaskier, watching his eyelids flicker and trying to explain away why he’d rushed through a bath with a mage like Yennefer when she broaches the subject again. 

    “You care so much about what he’d die thinking, what did you say?” 

    Geralt considers not telling her but he could imagine what Jaskier would say. Brave enough to fight monsters as your day job but not enough to admit you cut me with a sharp quip? It would sound far better in Jaskier’s voice; Geralt’s mind had never been good at filling in Jaskier’s side of conversations unlike Jaskier himself was for Geralt’s. And maybe it was the sleepless nights that had brought back his habit of substitution, of trying to fill the hole in the everyday that had once been bursting at the seams. 

    “I insulted his singing.” 

    “He must be the bard then. The ‘humble bard’, no less. Well, I’m sure he’s heard worse.” Yennefer leaned against the post at the corner of the bed, arms wrapped around the wood as she pressed her face to the whorls carved into it. 

    “He shouldn’t—” He can’t finish the words, a cough disrupts his thoughts and forces him to focus on what had grown in the back of his throat. Swallowing hard, he feels something slip down from the force of it, a tightness as that of food eaten too fast. 

    “I’ve healed his ills, do I have to add yours to the bill?” 

    “No. This is nothing.” He braces himself on the post she’d abandoned, seeing the marking drawn on the floor and his mind scrabbles for something other than Jaskier to revolve around. “You’re planning to use him as bait.”

    “He’ll get his last wish, fully healed. What happens after is a matter of circumstance,” Yennefer says, shrugging. 

    “It’ll make everything worse, trying to cage…” Geralt stops, this time from the cloying scent that’s flooded his nose. 

    “That was faster than I’d have thought. You, witcher, are distracted.” She sways towards him as his senses begin to cloud and her glance towards the bed has him jerking to intercept. “Hush. He’s got all of your attention already, I’m just borrowing you for a bit.” 

    The world goes dark and Jaskier returns. But it doesn’t stop Geralt from marching back into the building to save her in the end. She had saved Jaskier, and as much as he’ll deny any conclusions one could jump to about how much he cares, or as Jaskier creatively put “give a monkey’s about”, him, that act deserves some kind of repayment. 

    ———

    Once it starts, it takes far longer for it to end, however. His and Jaskier’s path weave together in the years after that and he sees the bard’s fame continue to grow and his ballads about him growing wilder, if still mostly true, while for him the only change is the tickle that grows into a cough with every sunny step Jaskier’s takes away from him when he leaves even as he tries to hide it. 

    By the time he meets Triss, he’s found out what he swallowed that night. He leaves them strewn around his campsites, when he can afford to simply hack them up and discard them, and keeps his mouth shut otherwise, breathing only thinly until he can weed out the fresh patch that grows over the course of the day. The only reprieve he ever found was in the slip of meditation when his senses dull just slightly and Jaskier’s wandering fingers pluck out tremulous notes of his latest creation. But that only lasts so long. 

    Triss frowns as soon as she sees what Geralt holds in his palm.

    “If you weren’t a witcher, you might have died from this already,” she mutters, spinning the stem between her fingers. 

    “It won’t be what kills me directly. One good slash from a bruxa while I’m coughing these up and I’ll be the next piece of roadkill in the night.” 

    “I was talking about the poisoning. Buttercups are toxic, but at the rate your—You say you’re coughing them up so much that you swallow them instead, that might just be making it worse.” 

    “What am I supposed to do about it? What cursed me? Who? If I could solve this, I would have done it already. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

    “This isn’t something I can heal.” 

    “Then who?”

    “You. Just like how symptoms of a sickness get worse the more you ignore them, so too with this. Except this time, your body isn’t what’s being repressed but rather your emotions.” 

    “That’s what the mutations did. Too late to undo that,” he growled, the soreness in his throat mounting in the now-familiar foretelling of a fit. He doubled over, coughing a shower of drifting yellow petals onto the frosted earth. Buttercups in the dead of winter, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to him, giving him away even more thoroughly than Jaskier’s singing usually did. 

    Triss continued once she saw he’d stopped. “This is something you’re deciding to do. Or more likely, something you’re deciding not to do.” 

    “There’s plenty I don’t do. Fight every human who sneers my way or cavort in the streets, for a start.” 

    “But something you want to, but decide not to. That’s your mystery to solve. Not mine.” She smiled. “Unless you really do have a fancy for dancing a jig in the main square, I’d surely watch that.”

    He leaves her disgruntled but with an answer to his problem, even one he doesn’t like. While he racks his mind for what the solution is, the days start to blend together until he finds himself growing used to his condition. The flowers grow rampantly, but clearing his throat helps to at least keep the stems from clogging his breath for the hour it takes for them to grow back. It serves the same purpose as his usual monosyllabic sides in conversations about jobs, with the side effect of earning more than a fair share of stupefied, and disturbed, looks as the petals slip from his lips whenever he does open his mouth. 

    The only one who seems to ask him about it however, is Jaskier. He stumbles into Geralt’s campsite one dusk with a few of the flowers tucked behind his ear. 

    “I hear you’ve been spreading rumors without me! What’s this about the ‘Spring Witcher’? It’s like something from a fairytale, except instead of diamonds you get the burden of flowers dropping from your mouth. Shame it’s only the one kind. Pretty color though!”

    Geralt doesn’t say what he can feel lying on his tongue, that with Jaskier’s sky-blue doublet, the same one from when he’d wished the bard silent and come closer to killing him than anything else, goes so well with the yellow in his hair. Instead, he coughs, leaving a dusting of buttercups on Roach’s back just as he’d finished brushing her down. 

    “The tales don’t tell of that. Is it a curse? Can you still talk? Is it painful?” 

    By the time Geralt clears his tongue of any more bitter stems, Jaskier’s stroking Roach’s nose and looking at him with concern. It takes a second for him to speak, caught in the relief of the weight of those eyes on him, something he hadn’t realized he’d missed. 

    “What are you doing here?” 

    “That answers one of my questions at least,” Jaskier sighs, but acquiesces, “I’m… wandering, for now. I don’t know, I happened to find you. Maybe it was destiny, although I know you don’t like that word. Maybe I can stick around for a bit before I go, help you get rid of those weeds.”

    “You a healer now?” 

    “No, but I’ve taken care of plenty of other things for you.” Jaskier takes hold of Geralt’s wrist, raising it until the scar running to his elbow is shining white in the firelight. “Wouldn’t look as nice if I hadn’t taken that embroidery class all those years ago, you know. And the rash from the—”

    “Yes, I remember the rash, Jaskier,” Geralt cuts in before he can continue down that vein any further. The tightness in his lungs eases just slightly in the moment, and he finds he doesn’t want it to be temporary. “Stay.”

    “Where? Here? I mean I don’t mind holding your hand, Geralt, but I’m also not a dog.” 

    “Just… It helps.” It feels like he’s pulling the words out, slowly and methodically uprooting them from inside and shaking the dirt from them before offering them up. 

    “Does it really?” Jaskier’s eyes widen, his hand tightening slightly on Geralt’s skin and he relishes the warmth of those nimble fingers, but it feels like he still hasn’t finished clearing out the field. 

    “And it’s been too quiet. Roach is good company but…” 

    “She’s not the best conversationist? I’ve noticed that too. She’s all eye-rolls and huffing, with good reason but there’s only so much of that deadpan you can take.” Jaskier smiles, still holding onto his wrist as he talks, stopping only to pat Roach’s flank between sentences. “I’ve missed you too, Geralt. I’ve never met anyone who can brood so expressively. And insult me so bad I almost die.” 

    “Jaskier, I’m—”

    “I kid. I can respect a good repartee as well as any jester. Besides, I flatter myself to think you may have learned such sharp wit from me.” 

    “I somehow doubt it.”

    “See? That was good, but I bet if you spend another decade or so with me, you’ll be killing monsters with just your words.” Focusing back down on the scar that had been the first point to his argument, Jaskier runs the pad of his thumb over the beginning of the raised skin, turning thoughtful. The expression scares Geralt, his mind always returning to the conversation before the djinn, to all the points where he could have stopped what he was doing and spared Jaskier the ensuing pain. To all the hurts that Jaskier bared to him, without him even realizing it. 

    “By then, will you still be using ‘old friend’?” he asks, realizing his words are coming easier, as is his breathing. The dull ache that had sat inside his chest for almost a year had eased, the taste of pollen against his teeth waning with every clear breath. 

    “Maybe something different. I have a few ideas, but I’ll run them by you. See how you react.” He almost doesn’t see Jaskier’s wink, with the darkening sky and the thumb that has traveled from his wrist to his palm, but he catches it. By then, the only buttercups left are those in Jaskier’s hair and even those are knocked loose by his next gesture. 

I’m open for prompts

[gb-fics]

The One Who Hurt You

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: Some of you may be able to tell from the title, but this fic is referring to the song “Ano Hi Kimi wo Kizutsuketa no wa” (I know, I know, it’s from Killer Tunes, ssh ^-^;). I just got this idea from Dorobune lately and it matched too well to not use it. Also, I’m never sure whenever to point this out or not, but there is slight mention of mental health issues in this fic, just so you know.

On a more personal note, I’m sorry I didn’t post anything in quite a while already. I’ll try to be a little more active again soon (^-^)

„Can you come over?“, Shou asked without introduction. He sounded breathless.

Yutaka tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t feel like going over to Shou’s place tonight. He hadn’t felt like picking up the phone to begin with.

But he had told himself, that it might be something important. Something about Shou’s health, or news from Jun, or some infection among the staff members. He hadn’t dared to decline the call, although he wasn’t really in the mood to talk to Shou.

“Maybe another time”, Yutaka suggested. “Let’s make plans for the next time you are free.”

He couldn’t help sounding bitter. They all had a lot of free time recently, but still, Shou always seemed too busy to meet up. Yutaka understood that everyone had a different way of copying with the situation, but he was mad at Shou anyway. He had cancelled their dates one time too often lately.

“I meant more like now”, Shou said.

Yutaka checked for the time and sighed.

He had planned on a lazy evening all by himself. His intention had been to pity himself throughout for not receiving enough attention from his boyfriend and not knowing what to do with himself either. Maybe, he would have gotten a little drunk, too.

He considered how long it would take him to find his motivation, take a shower, maybe eat something, because Shou’s refrigerator was always poorly stocked and drive over.

“I can be there in like two or three hours”, he admitted.

He didn’t quite understand, why he was always the one to give in, when Shou on the other hand was allowed to cancel their plans last minute without so much as a proper explanation.

“No, Yutaka, I mean now”, Shou sounded urgent. Yutaka felt the old, familiar ball of panic rising within his chest. It tasted sour at the back of his throat.

He remembered the panic, back from when they had been nothing but friends, way before they became popular. Every time Yutaka’s phone had rung, he had flinched. When it was Shou, he had panicked. When it was the number of a stranger, or someone who knew Shou, Yutaka had panicked, too. Shou had been unstable back then and even now, that his mental health had improved, Yutaka had never really gotten over the fear of loosing him. Ever since the pandemic had started, the fear had become more acute again. He wasn’t sure how well Shou was doing and the fact that he closed down on him, caused Yutaka to worry even more. Not being able to meet with Shou, didn’t just anger him, because he wanted to spend time with his boyfriend. It made him feel anxious, when he wasn’t able to check on him regularly. He felt helpless then, having to watch from the outside but unable to interfere, because Shou just wouldn’t let him in.

“Has something happened?”, he wanted to know, trying to sound calm. Shou would feel bad, if he knew how much Yutaka worried; worried so much that he wished to rip open his chest and close his hand around his heart to physically stop the panicked pounding.

“I’m fine”, Shou said, but his voice sounded funny, somehow flat like it usually did when he was stressed or distracted.

Yutaka had learned to read his voice over the years, because it was actually more telling than his face. Whenever they talked, Yutaka kept scanning his voice for little warn signals, for red flags that would tell him if he needed to act.

Although Shou sounded stress, he didn’t seem at the verge of a nervous breakdown yet, so Yutaka decided to aim for a compromise.

“I’ll take a shower and drive over immediately. I’ll be there in an hour and we order takeout?”, he suggested.

Shou was silent for a moment.

“No, please”, he said. “Come here right away. I don’t care if you’re showered or not.”

Yutaka bit his lower lip. Maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe Shou was closer to a meltdown than he thought. But then, why wouldn’t he tell him right away?

“Are you sure there is nothing wrong?”, he assured.

“Don’t worry”, Shou said. “Just come here as fast as possible. Please.”

He was practically begging now, something that was extremely rare for him. Shou didn’t like using the word “please”. He didn’t like to ask something of other people, even if it was Yutaka. He was better at apologizing.

“Okay, I’m on my way”, Yutaka said and suddenly felt angry at himself.

He had promised himself to not let Shou walk all over him any longer. If he cancelled on Yutaka without explanation, Yutaka shouldn’t rush out to meet him, as soon as Shou called. He wasn’t a dog. He had wanted to explain to Shou, that he couldn’t treat him like that. He had wanted to tell him, that he would need to make an effort, too, if he wanted their relationship to continue.

But old habits were hard to overcome and all that Yutaka could think of was the pale, gloomy kid Shou used to be, always so very close to breaking. Every time Shou called him to his side, Yutaka was unable to decline, because the blood rushing through his ears seemed to turn into a whisper of “What if it’s a relapse? What if this time it’s a relapse and you are not there?”

“Thank you”, Shou said quietly.

Yutaka held on to the phone a bit longer, listening to the silence at the other end of the line. He wanted to make sure he did not miss any meaning hidden in it.

“Don’t just sit there, get going!”, Shou exclaimed finally and started laughing.

“Okay, okay”, Yutaka huffed out, annoyed that Shou acted like he just didn’t hang up, so he wouldn’t have to leave the house. All the same, he was also relieved Shou sounded lighter now, his scolding nothing but a tease. He didn’t sound like he was close to breaking.

“See you soon”, Yutaka added, then he hung up.

He got up and tried to stay calm. There was no point in rushing out the door. He needed his keys and his helmet. If he stormed out senselessly and forgot something, he’d only waste time by having to come back up.

He considered changing into a proper pair of pants, but than it wasn’t like Shou would care. He usually looked unfashionable whenever they met.

Yutaka breathed in deeply while he put on his shoes.

Over the years he had learned to calm himself. There was no point in letting Shou see how unsettled he was. It only made Shou pull back harder, worried to bother Yutaka. It had turned out that appearing relaxed and almost a little brash was what put Shou at ease the most. Sometimes, he needed Yutaka to speak to him firmly, so he got it together again. By now, Yutaka had gotten quite good at finding the right balance of caring for Shou without letting his own panic show. Shou had no idea how scared Yutaka was, whenever he texted him in the middle of the night, or when he didn’t pick up his calls several times in a row.

It hadn’t been like this when they were still on tour together and Yutaka could keep his eyes on Shou at least every other day. But the lockdown had made the old fear kick back in. Yutaka felt the pressure of the forced isolation and the unpredictability of the coming months weighting down on himself as well, and Shou had always been the more sensitive one.

He put on his helmet and swung himself onto his scooter. Luckily Shou’s place was close by. It had been one of the reasons Yutaka had decided to rent this apartment after all, although he hadn’t told Shou back then. Their relationship had still been too fresh. He had claimed the reason for his moving was the need for a bigger place. By now, Shou seemed glad about the short distance, too.

Yutaka forced himself to focus on the traffic. He had to fight the urge to skip red lights and cut in on the cars on the road. He wanted to be at Shou’s place as fast as possible, but he had to get there alive.

He’d feel calmer, if Shou would agree to see a professional, at least while the measurements were in place and they weren’t able to continue their tour. It was Yutaka, who had coaxed Shou into trying therapy for the first time, too, but unfortunately, Shou had not been too convinced by the results. He had written it off as pointless. Yutaka would be relieved, though, if a professional kept looking for warn signs, too, and it wasn’t all up to him to carry the burden. Maybe, he’d be able to sleep more peacefully at night again.

He pulled up in front of Shou’s apartment building, taking in another deep breath. There was no need to worry Shou even more with his own panic. He had to be calm. He had to be the stable one, so Shou could hold on to him, when he stumbled.

Yutaka climbed the stairs. He could have taken the elevator, but he didn’t like to stand idle with his thoughts, when he felt like this. As long as he focused on walking, his brain wouldn’t produce pictures of what he might find. He thought of Shou’s first apartment. Small, messy, the blinds always drawn by day and night as if Shou was scared of what the light might exposed. Yutaka had always felt uncomfortable visiting him there. Not that his friends from university had lived in more luxurious places back then. But Shou’s apartment had always radiated the sadness of an animal cage that was too small for its inhabitant. He knew Shou had had troubles leaving the house on some days. That was why he had always thought of the place as a cage and avoided visiting Shou in it. Even today, although Shou had moved several times and was in a much better mental state, Yutaka felt queasy whenever he approached his front door. He was scared, that someday Shou would open and Yutaka would find his apartment had turned into a cage again.

He rang the doorbell.

It took quite some time, until he even heard noise from the other side. Yutaka wished he had a key. He hadn’t brought himself to ask about it yet.

Then the door was opened and he stared into Shou’s face. For a moment, Yutaka felt like his heart just stopped beating. There it was, his worst nightmare. He felt horrified and oddly relieved. At least, he’d be allowed to stop searching Shou’s face for hints now. Everything was open on display.

Shou’s eyes were red and swollen and filled with tears. He had obviously been crying until just now. His nose was running, too, and he made weird sniffling noises. His hair was in dismay as if he had tried to get it out of his face angrily and then forgotten to straighten it out again. Red stains were showing on his cheeks like it always happened to him when he was stressed or just got emotionally worked up.

He looked upset and puffy and Yutaka knew, that someone had hurt him. He had seen Shou hurt so many times already, by girls who had not returned his love, by colleagues whom Shou deemed better than himself, by so-called fans who had been nothing but cruel and too demanding.

Yutaka stepped inside, closed the door behind himself, so no one would be able to spot them and pulled Shou into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around him and held him without the intention of ever letting go.

To his surprise Shou leaned into him, wrapping his arms around Yutaka’s waist and allowed himself to be held, which usually happened quite rarely.

Yutaka inhaled deeply. Shou’s hair smelled smoky as if he had been roasting something. Yutaka wondered if he needed to worry. Had Shou set something on fire in his own apartment and the shock had upset him this much?

“Hey”, Yutaka whispered, still holding on to Shou.

They were about the same height and he could rest his head against Shou’s neck comfortably. Sometimes, Yutaka wished to be taller. If he was as tall and buff as Kenji, he’d be able to make Shou feel small and safe. He knew that it would not help him fight off all the invisible enemies Shou was struggling with, but maybe he’d feel better, if at least he was able to protect Shou physically. Maybe it would make him feel a little less helpless.

“What happened?”, he asked lowly.

“Ah.” Shou pulled back and chuckled. He reached up to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s nothing. Not what you think. I’m fine.”

He managed a smile, exposing his gappy teeth. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, though.

“Hey”, Yutaka repeated, taking hold of Shou’s hands. He held them in his own for a moment, turning them around, so Shou’s palms were pointing up. He gently trailed his fingers up Shou’s arms, in a gesture that was meant to be tender, but again, he could only concentrate on the sound of his own blood that rushed so loudly in his ears all of a sudden.

He knew exactly what he was doing, what he was doing currently whenever he met with Shou. Their sex had turned too desperate and too greedy, too, because Yutaka got impatient to tear off Shou’s clothes. Lately, Shou had pulled back from him a little and often enough, Yutaka had had to go home after receiving only so much as a kiss. Shou could sense the fear that drove Yutaka, even if he might not understand what he was doing. But Yutaka felt overwhelmed lately, almost shaking with the desire to assure that Shou was alright. He needed to inspect his skin, make sure no marks or bruises were to be found anywhere. Shou’s phase of self-harm hadn’t lasted long. It was Yutaka, who had never gotten over it. Maybe Shou wasn’t even aware Yutaka had noticed back then, so he couldn’t guess what he was searching his body for now. Yutaka’s greed had to remain incomprehensible to him, and whenever Yutaka found no traces on Shou’s skin, he turned tender, almost compulsively so. The relief made him want to cherish every part of Shou’s body and he wanted to wrap himself around him, to make sure no one harmed him ever again.

“Tell me, who hurt you”, Yutaka inquired. “I’ll punch them in the face. This time I’ll do it, I swear.”

Shou laughed quietly and pulled back his hands from Yutaka’s grip.

Yutaka was glad to hear him laugh, although he had been absolutely serious about his words. It had never been Yutaka, who hurt Shou, but it was his duty to protect him anyway. He’d make sure he was alright and that he had a reason to smile and laugh every single day.

“You won’t”, Shou said with a gentle sternness. “Now, come in. But give me another moment, you got here faster than I expected.”

He led Yutaka to the living room area, that wasn’t so much a living room as a working space, because obviously those two things went together for Shou. The desk with the technical equipment took up a large part of the room. Yutaka couldn’t understand why Shou didn’t search for a bigger apartment. Everything here looked cluttered. He wasn’t very good at dividing his space economical, either.

“Just wait here, okay?”, Shou asked and gestured for him to sit down somewhere at the low table. “I’ll be right back with you, then we can talk.”

Shou wiped his eyes again, then he turned around and disappeared into the kitchen. His kitchen wasn’t really a separate room, but rather a part of the apartment that was separated from the rest of the living room through a divider. Yutaka wasn’t able to see Shou, but he heard clattering and a low sizzling. He wondered if he had arrived so early, that he had interrupted Shou’s dinner plans. It would explain the burnt smell.

Yutaka looked around the room and tried not to think of Shou’s red and puffy eyes.

He had clearly not expected Yutaka yet. Obviously, he had pointed that out to indicate he would have forced himself to be calmer already otherwise. The thought hurt. Had Yutaka gotten here a little later, Shou would have done his best to cover up the distress he was in. He would never expose his vulnerability to him. Yutaka would always have to guess and worry, if he was able to catch up on the hints in time to protect him. Shou wouldn’t ask for help, even if he needed it. It was all up to Yutaka.

He wondered, if it would have been better to confront Shou immediately. But he wanted to give him time to collect himself.

He was probably cleaning up the kitchen just now, trying to come up with the right words to explain to Yutaka, what had happened. He’d wash his face in the kitchen sink. His cheeks would be very red from the cold water and his eyes would look somewhat less puffy. He’d try to seem collected and Yutaka would pretend he was, to leave Shou with the feeling of dignity he obviously needed to open up to him at all.

Maybe giving him that much space was the problem, though. It gave Shou the time to recoil again and again and maybe Yutaka would never get through to him like this.

A loud clattering came from the kitchen and then Shou swore so heartily that it nearly made Yutaka flinch. Shou wasn’t exactly using polite language around him usually, but outbreaks like these were surprising for him anyway.

Yutaka decided that he had worried enough for today.

When he had seen Shou on the doorstep, all of his anger had vanished. He had only wanted to protect him. But now, he was here, after Shou had called him and begged him to come, making Yutaka worry. And then he had opened the door crying, worrying Yutaka even more, only to place him here alone in his living room, as if Yutaka’s worries and feelings didn’t matter at all.

He got up and walked over to the kitchen area, determined not to let Shou get away with it this time.

Shou had his back to him. The water was running, but he stood in front of the sink without moving. Yutaka took that as a very bad sign. Shou seemed to be dissociating.

“Who made you cry?”, Yutaka asked, not nearly as gentle as he had intended.

Shou shook his head without turning around. He finally turned off the water, though. Yutaka heard he make a sniffling sound again.

“It’s embarrassing”, Shou said quietly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t call me over here crying and then have me sit around calmly without getting an explanation”, Yutaka said loudly, this time sounding angry for real. He wished he had his voice under control not to daunt Shou. But he was angry and most of all, he was very, very scared. “What happened? I can’t help you, if you don’t tell me who hurt you. Who made you cry?”

Shou turned around. For some reason, he was clenching a plastic box filled with mushrooms to his chest. His cheeks were even redder than before.

Accusingly he lifted his arm and pointed over to the countertop next to the stove.

“That!”, he shouted. “That made me cry, okay?”

Yutaka turned his head slowly. On the countertop sat a grater and half an onion.

“I was grating onions. You know it always makes me cry.”

Yutaka stared at the remains of the onion for a while. He realized he’d look pretty ridiculous, trying to punch it.

He turned back to Shou.

“But you seemed so stressed”, he insisted.

“I am stressed!”, Shou exclaimed. Now he was the one unable to keep his voice down. He gestured around the kitchen. “Look at this mess.”

He held up the mushrooms before slamming them down onto the countertop as well.

Yutaka now noticed the pan sitting on the stove. It contained pieces of meat. The meat was nearly black. It still smelled burnt inside the whole apartment.

“Wait”, Yutaka said slowly. “You were trying to cook? For us?”

Shou crossed the arms in front of his chest. He always looked defensive when he did.

“You got here too early. It wasn’t ready yet. And while I opened the door, the meat got burnt.”

Yutaka looked down onto the pan and slowly shook his head.

“So, this is why you called me over?”, he assured. He wasn’t sure if he ought to feel relieved or even more angry. He was too baffled to feel either. “You begged me to come here as soon as possible … for dinner?”

Shou shrugged, pouting slightly. It made his full lips look pretty, especially with his cheeks this flushed. Yutaka was determined not to get drawn in by it, though.

“You wanted to be here only in an hour”, Shou muttered. “I had already started. I was worried the food would grow cold. You had to come right away.”

Yutaka nearly wanted to laugh, but he still felt something like an unpleasant afterglow in his chest. Even if he knew that there was no acute danger in sight, the fear didn’t just disappear from that knowledge. It clenched his bones a little longer with the cold sensation of panic. Even if his brain knew that Shou was currently safe, Yutaka’s body hadn’t accepted that reality yet. He still felt too shaken to forgive Shou this easily.

“You can’t do that to me”, he said. He had wanted to say that for so many weeks already. Every time Shou cancelled their meetings last minute, every time he called him when actually he should be asleep, every time he seemed a little too moody and recoiled from Yutaka’s touch. Shou couldn’t do that to him without explanation, because then Yutaka’s mind went into overdrive and he imagined him hurt and caged in and possibly gone forever.

“You can’t just call me over like something is wrong and then stand there crying and expect me to be okay with that”, he went on. “Because I worry about you so much. It scares me.”

Yutaka inhaled shakily. The words were out at last. He didn’t want to sound accusing or like he was blaming Shou for being sensitive. But it was important for him to know, that Yutaka needed more from him.

Shou looked up. His dark eyes were kind and pained. They were clear, though, not teary at all.

“I know”, he said softly. “I know you worry. I’ve been an awful boyfriend lately. I need time for myself to process everything that’s going on currently. But that doesn’t mean I’m not able to handle it. I’m sorry, I cancelled on you so often lately. I wanted to do something nice for you today. I thought it would make you happy, if I cooked for you.”

He gestured around the kitchen helplessly.

“But I’m godawful at it. I wanted to prove to you, that I’m doing alright and that I’m able to take care of myself. But I was wrong. I can’t take care of myself.”

He sniffled quietly once more.

“Fuck, I don’t even know if you need to wash mushrooms or not.”

“Shou”, Yutaka said gently and took a step towards him. He reached out hesitantly, touching Shou’s cheek lightly. His skin felt very hot to the touch. “You know, it’s not your cooking skills I’m worried about.”

Shou closed his eyes. For a few seconds, he looked peaceful.

“I am okay”, he said. He spoke quietly, but very firm. He opened his eyes again, looking right at Yutaka. “You need to believe me, when I tell you that.”

Yutaka hesitated.

“I just remember how it used to be, before the band worked out for us”, he admitted. “Remembering you that unstable frightens me. With everything that’s going on … everyone is stressed.”

Shou nodded.

“I know. But I’m a lot stronger now than I was back then. I’m not loving the current situation, but it’s not bothering me that badly, either.”

He took Yutaka’s hand, placing it against his neck and holding it there.

“Back then my whole future was insecure. I was scared of where I was going”, he continued. “But you know I have savings now.”

His grin looked out of place for their serious conversation, too boyish and gleeful. Yutaka found himself smiling in return.

“I know I won’t end up on the street. And back then, I was heartbroken, too. Now, I’m in a happy, fulfilling relationship and I have a loving boyfriend, who supports me.”

He leaned in and his lips brushed against Yutaka’s, a very light and very quick kiss, before he pulled back again.

“So, you’ll ask for help?”, Yutaka asked, still full of doubt. “If you need it?”

“Please, trust me”, Shou repeated, giving Yutaka’s hand a light squeeze. “You don’t have to look out so closely. If something is wrong, I’ll tell you.”

“I want to protect you”, Yutaka whispered hoarsely.

“I’ll let you.” Shou’s reply came immediately.

Yutaka exhaled, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Shou’s. Sometimes, it was nice they shared the same height. Maybe there was no need for being taller after all.

He closed his eyes.

“But you know”, he said quietly. “I have another confession to make.”

Shou hummed under his breath questioningly.

“I also don’t know if you need to wash mushrooms or not.”

Shou broke into a laugh, his body trembling against Yutaka gently. He was still holding on to his neck.

“So, what are we going to do?”, he asked. “You actually don’t seem very helpful.”

“Don’t worry”, Yutaka said and finally opened his eyes to pull back. “I might not be able to protect you from everything myself. But I know who can.”

Shou raised his eyebrows. Yutaka grinned triumphantly.

“Uber Eats.”

[vs-redemption]

Blinded (Teen!Hawks X Teen!Toya Oneshot)

Summary: Hawks meets Toya Todoroki and has a conversation that forces him to open his eyes to the darker truths about hero society. This is based on the theory that Hawks met Dabi through the Hero Commission before Dabi was a villain. 

Warnings: It’s kind of sad

Being blindfolded used to be a bit frightening, but not anymore. Honestly, now it was just kind of exhilarating because taking away my eyesight made the rest of my senses kick into overdrive. Years of training had made it so that nobody could hide from me, even in complete darkness. Having that kind of power gave me a confidence that I’d been raised to embrace and utilize in every aspect of my daily life. A person who was assured in their own abilities and actions put other people at ease. It made them trust you, and that was important for anyone aspiring to be a hero.

“Are you ready?” the familiar voice of the facility director comes through the speaker on the ceiling directly above my head. It was usually my personal supervisor that ran my routine quirk tests, but it wasn’t unheard of for the higher ups to show up and assess my progress every once in a while. I nod my head, knowing they were watching my every move as I mentally prepare for what I am about to do. There’s a count down.

“3…2…1…Go.”

The wings on my back snap open and a tingling sensation runs through my feathers as they pick up the vibrations of several dozen sensors placed randomly around the room. Learning how to sense and control each of my feathers had been a slow, uphill battle. It had only gotten easier thanks to all the rigorous mental exercises I’d been forced to endure. I still had a long way to go and a lot more to learn before I was ready to be a hero, but for now I took pride in how each feather moved on its own, flying through the room and shutting off each of the sensors with terrifying speed and accuracy. I can’t help but smirk a little, knowing the director was watching. Maybe if I impressed her enough, I’d finally be given permission to leave the facility.

There were only a few more sensors left when all of my focus suddenly zeroed in on the sounds coming from outside the testing room. People had been walking back and forth, chatting to each other, and opening and closing doors the entire time, but there was one particular voice that had always stood out. The fact that he was back after going missing for a few days was a little exciting, and my mind raced with possible reasons for the absence.

“Hawks!”

The director calls my name and I snap to attention. The bright red feathers around the room come flying back to me, filling out my wings as they fold back up against my back. I pull the blindfold off my face and glance up towards where I knew the camera watching my performance was hidden.

“What happened?” The voice was your supervisor now and he didn’t sound pleased. “You slowed down at the end and failed to turn off two of the sensors.”

I hadn’t made a mistake like that in a long time. It was time to put my diplomacy skills to the test. I put on my best smile, the one they’d rewarded me for using to my advantage in the past, and reach up to scratch the back of my head as a false show of submission.

“Sorry about that,” I keep my voice light but apologetic. “I thought I heard someone trip out in the hallway and figured it was worth losing a few points if I could make sure they were all right! That’s what a real hero would do, isn’t it?”

“No.” My supervisor hadn’t been moved at all by the act. I supposed that was to be expected since he was the one who had taught me all the tricks I’d just tried to pull. “You can think of those two missed sensors as two lives you failed to save today.” That was a bit harsh, but I knew better than to say anything about it.

“All right,” I sigh, giving in for real. “Just let me try again. I’ll get them this time.”

“There are no second chances in the real world,” the supervisor lectures. “Only consequences. So for the next two weeks you’ll be required to do an extra hour of training after dinner.” Before I have a chance to reply, I’m dismissed from the test and sent to my next class.

* * *

There were plenty of other students besides me attending the facility owned by the Hero Public Safety Commission. We all attended general studies classes together but did our quirk training separately. I’d been wishing for more time to get to know them for as long as I could remember. Unfortunately though, there was hardly ever time for me to socialize with my peers because they went home to their families in the afternoon while I lived in the building and did extra training in the evenings. It made me sort of an outcast to them, and I envied my classmates who got to leave this place to hang out, talk, and enjoy doing whatever it is that they liked doing.

“Hey. Chicken boy.”

It was the same voice I’d heard in the hallway during my test. I was supposed to be in the cafeteria for dinner within the next few minutes, but there was no way I could pass up a chance to talk to him. I turn around and see him sitting on the ground, tucked oddly underneath one of the facility’s drinking fountains.

“Hey.” I walk over to his crouched form, fighting the urge to check over my shoulder for anyone who might be watching. I was going to be in so much trouble if I was late to dinner. The commission kept me on a very strict schedule. It was strange that any other students would still be here though. Everyone else had gone home for the day.

I kneel down so it’d be easier to talk to him, but I was a bit too big to fit under the fountain with my wings. This is the closest I’d ever been to him, so it was a little startling to finally make eye contact with his icy blue stare after admiring him from afar for so long. If this was going to be my first impression, I had to make it good. I fluff up my wings and allow a huge smile to take over my face before asking, “Is everything okay?” The boy scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Stop it with that stupid hero act.” He crosses his arms over his knees which were tucked into his chest, making himself look younger and smaller than he was. His words sent a jolt into my stomach though. Stop the hero act? Being a perfect hero inside and out had been the main purpose of my existence since the facility had taken me in. I didn’t know how to stop.

“What’s your name, bird brain?” Apparently he’d grown impatient with my silence. I knew ‘Chicken Boy’ and ‘Bird Brain’ were probably supposed to be offensive, but I’d honestly be fine with any nickname just to keep him talking to me. I rarely got the chance to talk so casually with someone, especially someone so close to my age, and especially someone as interesting at this boy. Ever since he’d joined the facility, he’d only attended classes about seventy percent of the time. The times he did show up were spent driving the facility staff mad by questioning and challenging every order he was given. I liked his attitude, and I wanted to know what made him go absent so often.

“My name’s Hawks.” I soften my smile this time in the hopes he’ll reciprocate the friendliness. The irritation on his face only increases at my answer. He sighs and runs a hand through his thick, red, spiked up hair. His sleeve slides down to reveal that his wrist and forearm are covered in tightly wrapped bandages. It’s not the first time I’d seen him with injuries like that, and it was one of the many things that had made me so curious about him. How did he always end up hurt so badly? Did it happen during his training? Was he pushing himself too hard? Was someone doing it to him? There’d been no clues about what his quirk could be, so I couldn’t be sure what the story was.

“I meant your real name, moron.” The insults were getting more offensive, but I didn’t mind. I’d been taught by the commission that people lashed out at others out of fear, sadness, or insecurity. As a hero, I’d have to deal with people experiencing emotions like that every day. I couldn’t let it get to me.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone my real name,” I admit calmly while trying to think of a way to get him to open up to me. This was my first chance to try and make a real friend.

“Why not?” his tone was mocking, “You think you’re special because you live here and get special treatment?” The question was shocking. Is that what all my classmates thought of me? I was certainly lucky to have been taken in by the commission, but being caged inside was also a burden at times.

“I was told that it was safer for me to always use a hero name,” I explain, wondering if I was really supposed to be sharing details like that without asking. “The commission didn’t want anyone to be able to use my past against me.” A dark look passed across my classmate’s face then and he finally crawls out from under the fountain. I scramble to stand up too, worried that he was going to leave. He doesn’t walk away though. He just stands there with a scowl on his face.

“I wish someone would erase my past,” he finally mumbles after a pause. “It must be nice.”

“It’s lonely,” the words are out before I can stop them. I wasn’t ever supposed to show true vulnerability like that, but how could I not after he’d said something so sad? The expression on his face changes after that, probably surprised by my admission. The heat from his blue eyes seems to dull and the tension leaves his shoulders.

“Lonely, huh?” all the aggression had left his voice and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a sad smile. “Well isn’t that a pity?” I couldn’t tell if he was still making fun of me or not. Perhaps my isolation was amusing compared to whatever he dealt with that left him with open wounds all over his body. He reaches forward suddenly and wraps his fingers around my wrist to tug me closer. My brain all but short circuits at both the close proximity and his touch. It suddenly occurs to me that I had no idea when I’d last had physical contact with someone that wasn’t for a training or medical purpose.

“Let me fill you in on a secret,” he’s speaking just quietly enough that I have to lean in just a bit more to catch his words. “This place isn’t grooming you to be a hero. Not a real one anyway. They’re just brainwashing you into being a puppet that follows orders and never thinks for itself.”

“No, that’s not true.” It was a kneejerk response and deep down I knew it.

“Yeah, it is. Dumb bird,” the frown is back and he shakes his head. “Open your eyes.”

Open your eyes.

Suddenly the thought of ever being in a blindfold again made me want to be sick. Had the facility really been using me this whole time? Were they really training me into the type of hero I wanted to be? Surely it couldn’t be true. This classmate that I had been so intrigued by was clearly just trying to shatter the confidence that I’d worked so hard to build. He obviously wasn’t happy with his own life, and like they say, misery loves company.

“Hawks!” my supervisor comes stomping down the hallway towards us. The boy standing in front of me lets go of my wrist and backs away. “There you are! Did you forget what time dinner was? Oh. Toya…” there was clear distaste in my supervisor’s tone once he sees who I’m with. “That explains it. You know your father’s been blowing up our phone trying to figure out where you are?”

“I don’t care.” The boy says flatly, “He can go to hell.” He unconsciously starts rubbing at his arms where the bandages are.

“You should really reconsider that attitude of yours,” my supervisor warns him before turning to me. “Get to the cafeteria right now. And you’d better hope I never have to go searching for you again.” I look at Toya, wanting to continue our conversation so I could figure out what was going on with him and squash the uncertainty that was suddenly spreading through my head like wildfire. I didn’t want to get us into more trouble by disobeying, but I also had an urge to show him that I could act on my own. Before I could change my mind, I lunge forward and throw my arms around his neck to pull him into a tight embrace. He either didn’t want to hug me back because of his injured arms or didn’t know how to do it without disturbing my wings because he kept his arms hanging limply at his sides. That was okay though. It made me happy that he didn’t push me away.

“Keigo Takami,” I whisper as quietly as possible near his ear. “That’s my name.” I back away quickly with a big grin on my face. There was something liberating about releasing that information when I wasn’t supposed to. Toya raises his eyebrows at me, looking impressed. I wasn’t really ready to leave yet, but I didn’t want to push my luck more than I already had. “Goodbye,” I tell him before excusing myself and heading to the cafeteria.

* * *

After hearing that I’d diverged from the facility’s schedule to talk to another student in the hallway, my two weeks of extra training got extended to four. I knew that it would be difficult for me to ever talk to Toya again, at least not for a while. I used the time to really think about what he’d told me. I thought about my life in the facility and about the life I hoped to someday live as a pro hero. There were definitely a few things I could admit bothered me. The biggest one wasn’t even about how they treated me. It was how they treated Toya. Being a hero meant knowing when someone needed your help, and Toya was clearly a person that needed saving.

In class, I did my best to acknowledge him without drawing too much attention to ourselves, but the most interaction we could manage was a subtle head nod every now and then. After a week or so, he went missing for a couple days. He came back with fresh bandages on his arms. It confused me how the teachers and facility staff could allow whatever was doing this to him to continue. After the comment he’d made about his dad, I wondered if his father was the one to inflict the wounds. There was no way the commission would turn a blind eye to that though, right?

Blind

I was starting to sense a theme.

As time passed, Toya spent more and more time away from the facility. I couldn’t help but worry as the amount of bandages on his body increased until they covered his arms and legs completely and even wrapped up around his neck. The attitude he was known for had all but vanished too. The fight had gone out of him, leaving the light in his blue eyes looking distant and dead. I wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in my wings and protect him from whatever was hurting him, but feared getting the both of us into trouble. A few months later, Toya stopped showing up all together. When I asked my supervisor about it, he expertly danced around the question using the same methods of controlling the conversation that I’d been taught during my time as his student. I realized now that it wasn’t diplomacy I was learning, it was manipulation.

Toya had been right. Good heroes weren’t meant to be deceitful or to ignore injustices. I made a vow then to use the commission the way they had been using me. I’d let them train me and make me strong. I’d pretend to agree with their corrupted methods and ideals until I was powerful enough to change them myself. I’d do everything I possibly could to become a great hero and never allow myself to be put in a blindfold again.

[handsoffmyfriends]

winter roulette

chapter one - entrance exam

— masterlist

WORD COUNT: 3,588

"Don't make a fool of me today, Kagami."

Not Akira, not her given name. He called her Kagami. Her own father didn't use her given name— wait, no, she reminded herself, he was only her adoptive father. She kept catching the old train of thought, kept having to correct herself that the number two hero was not, in fact, her real father, despite all her memories of childhood telling her otherwise. Who else was there?

She couldn't remember, she had lost her real parents far too young. She had vague glimpses of her mother, of a red haired, red eyed woman but Akira felt no connection to those foggy memories. If it weren't for her own red eyes, she wouldn't even believe them, wouldn't believe that Todoroki Rei wasn't her mother. That the white hair she'd inherited from her biological father wasn't actually from Rei.

Perhaps using her family name was Enji's way of reminding her that she wasn't a Todoroki? To help her remember her real parents so that their memory didn't die along with them.

No, he wasn't that kind. It was salt rubbed into a wound, a reminder that the people she lived with, her siblings that she loved dearly, were not her real family. He would be that cruel.

She had paused in swapping her shoes. "Yes, sir," she replied robotically, slipping her heel in. She didn't dare look up at the man, instead training her eyes on her shoes. She never could stand up for herself to the man, and she hated how weak it made her feel. How weak he made her feel.

Enji eyed her critically. "I expect you to perform as well as my Shouto. The world has high expectations of the both of you and you'll do well to meet them. I won't have you as a smear on my name."

"Leave her alone." Shouto appeared in the entryway, glaring daggers at Enji. "Akira will outperform everyone and she'll do it without you. You won't earn a shred of credit."

Enji flared in anger, the ever present fire roaring to life. Akira never recalled a moment when he wasn't flaunting his quirk, his raw power and prowess with it.

"You should have put her up for recommendation," Shouto continued matter-of-factly. "You know she—"

"It's fine, Shouto," Akira interrupted quietly. "It's like you said, I'll outperform everyone today." She gathered her courage and chanced a look at Enji's face. He'd been glaring at Shouto, slightly slack jawed, but had turned apathetic when Akira spoke. She swallowed thickly. "I won't fail. I will become a real hero."

--

Shouto accompanied her on the walk to the train station. Fuyumi had too much work to do with the upcoming school semester and Natsuo had already left for college, which suited Akira just fine. She didn't want to think about how she'd perform if she knew her siblings were actually going to be there. She'd probably choke and then what? Shouto was just dropping her off at the station since he'd already taken his recommendation exam a few weeks ago.

Enji had been less than impressed with his second place ranking, despite it still securing his spot at U.A High, despite the first place student not even choosing U.A in the end.. Instead, he just used it to once again drill into the boy that he would be undefeatable if he would stop being childish and use his fire.

"Do you really think I'll be that good today?" Akira broke their comfortable silence. She would need to place first in the rankings, Enji would accept nothing less from her. She wasn't his actual child, she couldn't get away with anything less than the best—

"Of course," Shouto said without hesitation. "Forget what that bastard said."

She stumbled over her thoughts, caught off guard. "But—"

"You'll do great," he insisted. "Better, even, than me. They'll all see how stupid it was that you weren't put up for recommendation and dear old dad will get called out for it."

She furrowed her brows in concern. "You really think I'll be that good with this quirk? Shouldn't I—"

Shouto glanced at her, his eyes sharp. She swallowed the rest of her words. "Please, sis, not this again." His gaze fell on her duffel bag. "Did you remember your gloves?"

Akira sighed loudly, but nodded regardless. "Yeah. Sorry, I'm just frustrated about it. I wish it could be different."

"I know." He brought up a hand to her shoulder in a comforting gesture, though his hand on her scar made it feel quite the opposite. It just reminded her of the circumstances behind it. "We'll both become the best with only half our power. I'm right here with you."

"You're right," she relented, offering him a soft smile. "We're in this together."

She decided to push back the thoughts that had been nagging at her ever since she submitted her expression of interest to U.A's hero course. The thoughts that told her she shouldn't hold herself back, that she should grow up already, it was her quirk and there was no need to be scared of it. The slight tug on her neck, of the taught scar she'd had for as long as she could remember, reminded her that it absolutely was something to be scared of. Something she had no control over.

Shouto was right, he had always been right. She could make do with her quirk as it was, she didn't need to go pushing her luck.

--

Akira was bursting with energy. After the uneventful written portion of the exam, after listening to one boring looking boy grate on her nerves by mumbling under his breath for most of the practical lecture, after having a stiff-looking boy interrupt said lecture to try and call U.A out on an error, Akira was left with nothing but barely contained anticipation. With how well prepared she had been for the written exam, she was feeling more confident now in her abilities to pass the practical than she had all morning.

She had been assigned to Battle Station A. Most of the people in her batch weren't particularly interesting, though there were a few standouts that she made sure to identify. A boy with a bird head caught her attention, as well as a boy with six arms that towered high above everyone. Mutant quirks always fascinated her in their diversity. They weren't so much of a surprise as emitter class quirks were.

One boy in particular looked angry being there and glared at anyone who got within his very large personal bubble. He looked ready to commit murder and Akira decided then and there that she'd keep her distance. She didn't know what his quirk was, but just going by the animosity he radiated she didn't like her chances if she were pitted against him. Present Mic had said fighting between participants was strictly prohibited, but this boy looked like he didn't give a shit. His feral grin did nothing to ease her and she briefly wondered what his motivations behind becoming a hero were.

Another boy looked like he was ready to pass out on the spot. He also looked like he'd been recently electrocuted, his purple hair standing on end and defying gravity in an impossible fashion. She wondered if he actually had been electrocuted and that was the only reason he was awake. He didn't look particularly threatening, though it was possible his quirk could give him an upper hand.

"Right, let's start!" the unnaturally loud voice of Present Mic boomed around the entire fake city. Akira heard him loud and clear, but he was definitely nowhere to be seen. "Get moving! There are no countdowns in real battles! Run, run, run listeners! You're wasting air time here!"

Akira immediately sprung forward, raising a wall of ice behind her. The ice towered high, caging in her fellow examinees with a shout of surprise. Without looking back, she wasn't able to focus the barricade to properly trap her competitors, but it would give her at least a few seconds advantage. That's all she needed, it would give her time to secure the early bird advantage and figure out a plan of attack. Complaints from her group fell on deaf ears as she ran down the street, taking a right turn just as she heard a loud explosion from behind her.

She had no time to pay the explosion any attention. Several one pointer robots jumped out from seemingly nowhere and locked onto her immediately. She struck out with frigid air, freezing their mechanics. She summoned more ice, blossoming crystals within their cores to tear them apart—

An explosion rang loud in her ear and suddenly Akira found herself slammed into the ground from the force. She smacked her elbows hard, jarring up along her arms painfully, as she was thrown on her ass. With her ears still ringing and her vision slightly shot from the sudden brightness, she saw her frozen robots crumpled in defective heaps on the ground, utterly destroyed. The angry boy stepped into her view, wearing a pleased, slightly feral grin at the destruction he'd wrought.

She ran her mouth faster than her brain could tell her it wasn't the wisest idea. "Hey, those were mine!"

The smile on the boy turned down instantly, a sneer on his lips and anger in his eyes directed down at her. "You pull a shifty move like that again and I'll fucking kill you, rules be damned," the boy growled at her in warning, his hands popping with small scale explosions. "Stay out of my way, extra."

By the time Akira found her feet, the angry boy was gone.

Adrenaline fueling her, Akira ran off to secure actual points this time. Anger caused her ice to be overly destructive, which was a bonus since no hot headed angry boy could come along and snatch her points. Who did that angry boy thing he was, taking her points right out from under her nose. And giving her a death threat! Just what kind of hero did this angry boy intend to be if he would so casually throw such threats? A tenacious one. Her gut dropped at the thought that he would most likely pass the exam with such ferocity.

As she rounded yet another corner, caught up in her own thoughts, she found a two pointer. She readied herself for assault instantly, but the robot paid her no attention. Weird. Another step forward and the robot reared back, revealing the tired looking boy. He was cornered against the building wall, looking utterly terrified and frozen in place.

Akira moved before she could think. It wasn't about taking the points, not this time. If it had been the angry boy, it probably would have been. But, she had no beef with this tired boy, so jumping in to destroy the robot wasn't about the points. No, it was about saving the boy, since he didn't look like he was going to make a move against the agile robot, neither to attack nor to flee. Her ice surged forward and destroyed the robot in seconds.

"You aren't going to get any points just standing there!" Akira shouted, masking the slight panic she felt at the sight with tactless humour. Her attention was yanked away from the boy as a three pointer stumbled into view, a little ways down the street. "Hey, you can take that one! Fair's fair for stealing your two pointer!"

The boy looked down the street and blanched. He nearly snapped his neck looking back to Akira. "I— I can't." He sounded so heartbroken, so frustrated, so defeated. So many emotions all wrapped in two and half words.

Akira frowned. She approached the boy, keeping an eye on the three pointer. It lumbered slowly towards them, but wouldn't be a threat for at least another thirty seconds. She had time to figure out what was troubling the tired boy. "What do you mean? Are you hurt?"

The boy scowled, turning away from her. "My quirk isn't combative like yours. I wasn't blessed with something so heroic."

She tilted her head in confusion. It wasn't uncommon for quirks to not have combative properties; in fact a vast majority of them weren't. "Why are you here then?" It came off blunt, but she couldn't help it. It wasn't a secret that the practical side of the entrance exam into the hero course was primarily combative, so why was this boy trying if his quirk couldn't be used in combat?

He didn't have any time to respond as an impossibly loud stomp shook the ground, tearing both their attention away from each other to down the street. The three pointer wasn't there anymore, instead crushed to dust by the imposing step of the zero pointer. While its movements were slow, the distance it covered was massive; it would descend upon the pair in mere seconds.

Moving before thinking, Akira grabbed the boy by the wrist and booked it. In hindsight, she was thankful he had long sleeves. Despite Shouto's reminder about her gloves, she'd forgotten to put them on.

The two ran as fast as they could, the tired boy finding his feet and not dragging behind Akira anymore, his height giving him advantage as he overtook the girl and helped her along. It became clear very quickly that they weren't going to outrun the beast of a robot as one of its heavy footfalls fell mere metres away from them. The shockwaves from the stomp interrupted their step and set them off balance and suddenly they were eating shit.

Akira took one look at the boy, trying to find his feet to continue scrambling away. She looked back up at the impossibly huge robot and made her mind up. Rolling onto her back, she threw her arms up and icy air rushed forward. In unison, ice surged along the ground, finding the robot's base and crawling up the structure. Akira put all her effort into making it cold, colder, colder than she had ever dared before, knowing it would take more ice than she'd ever created to put the robot out of commission.

It didn't even look like her ice was having an affect. The robot reared back, sights set on Akira's prone form on the ground, but she didn't back down. She felt the ice forming on her arms as she continued to lower the temperature, but she didn't stop. She barely even heard Present Mic's announcement, she didn't register how many minutes remained. All she could focus on was calling upon more ice, more than she had ever before.

Just as a tendril of hopelessness began to coil around her heart, as tears pricked at her eyes out of sheer desperation, the nagging feeling that she might actually die right there as the robot's hand began to come down on her, she felt hands grab her under the arms. The boy pulled her across the ground, just far enough away that when the robot struck the ground, she was out of harm's way.

Akira didn't even spare the boy a glance as she poured more ice into the machine, feeling her muscles lock as the cold tensed up her whole body. And then, it was working. The robot creaked and groaned as it tried to move, but its joints were jammed with ice and its inner workings were frozen solid. It broke down as its own mechanism tore itself apart from the inside out.

"I-is i-i-it—?" she stuttered, her ice tapering off as she reached her limit.

"Yeah, I think you did it," the boy replied, his voice wavering. He looked down at her with a mixed expression, both impressed and terrified of the power she possessed.

Akira sighed with relief, letting her arms fall to the ground. Her teeth were chattering and if she wasn't careful, she'd probably bite her tongue off. Despite that, she needed to get back onto her feet, to make sure the tired boy was okay. What kind of hero would she make if she couldn't recover from a desperate attack?

"--and that's it! Time's up!" came the booming voice of Present Mic, followed by a siren, calling an end to the examination. It was such a lackluster announcement, so sudden and unexpected after taking down something so impossible.

The boy hovered awkwardly over her. Akira struggled to sit up, to find her feet, but she'd severely overdone it. If she couldn't warm herself up soon, she'd probably get frostbite from how much ice that had built up on her arms and hands.  

"Uh, do you need a hand?" the boy finally asked, holding his hand out.

"N-n-no, it's f-fine. I'm just c-cold. Th-thanks though."

The boy pulled his hand back, bringing it to the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked away, to the group of students that had congregated nearby. They'd seen the entire show. "Thank you," he eventually said, not looking at Akira again. Before she could respond, before she could ask if he was okay, he began to move away, to join the crowd and await further instruction. She'd probably never see him again, and part of her was troubled by that.

Still, the exam was over. She estimated a total of thirty five points, though in all honesty she had lost count at one point. There had been other things more pressing than keeping track. Her stunt with the zero pointer would probably earn her a lot of spotlight, though, not that she'd even been thinking about it in the heat of the moment. All she could think of was saving the tired boy, she hadn't even considered her own safety in that wild, desperate attempt. Just what had possessed her to do that?

--

Akira hadn't seen Enji all week. It was both a relief and a stress, since she had no idea when the man would turn up next and rip into her for her performance. She didn't dare think that she would be praised for her efforts against the zero pointer. He'd probably tell her off for taking so long to take it down, for putting that tired boy in harm's way in the first place. Hell, he'd probably tell her off for making enemies with the angry boy from the start. Yeah, there was no way she was going to get anything other than criticism for her performance.

She guessed she'd find out after the test results were out, which... yeah, that was today, wasn't it?

That was probably why she was out in the courtyard, distracting herself and procrastinating the inevitable, sparring with Shouto. Sparring was putting it very loosely, since the pair practiced their ice more than anything. It was how Akira had managed to gain such control over her ice in the first place, training it against her brother.

They were evenly matched, though Akira's ice had more facets to it than Shouto's. She had to be careful to not freeze the air too much, since breathing in the frigid air hurt like a bitch and was actually really dangerous. She found that one out the hard way, felt the ice prick at her chest and a feeling not unlike dying washing over her. At least she knew the limit.

Fuyumi watched in awe at her siblings and their mastery of their quirks. She hadn't had the drive or passion to master her quirk to such a degree, instead choosing a more practical career. Still, she was so very proud of her younger siblings. She shouted her praise to them, calling their attention. They backed off each other immediately as Fuyumi approached them.

"You two are terrifying," Fuyumi remarked with a giggle. She waved an innocuous letter as she walked over, offering it to Akira with a warm smile. "It's for you, sis, from U.A."

Akira felt her heart hammer in her chest and she looked at the offending letter like it would combust. "Oh. Right. Yeah, that was today, huh." Stupid. So stupid.

Fuyumi just laughed at her. "Don't pretend you haven't been looking forward to it all week. Go on, open it. I can't wait to tell everyone my baby sister's going to U.A. as well!"

Akira chuckled as she took the letter. "You sound so confident that I passed."

"There's no doubt that you did," Shouto spoke up. "I'm interested to see how they scored the regular entrance exam as opposed to the recommendation one."

"Boring," Fuyumi poked her tongue out, leaning on his shoulder. "This isn't about you, mister big shot. Quit trying to steal Akira's limelight."

Shouto sputtered. "I'm not, I was just saying—"

"I'm just teasing you," Fuyumi relented. "Now, come on, Akira! Open it up already!"

Akira breathed deeply, letting out a long, drawn out sigh. "Well, it was nice living here," she deadpanned as she tore open the letter.

--

Kagami Akira ended up scoring thirty six villain points. The faculty had been impressed with her quick thinking and selflessness in saving Shinsou Hitoshi, coupled with her raw power in taking down the zero pointer, granting her an additional forty rescue points. With a total of seventy six points, she ranked second for the entrance exam, undoubtedly securing her spot in the hero course at U.A.

[mirainawen]

for the uncommon questions ask: 7, 10, 15, 20, 21, 30 for adam :)

7. How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral?

he waffles. his untreated CPTSD and other mental issues involving severe psychological and spiritual damage (and mis-healing), automatically veer him into the negative area. he thinks he goes through the positive motions in the world at the very least, and on a good day can get his inner voice to toe neutral. even sam's inner voice kinda sucked, so it's not like the echo is a ton of help in this arena. when you put that beside real sam not lining up with the one in his head, and it's behavior he only sees aimed at him, it actually drastically worsens things. he may subjectively feel like shit, but objectively he helps people so as i said, on a good day he can get his inner perception close to neutral; on a bad day...or fighting with sam... extreme into the negative.

10. If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation?

he has no preference on public transportation as he sees it only as a means to an end. he projects no sense of self onto the event here, and so doesn't care if he enjoys it or not.

15. Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?

early days, no. absolutely not. cannot multi-task. will not even look at sam & dean if he is eating bc that is all the concentration his brain can muster. so...searching for some way to keep sam safe, digging for hag stones on the beach? cannot make brain & mouth work in tandem to explain other than to just keep repeating "safe! safe! safe!" and get really upset that sam is stopping him.

later...on good days, he can multitask a little. on a bad day, it's god damn it don't interrupt my train of thought bc i don't know if i can get it back do you two ever shut the hell up?

20. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why?

don't you mean, if adam was allowed to murder one person without any consquences, who would that person be and why would it be cas?

21. Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why?

genies are Bad News in the spn universe, but let's say...we're not looking at the fallout here. he'd wish for his mom to be alive. he'd wish that real sam would match up with the one he knows from the cage. and he'd wish that he could turn back time and not give zachariah his location.

30. Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why?

the boy lives on jerky and protein bars bc millennia of trauma has just thoroughly f*cked up his appetite. some days he could rival dean. most days sam's counting his calories. so one thing for the rest of his life would probably be a pb&j because there's at least some leeway in flavour / texture, but considering he doesn't really care for pb&j this sounds like he'd choose this just to say f*ck you to himself.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

until the night collapses

[leon s kennedy x reader]

author’s note: leon is hella good looking in the remake and my eyes have been blessed

word count: 3,056

Driving through rain, especially at night, always warrants extra caution. As such, Leon’s foot is steady on the gas, having been cruising at a comfortable speed for the past several miles. The roads have been mostly devoid of traffic, though he had passed one or two cars going the other direction. It’s an emptiness he’d considered a little strange at first, but he’s quick to brush it off. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to worry about anyone tailing him before swerving to the opposite lane to pass. A downpour still wasn’t enough for some people to slow down. But when he pulls into the Mizoil gas station to fill the tank, he learns the rain is the least of his problems.

It’s a hell of a first day, that’s for sure. He thought he was the only one at the station with a still beating heart (at least after watching an Arklay County officer get a nasty bite to the neck from… something, which left him good as dead) until Claire had shown up. A stroke of luck would have the keys still in the ignition of the police cruiser, and they were off.

If someone asked him what he would’ve expected his welcome to Raccoon City to be like, he couldn’t give a straight answer, but it definitely isn’t this. Abandoned cars are pulled over to either side of the street, and he drives through the open center, intended for emergency vehicles no longer anywhere in sight. Eventually even that’s blocked off, and in a fit of timing he struggles to say was good or not, the welcome committee arrives in the form of a fuel truck narrowly crushing the car to scrap metal. It kills any of the zombies trying to pry the doors open to get to him and Claire, but the force of the collision throws him forward, and his head collides with the steering wheel none too nicely. If he were to look into a mirror right now, he’d see a nasty bruise darkening on his forehead. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there, for light pressure applied to the offended area with the tips of his fingers and the ensuing throb let him know just as well.

This last hour had merely been the tip of the very large, very precarious iceberg. The fire caused by the cruiser exploding gave him no choice but to split up with Claire. Arriving at, and diving within, the museum turned police department is his personal journey down the rabbit hole, but this is no Wonderland on the other side. Or maybe it is and the author of the whole sick story had a fucked up sense of humor. But what did he know? If this was a book he was only a character, at the mercy of the words and whatever would follow with each turn of the page.

He’s seen more death and gore than anyone should have to see, and it’s a level of carnage he can’t help but recoil at. Being a police officer requires not only an iron will but an iron stomach, but he thinks he should be given a pass this time. Fighting his way through hordes of undead as he tries to find out what the hell is going on was not listed in the job description. When he’s trekking down what feels like the millionth dark corridor, blood and guts stuck to the bottom of his boots, he muses half with cynicism and half with fatigue, for it has been a long night, that maybe it’s because if it had been mentioned, no one would apply. And maybe there are some who would jump at the chance to play hero, but in the end logic wins out and prompts many of them to stay away, since it’s something else entirely to be thrown into the mess and realize one is vastly outnumbered, and against an enemy with nothing to fear.

At the west office, he cracks the first smile in what feels like an eternity. It’s a small one, followed closely by a quiet chuckle at the scene before him. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, and a banner stretches across from one wall to the other: Welcome Leon. He reads the note on his desk and feels a twinge in his chest. These were supposed to be his colleagues. Life would’ve been so different if the keep away message hadn’t been sent to him a week prior, if there hadn’t been a reason to stay out of the city and the wheels were still turning like they’re meant to.

He passes by one of the desks, and his flashlight passes over a nameplate with your name on it. Your workspace, much like the others here, is thrown in disarray. Papers are scattered and various trinkets you had to decorate the area are broken. There are sticky notes still stuck to the edge of the shelf attached to your desk, some of them quick reminders of tasks to do and others silly notes from your fellow officers.  

Cracked glass hidden in the shadowy corner grabs his attention, and he reaches a hand out for it. His fingers curl around a wooden frame, which he gingerly picks up, mindful of the sharp point of the glass. This must be you in the photo. You’re in a graduation uniform, diploma in one hand and your dog held in the other. It’s not looking at the camera, but rather up at you, who smile widely, a toothy grin that reaches your eyes. The time stamp in the bottom right corner indicates this is a recent photo.

There’s so much personality at your desk, and in your bright gaze captured forever in a picture, that for a moment he swears he feels less alone. He feels like he knows you. Maybe he’d be one of the officers to write small notes to tack to your desk, or maybe you would do that to his. Maybe he would’ve met your dog. What’s its name, he wonders?

With a sigh he sets the frame back down, and reality rushes back, and he hopes he won’t see your body laying around somewhere, discarded and almost unrecognizable. Chances are high that you’ve been infected and haven’t survived, but all the same, he doesn’t want to come across you. He’s not sure why he wants to grasp so tightly onto the image of your smile, and to not allow it to be tainted by visions of a corpse. Perhaps it’s because it’s his last hold to something humane, to something that could help retain his sanity in the midst of the chaos. Lieutenant Branagh had already succumbed to his wounds, and Claire was nowhere to be found. Leon doesn’t know if she’s still alive. So all that left was you.

Ada turning up proves he isn’t the only one remaining in the whole building with his wits still about him, and with his heart and brain in tact. She isn’t keen on sharing much information, and what little she divulges only raises more questions. He couldn’t have begun to guess what caused this shit storm. All of it sounds crazy, but judging by Ada’s tone, this is no tall tale.

They had stumbled upon Annette Birkin. There’s no better word for it. They train their guns on her, and Leon thinks to himself that she doesn’t seem threatening, and definitely not as dangerous as Ada had made her out to be. But maybe that’s how it goes. The most dangerous could be the least assuming. He doesn’t know to what lengths she will go to protect the G-Virus, but he’s not left speculating for long, for she brandishes her own gun and opens fire, and he doesn’t hesitate running towards Ada, shielding her and bringing them both to the ground.

The bullet in his shoulder registers as a low burn, and his vision is becoming hazy. It becomes difficult to ignore the pain, and he remembers telling Ada to go after Annette before passing out from shock. He hadn’t even been aware of the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness. He was simply awake, though weakening fast, and then he wasn’t.

Now he’s in a house, one he doesn’t recognize. The sun is shining outside, and his feet are carrying him through the hallway like they have a mind of their own, for he isn’t willing himself to walk. He just is. They bring him to a bedroom where the curtains are drawn back, the light flooding in a bit too intense to be normal. The edges of everything are out of focus and no matter how many times he blinks, they stay fuzzy.

I was wondering where you went. The figure in the bed sits up slightly to look at him better. Your hair is ruffled and you watch him with a sleep-riddled grin. He knows he should be surprised to see you there. None of this is adding up. This isn’t real. But he’s not deterred by any such thoughts as he smiles back like this is the way things always were.

He crawls beneath the sheets to join you, apologizing while he does. Sorry. At first he wasn’t certain if he actually was in control, or if he was only watching everything play out like a movie, like there was a script. But if it had at the start been the latter, it was now the former, as he starts to play along, eyes sliding closed as you lean in to kiss him. The spot where your lips meet is warm, and his arms curl around you to bring you closer.

Once you pull away, you murmur that you love him, and he feels his heart stop. He brings a hand up to caress your cheek, where a rosy flush has settled, and says he loves you too. This prompts you to smile that beautiful smile of yours, and it’s still just as captivating when tinged with fatigue. He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, smooth and plush, and he wants to kiss you again so he does.

In the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real, but God, he wishes it were. His fingers tangle in your hair, his free hand sneaking beneath the oversized shirt you wear to run along the heated skin of your waist, and everything feels fine. Everything feels perfect. He’s reminded of that saying, of one’s life flashing before their eyes, and he wonders if this is it. Or something close. Because this isn’t the past. He doesn’t know what it is. It would seem he had held on to you so securely that he’s started to dream of you. His stomach is doing flips like a cage of butterflies has just been let loose, and you’re smiling again, and it’s the flower they’re all searching for.

Are you okay? you inquire gently, brushing his hair from his eyes.

He stares into the depths of your own and they feel so much like home that he’s not pretending anymore. His chest is bursting with a love that feels too real to be mere imagination. And he starts to believe it, that life has always been this way, and would always be this way, and he’s just had a bad dream he won’t trouble you by sharing. He doesn’t want you to worry. Yeah, I’m okay.

Maybe this is his life flashing before his eyes, but it’s less about life in the sense of all the years gone by, and more about life in the form of a person, of the one who means the most to him. And despite knowing so little about you, his subconscious pulls at the image of you he stored away, bringing it to the forefront so that he’s convinced you are his life. That’s why he sees you now, and why he desperately clings on, to this blissful moment, suspended in time. He never wants to let go.

It’s also why he feels so helplessly hollow when he finally wakes—reluctantly, and with a heaviness closing in on his heart. He’s back in the cold corridor, back in the station, sitting up against the hard wall with Ada’s trench coat acting as a makeshift shock blanket and his injury wrapped with gauze stained dark red. You’re in his periphery, your warmth and your smile gradually fading away, and he’s thinking Don’t go or maybe he’s said it out loud, muttered to the air with a cracked voice.

They say things get worse before they better, but in this case, they get so bad Leon doubts there could be any improvement. He ventures lower underground, in pursuit of Annette and the G-Virus. He fights monsters he never thought could exist outside horror movies, and uncovers truths he had suspected but that he wanted to hope weren’t true at all. If Annette’s words were not sufficient confirmation, the fact he’s staring down the barrel of Ada’s firearm is.

Suddenly a gunshot rings through the air and a bullet sinks into Ada’s skin, but Leon hadn’t fired. Twisting around, he gets a short glimpse of Annette before the bridge collapses and the G-Virus sample tumbles down to the depths below, but Leon grabs Ada before she can fall too. Attempts to pull her up put stress on the already unstable bridge and it sinks to an even sharper angle, and he spits out a curse of frustration.

The two of them can’t remain like that forever, however, and he feels his hold slipping. Ada doesn’t look worried, wants him to let go because otherwise, they both die. It’s not worth it. But to Leon it is, and he knows she’d never understand why. He had to let go of you and leave you behind once he returned to consciousness, and it had hurt more than it should have. So perhaps he’s thinking of you as he holds onto Ada, for he doesn’t want to go through that again. This time, he won’t let go.

But reality is quite literally crashing down around them and the reality is he’s holding on to Ada, not you. And her wrist slides out of his grip, and she disappears in the darkness. He stares into the abyss, extending so far it’s like there is no end. His breaths come out rushed due to adrenaline, corners of his eyes pooling with tears refusing to fall, but there’s no time to mourn as he kicks himself into gear, standing and moving to steadier ground. The self-destruct sequence has begun. He doesn’t have long to get out.

His way of escape is at the bottom level of the lab, and he’s shooting his way through hordes of zombies when he hears it: echoes of another firing into the packs of undead. He follows it, thinking it’s Claire, but it’s not. He stops firing in his surprise, and he’s caught so off guard he’s unable to even exclaim your name in a quiet huff of disbelief under his breath.

You catch sight of him, and not letting yourself become distracted at finding someone else still alive in here, you call out The exit is up ahead! You haven’t noticed his shock, a second he spends looking like a deer caught in headlights, for you’re too preoccupied with other more urgent matters to have done so. Leon forces himself to look away and help take down the remainder of the zombies blocking the path. Past the exit door, the lights of a train begin flashing on the walls, and at the first opening, you sprint through, Leon following close behind.

His wider strides let him catch up to you, and he’s first to hop onto the train, grabbing the bar to swing himself up. Then he holds a hand out to you, stretching as far as he can. Come on! There’s an explosion and the building starts to crumble, and the strength of the blast pushes you forward. With a lunge, you thrust your arm out to grab onto his hand, and he pulls you up with the last bit of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Both of you collapse against the train car, breathing hard. Leon’s in rough shape, but you’re no better. You’re littered with cuts and bruises, your clothes are filthy, and your tied up hair is half falling out of the ponytail you had it in. It’s silent for a while as both of you calm down, and then Leon sneaks a glance at you. A part of him had still been skeptical that it could be true, that you’ve been alive this whole time, but it’s unmistakable. He’d burned that photo of you into his brain, and it’s a match, and he knows he’s not imagining you here next to him.

As though you can feel him staring, which you most probably do, you look over at him and meet his eyes. Now that you’re breathing normally again, you speak quietly, the fatigue finally setting in.

“Lucky we got out just in time.” You smile, and Leon’s heart is twisting to see it for real, and it’s more amazing than what he’d seen in the picture, or in his dream. He never wants you to stop looking at him like that. He wants to get lost in that gentle curve and in your soft gaze. After the hell he’s been through, he thinks he could fall asleep in them forever.

He chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

He introduces himself and holds a hand out, and you tell him your name as you shake it. Without even fully realizing it, he’s grinning with a fondness that could only come from familiarity and a fulfilled longing, and he states Nice to meet you, [Name]. It’s really something to be saying your name out loud. It feels perfect on his tongue, his lips curling around each syllable with incredible care, like he’s reciting a prayer.

Maybe what he’d dreamed wasn’t what could’ve been; maybe it was what will be. And as the train rushes out of the ruined city and you drift off in well-deserved rest, head drooping to lean on Leon’s shoulder, he knows he’s already in love with you.

[sunshineandfangs]

Saudade, Retrouvailles

Day Seven (October 13th - Sunday): Canon-ish

Still annoyed by all the mess that was made in TVD/TO? Well, this is the day for you to write your own version of the events. TO’s ending fix-its, canon divergences throughout the show(s), future moments… It’s all fair game! So explore all the unexplored potential of Klaroline in this day and share the goodness with us all!

I didn’t manage trope x trope, but I finally decided to work on the canon fix-it I’ve been meaning to write for months...Although I guess one can argue there are at least two tropes in this.

The words are inspired by this post by @labime.

Saudade:

The feeling of longing for someone that you love and is lost.

“Vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist.”

Retrouvailles:

The happiness of meeting again after a long time.

“…in French, we say ‘les retrouvailles sont hors du temps’ which poorly translates to ‘there are moments that don’t fit time.’”

---

The Unmaking

She felt it.

Sitting in her car just outside the city limits of New Orleans, her head tipped back against the seat.

He was gone.

A tiny, hysterical giggle (sob) caught in her throat. Surely, it couldn’t just be her that felt the change of his absence? The most powerful creature in the world, as he once said.

And all those years and miles between them: twisting and turning and slowly, elegantly going to twine their lives together.

All of that, so it could end like this.

Her fingers curled, white-knuckled around the steering wheel, her head tilting forward.

No.

She wouldn’t let it.

---

For a woman that planned out the vast majority of her life, there was a distinct lack of such as she rushed to fix this-this travesty. It was a desperate, selfish feeling that swelled and consumed her from the inside-out. A feeling she couldn’t call anything but love. Ironic considering how long she spent running from such a label.

But she knew with a deep, long buried instinct exactly what she could do, as though through a veil of dreams old knowledge and memories resurfaced. They had been lost to her for a long time. Not blackened and suppressed like compulsion, but rather dimmed to something forgettable and unimportant.

See, on her dresser there was a beautiful music box. She had carried it with her from her childhood home to her dorm and on and on to each place she lived. Subconsciously, she had held it close even when she had forgotten its meaning.

And while hers was white and gold and sleek lines, delicately painted and carved with flowers and butterflies, her father’s had been a small, intricate thing. Burnished gold filigree and encrusted with tiny emeralds. It had led his heart to Steven, granted courage when he would have been cowed by small town judgement. Granted knowledge of how to protect all that he held most precious to him.

A vague niggling in her brain reminded her too of her grandmother’s, her father’s mother. How Nana’s had been deceptively plain, though sturdily made of a handsome wood. Whatever gift it had granted to her, Caroline could not recall, but she knew each of the Forbes line, back and back across countless generations carried one with them until they needed it most.

Once more the irony was near overwhelming. It had not been the innumerable disasters and dramas of Mystic Falls that triggered her remembrance, but Klaus. Klaus and the wild, powerful emotions that dwelled in her heart.

The drive from NOLA back to Mystic Falls was a blur, a blitz down the highway that she could barely recall. And as if on autopilot, Caroline stepped purposefully toward her room once she arrived. To where the music box sat, as it always had.

With delicate fingers, she cracked open the lid and slowly wound its key. Listened to the clicks of the gears. And when she released it, magic sung through the air. It wound itself around her figure, the sheer force unmistakable for all that its touch was gentle. The world shuddered and shrunk around her. Time and space and reality itself unwoven. Threads pulled loose and returned to the ether, ready to be twined together once more.

---

The Reforging

When the world came back into focus, Caroline found herself stalking away from the school. The transition was extremely disorienting, expecting it or not, and she was thankful that the current (past?) version’s memories were at the forefront of her mind.

Her eyes widened as she processed them, her body blurring into motion, a thousand thoughts whirling in her head. The cancellation of the 1980s Decade Dance, for all that it vexed this Caroline, would have been a mere blip on her radar. However, there was a different set of events that happened today. Events that she recalled far, far move vividly.

As she raced across town toward the Gilbert’s house part of her was thankful for the essence of world altering magic that lingered within her. Not only did it grant her memories of The-Future-That-Never-Was (now at least, and hopefully never will be), but also her strength. And sure a decade or two extra meant little in the grand scheme of vampire strength, but right now any advantage helped.

Splitting her attention, Caroline fumbled for a moment to grab her phone as she ran, hesitated a split second before settling on texting Klaus. (Ignored what it meant that she had his old number memorized). She was fairly certain she could get the jump on her friends, considering this would be an utterly unexpected and seemingly out of character move. Still, it wouldn’t do to accidentally alert more people’s suspicions than she had to with a call. Klaus would certainly be challenge enough.

---

Said Hybrid was fuming in the cellar of the Salvatore’s basement, only a fraction of his attention paid to snark at the elder Salvatore of all people. He was far more restless than he let on, sensing something was wrong, but not knowing what. Having long learned to trust his instincts, it was frustrating to be uncertain where to point them.

When his phone vibrated in his hand, he looked down eager for news, and saw the last person he expected to be texting him.

[Caroline Forbes] 4:12 PM: klaus this is caroline

[Caroline Forbes] 4:12 PM: get to the gilberts house

[Caroline Forbes] 4:12 PM: NOW

[Caroline Forbes] 4:12 PM: trust me pls!

He abruptly stopped talking as he peered down at his phone, wondering when Caroline learned his number, wondering if he could trust her as she requested. As she near begged him to really. And it was that note of pleading, present even through the pixels of his phone that settled the matter for him. Without so much as an acknowledgement or good-bye, unless one counted snapped necks, Klaus sped up the stairs.

---

Halfway to his destination, Klaus’ phone rang, Kol’s name on the caller ID. His eyes narrowed, instincts flaring, and he moved even faster as he answered the call.

“Well, if it isn’t the happy homicidal maniac,” he taunted, digging for the truth as he riled his brother.

His brother that was certainly not abiding by their normal script as he snarled back, “Did you know that your darling former blood bag and her brother are trying to kill me?”

“What?” He growled, the pieces easily falling into place with Caroline’s own texts from mere moments before.

“Don't pretend like you're not in on it. Your obsession to find the cure clearly trumps any sibling loyalty you once felt.”

There’s so much Klaus wished to say, most of which he swallowed to save for their upcoming confrontation.

“You are an utterly reckless fool, Kol, but you are my brother first.”

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears. “I'm going to rip off Jeremy's arm and kill Elena just for sport. Then I'm coming for you.”

The call ended before Klaus can retort. Though with the house mere streets away he could hear the fighting. Once this little problem was dealt with, he and his brother could have a proper chat.

---

Caroline came disastrously close to colliding into Bonnie in her rush. Though it took little time to turn it into something fortuitous, memories of a spelled cage and a furious Hybrid in her mind. Offering up a mental apology, Caroline gently knocked the witch out, setting her down swiftly, but carefully on the Gilbert’s front porch when she reached it.

Even from outside, Elena’s, Jeremey’s, and Kol’s fighting was glaringly obvious. Sounds of their shouts and the destruction of furniture carried down from the upstairs. Caroline rushed in, all but flying towards the sounds of their conflict.

It was sheer luck that had her appearing as Kol vanished to chase Jeremey, Elena’s head conveniently bowed as she struggled with the stake in her leg. Another mental apology and another unconscious friend later, and Caroline’s obstacles were dropping by the second.

Thankfully, her luck continued to hold as she flashed after Kol and Jeremey .And when she came upon them Jeremy was still dazed as he was dragged upright by Kol. Being a Hunter and in an Original’s grasp, Caroline couldn’t afford to be as delicate as she was with Bonnie. She slammed the poor boy out of Kol’s arms and used the momentum to smack his head onto the counter, being extremely careful not to kill him, though she feared he’d likely need some blood when he came to.

She then rapidly backpedaled as Kol snarled at her, confusion slightly softening his otherwise fierce expression.

“What is this?” He hissed. “Here to protect him? I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Darlin’.”

He took a menacing step towards her as she raised her arms in placation, even as she prepared to dodge his blow.

“Take another step and I’ll tear out your liver.”

Caroline didn’t allow the sound of Klaus’ voice to soften the wariness in her spine, no matter how much she longed to. She also didn’t take her eyes off Kol, even as he turned to sneer at his brother in the doorway.

“Don’t you have any original threats, brother. First daggers now my liver. Besides-” his slight pause was all the warning she had, and thankfully all the warning she needed. She just managed to dodge his blow, though he was uncomfortably close as he snarled, “you’re not invited in.”

Flashing closer to the entrance, she was able to hear every bit of menace in Klaus’ voice. (If both monster and woman were a bit flattered by his protectiveness... well she ignored that for now too).

“Do you think I’ve forgotten how to dismantle a house until ownership means nothing, because I assure you, Kol, I have not.”

Kol chuckled darkly. “And in the time it takes you to do so? What do you think shall happen to this tasty little thing, hm?”

Caroline still wasn’t looking at Klaus, but she felt the way the air shifted. Suspected that his eyes were burning Wolf gold behind her.

“Nothing,” he uttered with a frightening matter-of-factness, “if you don’t wish to be begging for a dagger by the time I am through with you.”

Something hateful shifted on Kol’s face and despite how all her instincts screamed at her to stay silent, Caroline knew she could not. Not when they were on the verge of dangerous escalation.

“Enough!” She yelled, startling both brothers, for all that they were partially arguing about her. Steadied herself as both their regard shifted. “There are far more important things we should be discussing.”

“Oh? And what things are those, Darlin’.”

It was obvious Kol wasn’t taking her seriously in the slightest. Irritating though unsurprising. That quickly changed when she uttered her next words.

“Things such as Silas.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before both Mikaelson’s spoke. Kol now serious and mildly suspicious. Klaus incredulous.

“However did a baby vampire from Mystic Falls learn anything of Silas?”

“Sweetheart, you can’t believe such utter rot.”

With both Originals now clearly hungry for answers and the mounting list of things Caroline knew she must do, she almost regretted stepping in to save Kol. 

Almost.

For all that she had never met the man prior, despite the apparent witchy shenanigans involved in his resurrection, most people agreed that he was a bit of a psycho. And this demonstration certainly did nothing to help his case. However, he was also Klaus’ brother, and Caroline well remembered the devastation on his face when Kol had died. How Klaus lashed out. How she was honestly stunned in retrospect that he hadn’t massacred the town in vengeance. And more than that it was the right thing to do. If not for Kol than for the thousands of uninvolved vampires that would have dropped dead with him.

Still, all that didn’t make what she needed to say, eventually needed believed any bit easier.

Caroline took a breath, dearly wishing to rub at the tension in her face, but knowing better than to drop her guard.

“Look, it’s a long story and I’d rather not be here when my friends wake up. There’ll be enough yelling as is, so if we could maybe move this little powwow elsewhere that would be great.”

---

So I still have more ideas for this, but my muse is flagging so I’m stopping here before it becomes crappy. May add more later

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score  Ch.18 Repentance

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

It was a lie when they smiled, and said, you won't feel a thing

And as we ran from the cops, we laughed so hard it would sting

Yeah yeah, oh, if I'm so wrong, how can you listen all night long?

Now will it matter, after I'm gone? Because you never learn a goddamn thing

You're just a sad song with nothing to say, about a life long wait for a hospital stay

And if you think that I'm wrong,  this never meant nothing to ya

Disenchanted - My Chemical Romance

Blood pooled under Rocket’s tongue, his sharp teeth biting down trying to staunch the contents of his stomach from erupting out of his stomach.

“Where are we?”

Behind him Nebula followed with a staunch stride, in fact he was surprised she hadn’t shot him and fled the moment they touched down. He almost wished she had. They crept through the concrete landing zone, though all the ships that once pulled up to this planet were now dashed to smithereens. Pieces of crumpled metal lay like tombstones. Rocket tried to calm his breathing, he shuddered, eyes darting about. In all the years he’d been gone it appeared no one had come to this abandoned planet, not either the ravagers had attempted to scavenge the wrecked buildings.

“Halfworld,” he struggled to speak.

He hefted his gun, one of many he’d brought with him. Nebula stepped beside him, glaring about with an ire he would normally appreciate. Now however, he just trembled. Entire body wracked with shaking, adrenaline, ready to fight anything that might come out of the shadows.

“So it's a lab, a zoo?”

The raccoonoid’s stomach curdled, Breathe...just focus...get to the building….3C just….just get inside, fix her and….g...get the fuck out.

“Stay close.”

Nebula grunted but continued on. Some part of him was glad for her presence. Shame and self-loathing twisted inside of him.

They’ll come straight here, they might be here already. No! You’re doing this for Gamora. You fucked up. This is how you fix it, and you can fix Nebula too even if you can never fix yourself. You fucked up. You lied, spied on her...you hit Groot. Tears threatened to streak his eyes.

“T...there it is,” he pointed to the large concrete building, a husky shell of a thing. Clearly unused. Rocket halted in his steps….. the doors…. the doors were still broken open. In the darkness he made out the torn rents of metal where he’d blasted through the bolts with an improvised bomb. Screeching, fire and blood, smoke, choking smoke, stinging in his lungs.

The raccoonoid sniffed, wiping a paw across his face and leveled his gun, stepping across the threshold into the bowels of the building.

“Stay close, if you hear anything shoot it.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” the woman growled, she bent her arm and Rocket watched a series of clicks and mechanisms come together, turning her hand into a firearm. In any other situation he would’ve admired it but they came to a cross section at the end of a long hall and he stopped, looking around. Paneling from the ceiling had fallen down, hanging by a chord. Dried crusted blood smattered the wall, filling his nose with a scent of rotting flesh and stale chemicals.

Needles punctured into flesh, straps too tight, pinching. The stiff metal table. Their masks, their laughter, their tools. His body opened, the feel of the fetid air brushing against organs and tissues that were never meant to know a breeze.

One paw went to his stomach on instinct. His ears swiveling to pick up any sound. Only Nebula’s heavy foot falls. He gathered himself, stomach still roiling.

“Fox!”

His head snapped up, blinking hard, he ran one paw over his face.

“W...what?”

“Which way?”

Rocket swallowed the lump in his throat, the metallic taste of blood still on this tongue. He shook his head, which way….I came from...down there...shot that one, his eyes rested on the dusty remains of a body, now nothing but bone.

“G...gimme a sec.”

Before she could object he stumbled off down the hall, leaned against the wall and vomited. Here he was again, just a sick animal surrounded by other sick, dying, drooling, decaying animals. Or so they were, before he had escaped in a bloody spectacle of gun fire and rage.

She can see you, his pride warned. But the raccoonoid hardly registered, pinching his eyes shut against the involuntary force of his gut, synching and surging painfully. He wretched again, trying to breathe between spouts of puking.

Pull yourself together! How the flark are you gonna get anything done if you can’t walk down a d’ast hallway?! They ain’t here no more. No one’s here, you made sure of that. How else are you gonna make it up to Gamora? Or Groot….? The image of the scared little flora, reeling from the blow Rocket dealt him  branded in his mind. He swallowed another round of vomit, acid burning at his throat.

“What’s the matter fox? Eat too much garbage?”

Rocket wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw.

“This way,” he steadied his grip on his gun, holding it with two hands and shuffled forward, around the bodies. Down the dark corridor, doors evenly spaced on either side. He knew better than to look up into the shattered windows of the various laboratories. They crept along, through the double doors and down a flight of stairs, deeper underground through the vast labyrinth of rooms filled with cages, testing chambers, operating theaters, chemical testing labs. Rocket’s hair stood on end, remembering the menagerie of agonies.

Just keep going, you got out of here with thousands of guards you’ll be in and out quick as a rocket with no one to stop you. Ha, rocket. He allowed himself a bemused smile, that was the reason for his name after all.

“Agh!”

Rocket spun, bristling, gun aimed, chest pounding, his breath caught.

“I stepped in something,” Nebula yelped, lifting her foot out of whatever it was.

Still shaking with adrenaline the raccoonoid hurried forward, and halted.

The broken skeleton of some small creature lay dispersed and crumbling in the dusty hall. The empty sockets of its eyes staring at them both. Its skeleton had only been partially enhanced as detailed by the odd bending of vertebrae and rusted metal. Rocket crouched, sniffing, whiskers twitching and squinted at the metal panel still fused into the base of the skull. Shining a light on it, he drew a quick breath, realizing.

“You recognize him?”

“Her,” the raccoonoid corrected.

She was in the cage below mine.

Nebula made no retort, but he could feel her eyes on him. He forced himself back up, clearing his throat and sniffing.

Breathe….in...out...you’re doing this for Gamora. You’re not gonna fuck up again. You can’t...you owe Gamora that much.

“We’re almost there,” he wheezed through the fight to keep his breath steady. Nebula shook her head curtly, motioning for him to move forward. Rocket slid his back against the wall before the next corner, holding his gun close to his chest, holding his breath, knowing what he was about to face.

The double doors of the room had long since broken, lying like two more bodies on the hard floor. Beyond the threshold the procedural room yawned like a black hole. He could make out the single ominous table, the five large oversize lights hovering above like demons ready to spirit someone away. Those bright piercing lights illuminating a subject’s insides, penetrating light into everything, exposing things meant to be left in the dark. The fur on Rocket’s arms rose, the cybernetics in his shoulders and spine clenched with tension. He picked at his fur with tension.

“Ah,” he bit his tongue once more, forcing down the high pitched whine that nearly escaped him. The raccoonoid forced himself closer, each step heavy as led. His tail twitched, legs tensed ready to bolt. Though the mind may forget, may block out certain memories, the body remembers everything.

You do this, she won’t hurt Gamora no more. She’ll stop. That was the deal. Gamora won’t have to run...won’t have to be so scared. Tears pricked his eyes as he picked over the broken double doors, and crossed into that dank, room. The last time he was in this lab, he’d escaped. Killing the scientists and orderlies and bursting out the door. Groot was with him. He longed for the flora now, not the little thing who had emerged from a pot but his old best friend. Groot had been the reason for a majority of the rotting skeletons he and Nebula had passed. He wanted the large tree with him, that towering presence. If anything happened, if the Halfworlders who were out there looking for him did come, Groot would be there to protect him. But no...Groot was dead.

At least Groot didn’t die in here, Rocket thought bitterly. A stabbing pain in his gut. Tears ran down his furred cheeks. He sucked a painful breath, the sterol scent of chemicals still lingered in the air, burning him with memories. He longed for those tight wooden arms now, that gentle soothing place he had risked his life to get to just down the hall where their cages sat next to one another. He’d learned to bypass the security and slip passed the bars into the flora’s holding cell, spending the sleepless nights therein.

“So this is where you’re going to fix me?” Nebula asked, looking around the dark room. She surveyed the monitors and equipment, still hanging from wires, there were medical tools scattered about. Computers, carts of liquid vials, an array of needles, restraints, scalpels, a saw. Everything just where they left it. He thought with a shuddered breath.

“Y...yeah, I think I got everything I need..r..right...h..here.” Rocket gestured lamely around the room. Nebula looked up at the large overhead lights, two of which were out, bulbs shattered. Rocket turned the remaining light on, wincing at the white flash of memories slapped across his mind.

He wiped his eyes hastily before turning around and looking at her as she hoisted herself up with ease onto the fated cold table. Rocket sighed, rummaging around for the clear, anesthesia liquid that the scientist kept locked away. He found it easily enough following the sharp scent of it, familiar and immediately bringing him back to the day’s he’d been the one on that table.

Focus, focus. Breathe….you’re the one with the scalpel now. Not them. They're dead.  A small smirk escaped him.

“What’s that?” Nebula glared at the needle poised in the raccoonoid’s paw.

“It’s an anesthetic,” Rocket explained, slowly looking at it as though it were about to come to life and prick him. “I told yah I could undo what Thanos did to yah, and I can but it ain’t gonna be pretty. You want to be knocked out for this, trust me.”

The cyborg woman eyed him, her own gaze much like his. Solid black eyes, with no iris or pupil. Foreign and unnerving. A chill ran down his spine, and not from the hollow breeze blowing through hallowed halls.

“I’m trusting you to not use it,” she countered, though she spoke uncommonly soft. Rocket opened his mouth to press her but stopped. If Gamora’s past was any inclination, there was no doubt Thanos had not offered the younger sister the luxury of anesthetic. The raccoonoid knew well what happened to those who had felt the scalpel one too many times. The body, animal or humanoid did what it did best: adapted. After enough procedures freakish panic turned to heightened panic, heightened panic to fighting, fighting to exhaustion, exhaustion….expectation and finally, grim resolve. If Nebula’s procedures were any like his own then she had grown to expect anguish. Never desensitized, but accustomed to the dance of fight or flight, survival and eventually resolve. At this point she had probably grown more used to that than the uncertainty of falling into a chemically induced sleep not knowing who or what she’d be when she awoke. He looked her over, then set the large needle down.

“Your body, your choice.”

He heard her whisper a ‘thank you’ while he back was turned but did not acknowledge it.

“Alright lay down.”

She obeyed, reclining on the metal slab, face tight. She fidgeted into the most comfortable or at least neutral position possible. With shaking paws he reached for the restraints.

“I won’t move,’ she snapped, voice cracking. He let go of the cuffs. Waiting.

“I won’t move,” she repeated. “Trust me.”

Rocket looked her over, she was more metal than flesh. He finally nodded, climbing up on the table beside her, crouching over her arm. He held his breath, holding the scalpel tight and got to work.

---

In some ways it was easier, in other ways it was harder. Rocket refused to look at her face. If he did, he’d stop and if he stopped the deal would be done and she’d go after Gamora. He worked diligently, it's just another gun, another bomb, another machine. No. It’s not, she’s a person. An evil person but a person. Don’t be like them. They’re the really evil ones.  Steady, stop shaking, don’t vomit. Not one’s here, no one’s coming.

He pulled the taunt faux flesh over from her elbow down to the wrist. It didn’t take long to find the storage, to dye it and measure and cut. He never bothered ransacking the supplies of the place and he knew where to find whatever he needed. Even reduced to abandoned disarray the labs of Halfworld itself were always happy to provide tools of ingenuity and suffering. Art, the scientists had called it. Never saying what their ambitions truly were, butchery. Torture.

Nebula let out a hiss of pain here, a bite of her lip there, but she kept her word and kept still. Only arching her back off the table twice and quickly righting herself. Expertly clenching her muscles and sucking in the pain.

Like sister like...sister. Rocket thought bleakly.

“Almost done,” he tried to assure her, fixing the fake flesh to her wrist. The hand was already done, each finger neatly covered with the skin like material and dyed to match her natural tone. She requested he keep some modifications in place, like the ability to turn said hand into a gun. He did this by leaving her palm alone, the small gun therein could come out if she willed it, covered by what would look like a black fingerless glove.

“T...there,” he finished, examining the arm in its entirety. She flexed it experimentally and eased herself up, dizzy at first. “Easy...it's gonna take a few hours to heal, even with the laser seal.”

Nebula nodded but bent the arm back and forth watching the flexible flesh move with her. Rocket spied the smallest inclination of her lips.

“Told ya I’d make it better.”

She looked up, glaring at him.

“You said you’d fix all of it,” her voice fell to a snarl.

“I will, I will,” he assured, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. Fatigue ached his eyes, suppressing the frenzied urge to run stole any strength of concentration from him,  and the arm was the easy part.

Nebula lay back down, adjusting herself slightly and took a deep breath.

“You don’t wanna….a...break for a sec? You were just lying down for like….eight terran hours.”

Rocket looked around, chest heaving in preparation as he peered down the dark hall the way they had come, nothing.

“Well? What are you waiting for Fox?”

The raccoonoid tried to breathe, looking over the metal plating in her face and skull. His stomach summersaulted, the room going darker, head spinning.

Just...concentrate…

The raccoonoid hopped down from the table, on to the floor and dragged over a nearby stool, up to her head and hovered directly over her face.

“If you try anything,” she seethed, “I’ll kill you.”

Even in his delirium Rocket recognized an empty threat when he heard one.

“Just….hol….hold still.”

Maybe this was his repentance, sort of. If he were worthy of it. Rocket gingerly lifted the main panel from her head that curved over the dome of her head to just over her right eye.

“Stars,” he breathed, eyes widening. “What’d he do to you.”

“Everything he didn’t want to do to Gamora.”

The venom in her voice was plain. For once Rocket did not form a rebuttal. Staring into the inner workings of Nebula’s cybernetically enhanced mechanized brain was staring into the one part of himself he could not see during the procedures. Is this...what I look like...on the inside?  His insides curled in on themselves, the chronic pain in his cybernetics ached and pinched.

Use the pain, channel it.

He did, the noxious nervous energy wracking him to the point of near mania. Mania he forced into working on Nebula’s cerebral enhancements. Wire by wire, snipping things there, modifying things here.

“A’right,” he sighed, setting down the tongs he’d been working with. “Almost done. Now come the memories. What you want me to get rid of?”

He waited for a moment, taking the time to run his paws through his fur, shaking his head. Once again he forced himself to look up, down the empty hallway. Expecting the Halfworlders to come charging in, or one of the corpses on the floor to leap to life.

“Leave it all,” she whispered hoarse. He frowned, staring down at her.

“Yah...sure?”

Nebula’s eyes shifted, her hands knotting together.

“Yes.”

“You really are a masochist,” he grumbled.

“I never knew my true parents. I was an urchin on Wresreenia before Thanos found me. I have nothing else. If I don’t have the rage of those memories...I have nothing.”

“Yeah,” Rocket agreed.  He would have laughed with the ironic similarity between them. The scientists effectively erased all memory of anything before Halfworld. What he was before he was made he did not know. All he knew was that he wasn’t always like he was now.

“Alright, last part. Hold still I’m gonna put the plating back and cover it with that same fleshy covering. The laser seal will leave a small scar but it’ll heal.”

Almost done...you’re almost done...just close her up and you’ll be outta here.

Rocket measured and set the fleshy covering that would go over the panel, already dyed to match her skin and stretched it, shifting about her shoulders and reaching as far as he could to pull it down, hold it in place and close it up.

“Okay, the eyes the last bit,” the raccoon flexed his fingers, aching from the tools and precision. His back wracked with kinks from trying to get the tools at the right angel wherever he needed them. The metal in his skeleton grind against his bones.

The cybernetics around her eye were tiny, nearly imperceptible with enhanced optical cables for enhanced night vision. The raccoonoid hunched over her face, carefully extracting the machinery that made her eyes into scopes, immediately able to identify a target’s weaknesses and anticipating their next move. He left the night vision per her request.

“Is that it?” He could hear the begging in her voice, thin and hopeful.

“All we gotta do is jumpstart your system again,” he answered. A black pit forming in his insides, he eyed the busted generator typically used to start up cybernetic systems. Wires and cables all fell around it and spilled out like guts, several pieces missing.

“How are we going to do that?”

Rocket searched around for any inkling of an idea, spare parts, batteries, something, anything.

“Uhh….”

“You don’t know?!” Nebula cried, clearly fury almost hiding her fright.

“I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin….” the raccoonoid paused.

It worked with Gamora’s arm...I could use my own cybernetics as the jumpstart….but with Gams it was just a simple set in her arm. I’d have to boost Nebula’s entire system….

He glanced behind her at the port in the base of her head. Unlike her sister’s meticulously placed cybernetics, each fixed with precise care, Nebula’s were shunted in every which way, haphazard.

Even if my wiring were enough to do it….I’d have to maximize electrical output to her...it’d be risky. I could fry my whole system…. he didn’t know what would happen. Still, he jumped down, scavenging through the drawers and store closets for any spare cables. A restraint staff with electrical prongs lay on the floor in the hall a few feet away.

“I thought...we were a family...Groot taught me that. That’s what his sacrifice meant to me. I thought....I was sure it would mean something to you too. I thought if anyone could get through to you it would’ve been him.” Gamora’s voice howled in his mind as he grabbed a bunch of wires, sizing them up.

“What are you doing fox?”

“Shhh, lemme think!” He hissed, pulling one of the blue wires from the bundle, this would do. He took his gun from his holster and crept slowly into the hall, resisting the urge to pull at his fur.

Gamora was right. You sold your teammate for money...Groot would be ashamed of you. His sacrifice taught Gamora something. What will it teach you?

“Gamora is worth it,” he whispered through his tears of fear. He seized the electrical staff, scurried back to Nebula and stood beside her on the table.

Groot thought we were worth dyn’ for…Gamora’s worth this. Even if it goes wrong. I always knew I’d die in this shit hole anyway.  

So what if he did kick the can in here? What would that make him? No better than any of the other sorry subjects who met their end against the tests or under the chemicals.

He yanked his jumpsuit down and shoved plugged the cable into the back of his head, twisting it in until he heard the click.

“What?” Nebula demanded, she sat on the edge of the table now, ready to leap off.

“Nothing. I’m gonna jumpstart your system with my own.”

Gamora is worth it, you little monster.

“This is gonna hurt for both of us, but once your cybernetics get back online you’ll know. When they’re back and you can move, unplug this from my back okay?”

The cyborg woman nodded curtly, dark eyes flashing.

“You remember your parta the deal?”

“Yes.”

“A'ight then smurfette.”

Rocket hooked the other end of the cable into her, then glanced down at his own implants and picked up the electro restraining staff.  He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his paw, tears now staining the fur of his face. He grit his teeth, switched the electrical staff on and pushed it against the bolts in his clavicle.

White hot bolts of static stabbed through his chest, expanding out his entire body, through his limbs and to his writing tail. The body remembers. He curled inward on himself, dropping the staff to the ground and gripping the edge of the metal, scraping his claws against it. Someone was screaming. Rocket’s body vibrated with the energy of electricity, his pain receptors firing off all at once. He tensed, nearly levitating off the cold slab. The thing inside his skull vibrated.

S….sorr...Gams...b...breathe...just...b..brea…

“AAARRRGGGHHHH!”

He couldn’t tell who was wailing, him or Nebula.

Roving eyes fell on the cyborg woman. He clawed to get to her, though she herself was haunched, biting her lip so hard it bled. The wire between them sparked and fizzed with electric activity.

“Mora…” he gasped, reaching out through the pins and needles in his limbs and grasped for Nebula’s shirt. He crouched on her chest, balling his fist around her collar so tight it tore.

“Gime. Your. Word.”  He seethed, choking through the pink of foam and blood and filled his mouth.

Nebula forced her eyes open, her mouth in a tightly pressed line. Like him the electricity beneath her new skin glowed with purple light.

“I….w...won’t...k...kill her. I...i'll g...give h...her...a...c..chance."

Maybe Nebula never wanted to kill Gamora in the first place, maybe she just wanted someone to listen. Rocket felt his insides shaking harder, the machine in his chest he wished was a heart jumped and started. His muscles seized, tightening, paws shaking. He tried to breathe, lungs spasming with shards of glass. Everything swam, the lights above became dull, his mind clouded, unable to think, to reason. There was no thought, only feeling and non feeling . He couldn’t feel the cyborg lady’s shirt anymore, or her chest on which he crouched. He could feel jets of agonized burning pulses tore through him, heating every piece of metal inside of him.

His mind gone, his body adapted, trying desperately to protect itself by straining to curl into a ball. If only his motor function would cooperate.

“Subject 89P13 is nearly complete…..

“I’m kinda disappointed, I thought it’d be better, this one’s kinda weak.”

Stabbing, clenching.

“You were awake...when they did this to you.”

Gamora

“Thank you.”

Her hand, warm and friendly, holding his.

“Nebula!”

Something somewhere shouted, muffled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

“Let him go! Our feud does not concern him!”

Rocket tried to move his head towards the noise, but it was so heavy, his body would not obey. He curled, tightening, vision turning to black. Pressure builded against his back, at the base of his skull and down through his spine. Pressing and restricting and then….everything stopped.