#without sharing clothes with my ex? without choosing to eat the heavy food first so that the weight is easier on her Carrying Capacity?

[lunarharp]

lazy scribbling of my baldur's gate 3 characters

[karlnapity]

(tws: manipulation, emotional abuse, panic attacks, agoraphobia)

Even after this long, there are still people Eret needs to reconcile with, and people they likely won’t ever, and they’ve made peace with that.

Tommy is one of those people.

It’s not that they don’t want to. It’s been a combination of things, from continuous wars, to exiles, to Tommy’s complete and utter stubbornness, to a hell of a lot of avoidance.

So they’re a bit taken aback when Puffy suggests it, but she seems set on the idea.

“I think he’s probably the one whose experiences are most similar to yours,” she says, in that therapy voice she uses when she’s trying really hard to convince you of something.

They almost want to laugh at that. Tommy’s been through hell, more than they can even imagine, and it’s laughable to think their experiences are at all on the same level.

But, all the same, it’s an excuse to try again to amend their wrongs, and they’ve been trying to get better at confronting their issues.

So, they shoot him a whisper, and wait in the throne room with anxiety they haven’t felt since the prison gained a guest.

It’s hard to break free of habits they gained. It’s hard for them to relax, even when they’re on their own, because who knows if they really are. Who knows if they’re being watched, who knows if this is just a test.

They shake their head, let themselves relax a bit into the throne, let their robes crinkle around them.

And that’s when Tommy enters. They quickly reassemble themselves, garner their royal expression, make themselves look as dignified as possible because that’s what he demands.

They’ve got to stop doing that, but it’s so much easier to fall into old habits.

“So?” Tommy asks, as demanding as always, and Eret holds back a chuckle.

“Here, let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” they say, and sweep off the throne, lead him down a few hallways to the garden. There are a few benches, and they occupy one, Tommy taking the other.

This was the closest thing they had to the outside for months, and they say as much, try to get Tommy comfortable. He makes a sound.

“What do you mean?”

They sigh. “Puffy wanted us to talk. She thinks our experiences with him are similar.”

It’s not like they need to say his name. They’re not sure they can.

“Ok? And?” Tommy asks, huffing, but they don’t miss the way he tenses, just a bit, the same way they do when they’re trying to hide anxiety.

“He stopped me from leaving the castle for months. Told me I could only go out when he said I could. This was the closest thing I had.”

Tommy’s staring at them. They can tell he’s trying to find the safest thing to say, that he’s trying to decide whether to share anything of his own.

“Oh,” he settles on. “I get that.”

They nod, and sigh. “I don’t think my experiences compare to yours. You had it a lot worse. But I wanted to have a chance to explain everything.

I know you don’t forgive me. I don’t blame you, believe me. But trust me: you know what he’s like. He had me from the beginning. And it’s still hard not to let myself be influenced by him. So I thought… if we could commiserate, or something. That it might help.”

They don’t look at him, but he lets out a sigh of his own.

“Ok, then.” And he huffs a laugh. “Then stop talking to me like a king, alright?”

Their head snaps up, and Tommy is smiling, a rueful little thing that forces a small smile onto their own face.

“Ok.”

He grows a bit more serious. “Then why did you betray us?”

They shrug. “I guess, in the beginning, I did want more power. I thought being king might help us become more powerful. I should’ve known he wouldn’t have let that happen, but… I was hopeful.”

They clear their throat. “I was manipulated.”

It’s still hard to say, they still feel like it’s dramatic, but Puffy’s been encouraging them to tell the truth. Tommy nods.

“We both were.” He looks like he wants to make a joke, but he doesn’t. “When I was in exile, he told me I was the only person he could trust. All that fucking shit.”

Guilt floods them, heavy and painful. They push through it. “I should’ve done something. I’m sorry.”

He pulls a face. “Then I shoulda done something! Back when it was fucking Manberg, or whatever.”

They sigh, shake their head. “It’s not the same… but thank you.”

He shrugs. He stands, looks around the garden. Eret can tell he’s just trying to keep moving.

“He just… he just fucking convinces you you can’t rely on anyone else. That he’s the only one who can help you, or hurt you, or anything. That no one else cares. Did that happen to you?”

They think of nights where he’d pull off their crown gently, where he’d treat them like a person and give them gifts and nice food, and even nights where he’d let them roam outside the castle alongside him, where he’d lay new, soft robes on their shoulders, where he’d hand them speeches he’d prepared so they didn’t have to stress, where he’d tell them they looked like a king, where he’d say he made the right choice in choosing them.

“It did,” they say, quietly.

“That’s what makes it so fucking hard!” Tommy exclaims, throws his hands up in the air. He looks like he wants to punch something.

“It makes it so hard for it just to be hatred,” they say, nodding. “When you’re wearing his clothes and living in a place he helped build, and when you’re eating the food he provided.”

He throws himself down on the bench next to them, looks them in the eye with a sad grin. “I’m so glad you get it.”

And then he pulls a face, waves his hands. “Not like that! I’m just… it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t gone through it.”

They let out a rich laugh, something that’s so rare these days. He told them it was undignified for a king, but they push down the shame that bubbles in their stomach. “I get it, I get it.”

“I’m glad too.”

>

Gardening’s been a strangely soothing activity. It keeps their hands busy, keeps their mind off things they don’t want to ignore, keeps them feeling accomplished. Sometimes, on the good, good days, they can even plant outside the castle, on the sprawling lawn, but it’s rare.

Today it’s just the garden within the castle. Their hands are coated as they kneel in the dirt, fancier robes exchanged for more casual clothes, almost humming to themselves in contentment, when they hear the voice behind them.

“King Eret?” The voice is quiet but unmistakable. They jump, turn around. They stand, brushing their hands of dirt, and offer a small curtsy, skirt blowing a bit in the wind.

“George,” they welcome. They’re not close with the ex-king, though there’s less bad blood than might be expected.

They have more in common than first assumed.

George looks out of his element, standing awkwardly in the archway. They wave him to the benches.

“What brings you here?” They ask, settling their skirt around them. Royal etiquette dies hard, and they suppose even after all this time the poise hasn’t leaked out of them.

“I wanted to talk,” he says. He fidgets with his goggles. “And I wanted to apologize.”

They tilt their head, expression pinching. “For what?”

“For…” He gestures around, vaguely. “All of this. Kingship shouldn’t have been pushed on you. I shouldn’t have tried to usurp it. I should’ve stepped in, I should’ve stopped him-”

Eret can recognize mounting anxiety, from experience as much as anything. They lean forward, lay a hand on his knee. “It’s ok, take a breath.”

He reigns in his breathing after a moment, lays hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

They sigh, smile gently. “Don’t worry about it. I think… we probably share experiences, after all. I don’t blame you at all.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap. His hands twist. “Do you think he ever intended to actually make me king?”

“No.” It’s an easy answer, but there’s no point hiding the truth.

“I didn’t think so.” There’s a deep sigh. “I just feel like… I should have realized, earlier.”

They lean back, peer at the clear sky above them. The sun feels soft on their skin. “When he was around, controlling me… I knew he was horrible. I knew he was the source of my problems, my fear, everyone else’s pain, everything. But all the same… I wanted to follow him. It wasn’t just out of fear of what he’d do to me, or anyone else. It was easier. It was easier to do what he wanted, because then I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to be scared.”

They look to George, who’s nodding.

“I guess it’s sorta like that. It was just easier to follow orders, I suppose.” He purses his lips. “All the same, though, I’m sorry.”

As much as they want to rebuke his apology, insist it really isn’t his fault, they don’t. They’ve learned that sometimes it’s easier to apologize, even if the other person doesn’t need it.

“I forgive you.”

>

On very, very hard days, it’s hard to leave their room.

He wouldn’t let them leave it first thing without first checking them over, making sure they were presentable, making sure everything was in order. And, even now, it’s hard to leave without that first assurance.

They still feel like he’s going to pop out of the shadows, like he’s going to yell at them for getting breakfast without his go-ahead first, like he’s still there critiquing his every move.

In a way, it was assuring. It was simple, having everything decided for them. They were like a doll, positioned every way he wanted them to be. They needed to think over everything and nothing.

On the worst days, they felt inhuman. Their mind went on autopilot, doing everything he requested without even thinking, simply moving through the course of the day without even processing.

He especially approved of them, those days, always saying how he appreciated it when they didn’t speak, didn’t make noise, just stood and acted and followed him around exactly how he wanted them to.

The gaps in their memory disturb them, but all the same some part of them misses it, wants to avoid having to think about it all.

They really are a coward.

They curl deeper in their blankets. Today is one of those days where they don’t move from sun-up to sundown, just wallow in the memories and the self-pity. It feels pathetic, but all the same they can’t bring themselves to move.

There’s a knock on their door. Their entire being screams to stand, to pull on robes as quickly as they can, to make themselves presentable before he sees them, before he yells at them, but they still can’t even roll over to face the door.

“Eret?” It’s Puffy. They want to tell her to come in, or to go away, they’re not sure, but their tongue feels like lead.

The door creaks open, and she comes in.

“Having a rough time?” she asks. There’s a dip in the mattress where she sits beside them.

Puffy is perhaps the only person they can entirely relax around, and even then sometimes it’s a struggle.

She doesn’t judge them. She tells them their feelings are justified, helps them figure out everything. They’re not sure what they did to deserve someone like her.

She rests a hand on their shoulder. “If you want to talk, let me know. If not, I can stay here.”

They put a hand over hers. Stay.

They’re not sure how long they sit like that, but eventually they’re able to pull themselves together enough to eat breakfast she brought. She makes easy conversation even as they can’t, and they rest their head gently on their shoulder as she talks.

At the end of the day, they’re able to say one thing.

“Thank you.”

>

Leaving the castle is a constant struggle, one that most days they can’t bear. Most people have learned, at this point, to come to them if they want to talk.

Somehow, Niki seems to have forgotten, they think as they stare at the letter.

It tells them to meet her at her base, that she wants to spend time with them but can’t miss a day of work.

She’s been working hard, lately, to rebuild, to rediscover her life much the same as they have.

Their hands tremble. Her base is close to the furthest they’ve ventured, and even then that was on one of their best days, and even then they had a panic attack on the way there.

They could just miss it. They could just pretend they didn’t get the letter. They could just pretend they were busy.

No. They want to see her, desperately.

They crinkle the paper in their hands as they start to pace. They already feel the mounting panic at even the thought of venturing that far.

They’d need someone to go with them. They’d need someone to watch them, make sure they didn’t just have a meltdown, but Puffy’s busy and they don’t want to bother anyone else, and they’re likely too embarrassed to ask anyways.

No, they’ve got to do this. Puffy told them to push themselves. This counts, right?

They dress in some of their nicest robes. If they’re going to have a panic attack, they’re at least going to look good doing it, and there’s some comfort in looking as kingly and dignified as possible, even at this juncture.

And they make it to the gates before their confidence starts to waver.

It’s not uncommon for them to stand here, to people watch, but they barely make it past the door most of the time.

Ghostbur passes by within the ten minutes they’re standing there. He catches their eye, and he waves ecstatically before heading to stand next to them.

“Hello, Eret!” he exclaims.

It’s still odd to hear Wilbur’s voice, so similar and yet so different. Eret’s not sure they talked to him again before November sixteenth, and even then he only ever commanded them as a group.

“Hello, Ghostbur,” they return with a smile. “Where are you off to?”

“I wanted to see Niki,” he says, and Eret feels like they could collapse with relief.

“What a coincidence. I do too,” they say, and before their anxiety can get the better of them, they continue. “What do you say we head there together?”

Ghostbur nods happily, extending a hand, and Eret takes it.

They get about ten feet from the door before the anxiety kicks in.

They feel a bit bad for Ghostbur, considering how sweaty their palms are already getting. Their heartbeat’s loud in their ears.

It’s as frustrating as it is terrifying. He’s in prison. He’s not here, and there’s no way he could be here. Sapnap and George stopped reporting to him months ago, and the both of them apologized directly, so there’s no way they’d tell him even if they saw them.

So why are they so fucking scared?

“Are you ok, Eret?” He asks as they walk. They wave him off, but breath is already coming hard for them.

They can remember the first time he caught them. It’d been months into their sentence, as it were, in the castle, and they’d snuck away in the dead of night to see Fundy.

He caught them only a few feet from the door, but he’d been furious. It had taken hours of him teasing, threatening to hurt Fundy, hours of them begging on their knees for him not to do anything, and in the end they’ve never been sure whether he did. They can’t bring themselves to ask.

He’d hardly ever threatened them. If he wanted to hurt them, he did. He always threatened to hurt their friends.

And it was so much worse. What would he do if he caught them now?

They can’t breathe. They let go of Ghostbur’s hand, crumble to their knees. They knew this would happen. They shouldn't have even tried.

Ghostbur’s calling their name, they’re pretty sure, but it’s too much, because if he calls their name too much he might hear where they went, he might be able to find them, and he can’t find them because what is he going to do to their friends, they were trying to find Niki so what would he do to her if he found out, he might hurt her, they were an idiot for even trying to leave and they should have just stayed where it was safe for everyone-

And they’re being hauled to their feet, someone is leading them somewhere. They don't fight back, because it's probably him, and if they fight back it'll only make it so much worse for everyone. They just let themselves be led.

It always takes them a long time to come back from a panic attack. The first thing they become aware of is someone humming, The second is how bright it is. No matter how much they seem to add to their castle, it’s always dim no matter what.

They open their eyes. They’re sitting on a bed, Ghostbur to their right. And Niki’s bustling around on the other end of the room, back turned.

They whisper her name, and she whips around, face softening before she pulls them into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and they hold onto her, tightly. “I’m ok.”

They ask everyone to say that they're ok, after they panic. It was embarrassing, initially, but it really, really helps.

She pulls back a bit, and they grip her arms. She brushes hair out of their eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eret, I should have known not to ask that of you, I wasn’t thinking.”

They shake their head. “No, I wanted to. It’s- I wanted to challenge myself.”

She nods. “I’m glad you got Ghostbur to come with, so he could let me know and I could come get you. I support you pushing yourself, but be careful, ok?”

They smile, nod, and push themselves off the bed. They’re still a bit shaky on their feet, but they look around all the same. “This is gorgeous, Niki.”

As she and Ghostbur show them around her new base, the anxiety doesn’t fade. It might not ever, when they’re outside, and it might not ever even if they follow the rules.

They can’t undo what Dream has done to them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t do the best they can to work past it. They have people, friends who are willing to work with them, and people who care, and even when they’re in their castle it seems so much brighter than before.

And when Niki drops them back off, they don’t worry whether she’ll be ok. They know they both will.

[sorenskyhigh]

What Would They Be Like as Your Roommates?

👮‍♂️ Daichi Sawamura 👮‍♂️

You needed help paying the bills to your apartment

Daichi needed a place to stay and had a great resume, as well as great tribute towards the contract and rules

Very early riser

Has an alarm that goes of at like 4-4:30 in the morning

I feel like Daichi would have a very simply but strict morning schedule that he keeps

He would wake up, do some sit-ups and push-ups along with some stretches and then goes for a jog

He would wear really baggy sweats and muscle shirt or long sleeved (no matter the weather)

I feel like Daichi would have such a strict morning schedule that he would stop by the same coffee shop every morning and order the same drink and breakfast sandwich

He'd eat his breakfast, shower, and then start his day when he gets back

Daichi is a very considerate person so I also feel like, when he could afford it, he would buy you your favorite drink and breakfast food from that coffee shop

He'd say it was a peace treaty for being such a good sport and putting up with his early morning routine

Daichi would 100% HARP ON YOU to work on having a healthier diet and sleep schedule

I also feel like whenever he goes for an extra jog he would always without fail, ask you if you ant to join him even if you always politely decline

Daichi probably wouldn't have time to cook very often so when you do he would be SO SO SO thankful and happy that you thought of doing something for him

Daichi has a metal baseball bat right beside his bed just in case someone breaks, change my mind

I feel like Daichi's side of the room would be SUPER organized and very well put together, just like him 😉

Daichi has an album in his photos for each team member as well as one that's just labeled 'Nekoma' and is mostly pictures of him, Suga, Asahi, Kuroo, Yaku, Bokuto, and Akaashi

Daichi talks all the time about his memories with his friends and is always showing you pictures that go along with the story or to remind you who he's talking about

Daichi would, I feel, repeat stories a lot bc he's just so proud of what they did or missed them so much ya know

Daichi has scared off a creepy teacher that has threatened to fail you if you didn't sleep with them

Daichi will 100% drop everything and come to excort you to your guys' apartment if you don't feel safe

If Daichi were to work with a K9, he would definitely show off all the things his dog can do with the proudest dad smile ever!!!

You also notice that when you two go out grocery shopping during the day if it's a week day and around lunch, he'll buy some food and take it to a silver haired friend of his from highschool

Daichi did manage to get you to take a jog with him (later in the day, not his morning one) and he smoked you

He did come back and said very up beat "Why don't we end it here for today, huh?"

You and Daichi watch really terrible horror movies and talk shit about them

When Diachi is working out at home bc it's raining or something he listens to heavy metal or R&B, you can't tell me otherwise 😤

👩‍🏫 🏫 Sugawara Koushi 🏫 👩‍🏫

Moved into the dorm first

The whole 'are-you-sure-you're-okay-we-can-totally-switch-sides' conversation

I feel like Suga wouldn't have a super organized side but its not a mess either

Just a stack of papers here, some books there and maybe clothes over there but he keeps it relatively clean

Suga has a small cactus that he named either Isako (the sand child) or Yoshino (respectful, good)

Or he named it Tsukki after Tsukishima Kei bc it's prickly but just misunderstood, and if so, he also has a marimo he named Yamaguchi to Tsukki wouldn't be lonely

Suga probably wouldn't study inside your guys' room but instead would make a couple friends and have a study group bc he misses the noise of the team 😥

But he also wants to learn how to help people with varying personalities since he's going to be a teacher

When you all study you either study in a library or outside under a tree in a circle

During winter he always has either hot chocolate or coffee for everyone just the way you each like it bc he remembers those things

Suga also knows your birthday, anyone in your family that you're really close to's birthdays, and he probably knows your parents/guardians anniversaries

Disney 👏 movie 👏 marathons 👏 with 👏 blankets 👏 and 👏 snacks 👏

Suga only shares the plethora of snacks he hides in your room or he steals from the cafeteria with you when you two are hanging out in your room, sometime Daichi and his housemate join

Suga would help you choose and outfit for a date or interview and would be aggressively hyping you up the entire time

Suga definitely helps you with any family or relationship issues you have (he may go out and threaten/kill your exes)

Suga always walks everyone back to their rooms after a long study session if they live ilon campus. If they don't he asks them to text him when they get home so he knows their safe

Group 👏 Lunches 👏

You all always eat together and Suga goes with you to get everyone's food orders

Suga has a small chest of flash drives that are F.U.L.L. of pictures of his old teammates all the way back to his first year in highschool. He also has some videos stored in there and is always taking pictures

Suga wants to remember EVERYTHING

He's the reason why Daichi has so many photos bc he sends them to him

When Suga starts interning he always come home with the biggest grin

He loves spending time with the kids and will tell you stories about them all the time

You went to visit him during his break and all the kids were on him like white on rice

The kids loved him but he definitely wasn't a pushover

Those kids were well behaved because of him 👌

Whenever you'd visit him on his break, Daichi is always there already and brought him lunch

The kids have picked up on the energy that those two are dropping and LOVE Daichi, they think he's so cool 😎

I want to continue this with more characters and I plan on doing a 'They help you build gingerbread houses.'

So if you want me to continue this and act on the other idea let me know 😁

@popcorntime-doodles @multifandombrainrot

@vaniatslover

[hydra-collector]

love & death & kisses

AO3

Pairings: Anxceit, platonic Analogical

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Janus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders (mentioned), Remus Sanders (mentioned)

TW: suicide attempts, self-harm, cursing, panic attacks, v v v slightly implied sexual content, food

Words: 4,153

Summary: Virgil meets someone.

Note: Human AU, I’m bad at naming, bad at summaries, Janus is ooc, i swear this is one of my better fics

Rain seeped into Virgil’s clothes, making him even colder than he already was. He’d forgotten his umbrella at work, so he’d have to get it tomorrow. Funny how things work that way. You put things off to the side for a rainy day, but when you need them they’re not there.

A tall, slim man stood beside him. He would usually avoid other people at the train station as much as he could, but he didn’t care at this point. He was cold, tired, in a depressive episode, and frankly too out of it to care.

The other man didn’t have an umbrella either, but seemed much less bothered by it. He checked his phone occasionally, but only typed something once or twice, aside from a seemingly frustrating venture on Google Maps from what Virgil could see. He was more on edge by whatever he was seeing on his phone than the weather.

“Excuse me, do you know where the nearest hotel is?”

The first thing he noticed was that the man was absolutely beautiful.

The second was his scar.

A wide scar, seemingly a burn mark, covered the entirety of the left side of his face. It traveled down his neck and past his shirt where Virgil couldn’t see it. His left hand had it as well, a pair of gloves stuffed in his pocket. His eyes were also heterochromatic, one much paler than the dark brown of the other.

Virgil didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially after the earlier events of the day, but he tried his best. He subtly hugged his side to provide pressure comfort.

“I think there’s one a couple blocks from Edwards Station. I don’t remember if it’s south or north. I can check.”

Virgil pulled out his own phone and found that it was half a mile north. Logan had sent him a text asking him why he was so late. He didn’t want to explain that he had to spend an hour on a bench in the pouring rain, trying to calm down from a panic attack. The stranger confirmed and checked his phone again, sighing when he didn’t find what he wanted.

Virgil could see his screen slightly. He’d been talking to a contact named April, both of them using a lot of cursewords angrily at each other. It looked like a pretty bad breakup. He figured he’d been kicked out.

The train arrived a few minutes after that. Virgil was never going to be comfortable with the thought of a big, heavy object rocketing in his general direction, but he wasn’t attempting suicide or anything at the moment. He learned to deal with it.

“Sorry, Logan, I’m here now.”

Logan had been Virgil’s roommate for almost three years now. He’d been his best friend even longer. He was the one there for him when he needed it most.

“What happened?”

Logan was making dinner for the two of them, which Virgil was disappointed to find out. The rule was they could make each other meals, but whoever made it got to choose what it was, and Virgil has never known Logan to make anything junkier than chili. Virgil had got him to eat macaroni and cheese a few times, so he counted that as a win.

“I… had a pretty bad panic attack.”

“Is there anything I can do to help now?”

“I think I’ll be okay. You don’t give bad hugs, though.”

Logan smiled slightly and hugged his friend firmly. He’d looked up the best ways to comfort people physically and figured out what was best for Virgil.

“Thanks, L. What’s for dinner?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to make it yourself.”

“Hey, you have plenty! You’re using two pans!”

“You hate fish, Virgil.”

“That’s fish? Ew.”

“What did you think it was?”

Virgil shrugged.

“Go get dry clothes.”

Virgil changed into another, softer hoodie and sweatpants. He figured he’d get something to eat later. He could go a couple hours scrolling on Tumblr or something before he’d be really hungry.

When he turned his phone on, it was still open to the hotel directions.

I hope that guy’s alright.

He’d seen him a few times before, he realized. The unmistakable bleached hair against the man’s dark clothing he recognized had never been put to a face, but he’d been at the train station a few times before. Virgil vaguely wondered if he got off work at the same time as he did and it was a coincidence seeing him today since his whole thing with April, or whoever.

You don’t know what happened, shut up.

Virgil squeezed his arm with his fingernails, hoping to make his self-hate go away.

Today was exhausting.

He didn’t want to go to work the next day.

~~

He’d had another bad day. His boss complained about the quality of his work again. It seemed he was fucking everything up lately. He’d gotten Roman angry at him for an insult accidentally personal, and Logan angry at him because he’d started cutting again. Who could blame him, though? It was just so much easier to cope by hurting than actually trying to help himself. At least he was still showering.

At least it wasn’t raining.

It felt like it, though. There was weight on his shoulders and chest, and he needed to cry. He wished he could afford a therapist. Then again, did he even deserve help?

Stop.

His inner voice was right. He should stop being so self-deprecating, it was annoying, he’d always been an attention seek-

Stop.

Virgil exhaled, rubbing his forehead and sitting down on the bench instead of standing for the train.

“Didn’t get to thank you. For the directions.”

“Hm?”

It was the man again. This was the first time he’d seen him in the few days since then.

“I needed a place to stay, thanks for telling me where it was. I tried looking it up, then texting my girlfriend to ask her if… I ran out of data, I wouldn’t have been able to get there if you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh. You’re welcome. Glad you found the hotel.”

He half-wished he didn’t have to talk to anyone right now, but something drew him towards this man.

And then he initiated a conversation. For once in his life.

“You just get off work?”

“Yeah. I work at the zoo. Reptile house.”

“Wow. I just have a boring tech job. I’m assuming you like reptiles, which one’s your favorite?”

“It’s basic, but I’ve always liked snakes. I have three.”

“I could never handle snakes. I know they probably won’t hurt me, but I’m anxious about everything.”

Am I oversharing? Should I be talking about my anxiety? Is that weird?

“I have a deathly fear of spiders, so that’s valid.”

Virgil would have said something else, but the train came, and it was difficult to talk onboard. It was weird how easy it was to talk to this person, even though he’d just met him.

~~

They’d got to talking about snakes.

Big breeds, small breeds, the most dangerous, the least dangerous kinds of snakes. Virgil swore he was being converted to like reptiles by this man. He talked about them with so much excitement, more than he showed any other time. Mostly he was calm and collected, a bit like Logan.

“I never got your name.”

“Oh, it’s Janus.”

Like, Janice?

“As in the Roman god, not like suburban mom.”

“Ah. Virgil.”

Neither of them smiled often, so whenever someone who knew them saw the smile, it always made them a bit happier as well. It was already happening with them, even a week or two into knowing each other.

“What kind of snakes do you have?”

“I’ve got a green tree python, a corn snake, and a ball python. Diana, Mercury, Liber.”

“All Roman names, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd.”

“It’s fitting.”

It was so easy to talk to him. More so than any other stranger. Usually he’d get anxious and all his energy would be expended (he usually had a mental breakdown if it was a lot of people). Something about him, the way he talks, moves, looks at Virgil. He’s like a reptile.

Don’t get a crush on him. He’s probably straight.

Maybe he isn’t, though. He could be bi or pan or something.

The train interrupted their conversation, but Virgil kept glancing over at Janus throughout. He was looking down at his phone, he must’ve gotten more service. Virgil got off after him, but it gave him time to consider Janus before he got home.

“Logan, I’m getting a crush on a straight guy and I just found out his name today.”

“You’re odd, Virgil.”

“He’s hot. And he likes snakes.”

“You hate snakes. Wouldn’t someone with an interest in spiders be more akin to you?”

“...He’s scared of spiders.”

“Virgil…”

~~

And he did get a crush on Janus.

They talked every day they saw each other, finally remembering they could exchange numbers. They spent months getting to know each other with pretty limited interactions, as neither of them texted or called much anyway. It wasn’t exactly a good thing, though, because he either spent his time at work thinking about Janus, panicking because his boss was mad at him because he wasn’t doing his work (because he was thinking about Janus), or completely depressed because he was angry at her for giving him a panic attack. And the cycle would continue.

It turned out April was his girlfriend, and they’d been in an unhappy relationship for a year or so. He was glad she’d broke it off, but was left without a house for a while. He’d managed to share an apartment with his friend Remus and that was going okay. Virgil didn’t tell him about his depression, but was open enough about his anxiety. Luckily for Virgil, he mentioned an ex-boyfriend.

He was not straight. Maybe he had a chance.

Are you kidding? He’s not gonna want to date you, worthless bitch. You can’t make him deal with your mental health, and he probably hates you anyway.

Their interactions were mostly limited to the train station, but that only meant Virgil appreciated them even more.

Still, he wished he could be happy.

The only times he was were, well, when he was talking to Janus and when Logan gave him hugs. Talking to Logan was enjoyable, but he kept reminding himself about everything going on, everything wrong with himself, how he kept fucking up, and cutting and wanting to kill himself. With Janus, he forgot. It was so easy to smile and laugh at sarcastic jokes and the cute things he did, like blush when he laughed and stick out his tongue unintentionally.

Time flew by when they were together. There wasn’t enough time before the train came to talk nearly as long as Virgil would have liked. Still, every interaction was worth it. His love for Janus grew the more he talked about what he does, and he actually seemed interested in Virgil’s job, even though he swore it must be the most boring on the planet.

“I think you’ve conquered my fear of snakes, Janus.”

“What’s this? I’ve shown my little ball of anxiety the ways of the snake with my own love for him and reptiles.”

My little ball of anxiety? And did he just say he loved me?

Was he thinking about this too much?

One corner of his mouth was raised in a smile and Virgil couldn’t help but blush, however much he wanted to ignore it. Janus chuckled slightly and picked up the conversation again, mentioning how Diana had gotten out and managed to get herself on the couch. Virgil proceeded as well, debating whether it meant anything or not.

~~

Virgil felt sick.

He felt all things horrible. Depressed, anxious, angry, hopeless, and worthless.

Over and over it repeated.

“I’m afraid someone as unstable as you isn’t fit to work here.”

Unstable.

Unhealthy.

Worthless.

Useless.

What was he going to do? He wouldn’t have money to keep living with Logan, he had to go through the stress of finding another job, people would judge him, he wouldn’t even be able to eat.

There was nothing he could do.

He trembled as he made his way to the train station. He was going to have a panic attack. Hell, maybe he was already having a panic attack. He wanted to cry but he wouldn’t cry. He had to go home and explain to Logan and he’d just have to live until-

No you don’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He was going to the train station, goddamnit.

He rubbed his hands on his face, static buzzing in his ears as tears almost came. This was going to be okay. It was all going to be okay. Finally.

He went up a different set of stairs, avoiding Janus. As he walked, the static slowly faded and was replaced with silence. Chosen silence, that is. He could hear the cars and the wind and the rain that had just begun to fall.

Fitting.

The train was early today, thank God. Its rumbling was familiar from the distance.

He took his last few steps to the edge of the platform, ignoring the tiny bit of anxiety that came with jumping down. He vaguely heard his name called over and over by the deep voice he knew well by now. He ignored it as well, starting with a slow walk, letting the raindrops soak into his hoodie. The walk sped up, and the rain got heavier, blurring out the train’s lights in a pretty way. He forced the muffled sound of his name out again, but it was getting louder.

There’s nothing you can do.

The walk got faster and turned into a run. He needed to catch the train before it slowed down.

Funny. Catching the train.

His ears pounded with the silence. So many things to distract him, things he loved. The awful sound of rain, knowing you’re going to get wet, but reveling in it anyway. The patter of feet on ground, now wood and gravel. And his voice, his beautiful voice.

The screech from the train stopped all other sounds, even splitting the silence in the bubble he created. It was warm, he hoped it was blood, so warm, so wonderfully warm.

Janus had never hugged Virgil.

He’d assumed he wasn’t one for being touchy-feely. He was tall and handsome, like the stereotypical distant, sexy man. But he wasn’t distant. He was there when Virgil needed him, even if he didn’t always know it. He put a hand on his shoulder or took Virgil’s hands in his to calm him down. He wished he’d gotten to know what kind of embrace he would have. Was it soft? Was it firm like Logan’s? Was it too tight? Was it always awkward like some people’s?

More than that, he wanted to know how his kisses were.

He imagined them soft, then passionate. Like something Virgil had always needed, the sweet feeling of pure love. He imagined he was the type to give solemn forehead kisses when a moment was serious, and short nose ones when the moments were playful. He imagined he’d kiss wherever he could on someone’s face, on his cheeks and chin, nose, lips, neck. They’d all be perfect for the occasion. There was a difference between a peck on someone’s cheek and smushing his lips against someone’s face. A slow kiss to the jaw was different from a badly-aimed one. Every subtle difference in position would say something new.

“I love you.”

“Shut up.”

“I need you right now.”

“You need me.”

He wished he’d learned every message. He wished he’d kissed Janus before today. He wished he’d at least told him and got rejected like he knew he would. He wished he could have everything. A hug and a kiss saying ‘it’s going to be okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s-’

“-going to be okay.”

The sound of the rain hit the stones sharply, akin to the feeling on his back. Voices shouting, his voice, and a new sound.

His heart.

Virgil let himself sink into the rhythm and the feeling of warmth that encompassed him. Something was soft through the damp fabric, moving slightly every now and then. It was the pressure of something, a body-

-Janus.

He opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of blond hair covering Janus’s face. He raised his arm slowly to push it away, just then noticing the arms wrapped tightly around him, using the most of their surface area.

Janus’s eyes were beautiful and sad, was he- crying? Virgil couldn’t tell if it was the rain or tears until he sobbed, hugging Virgil even tighter, burying his face in his shoulder and muttering words Virgil couldn’t hear.

Virgil realized he was crying too. Of course he was crying, he was… alive.

He was alive.

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Please, please know I’m here for you.”

Virgil said nothing, still mute from shock. So many things happened just then, and now he was being hugged. And it was perfect, despite the rain.

“I could’ve- should’ve died.”

“No, Virgil, you shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have, I’d never let you.”

Did he really care?

“I need to- I need to tell you something.”

This could go horribly wrong.

I don’t care anymore. I’ve made the most impulsive decision of my life today, might as well make another.

Virgil took his hand to push Janus’s chin up, thumb tracing the scar closer to his lips.

“Can I-”

“Can I kiss you, Jan?”

He let his head drop towards Virgil’s, lips so close now. He would have smiled his snake smile if he could have felt an ounce of a smile.

Virgil pressed his parted lips to Janus’s, hand resting on the back of his neck. He pulled his fingers through his wet hair, feeling its softness even now.

It was everything he had imagined.

At first it was soft and tender, but Janus deepened it, hand wriggling out from under Virgil to hold his face. The raindrops drowned out that moment from the outside world. Janus’s heart quickened, as did Virgil’s, but they both relaxed into it. The scar was rough against Virgil’s face sometimes, but it only made him want him more. All either of them could hear were the raindrops contrasting with their hearts.

Virgil wanted to kiss him longer, hold this forever. When they did break, Janus laid his burned cheek against Virgil’s.

“Do you need to go home?”

He thought of Logan and how upset he was when Virgil cut, how hard he tried and how bad he felt for him. And how bad Virgil felt for hurting him.

“Can we go to your place? It’s... closer.”

“Oh- I suppose we could. I doubt Remus will be there.”

They avoided the people trying to help Virgil, weaving through the few scattered onlookers, Janus’s arm resting around Virgil’s waist. Virgil was scared he would have a panic attack again and tried to focus on Janus.

He called a cab as he wasn’t about to take the train after that, and sat in the backseat with Virgil, not letting him go for a second. It was expensive and Virgil tried to get Janus to let him pay, but he didn’t have much of an argument. Janus half-carried Virgil up the stairs and into his apartment.

It was clean, which Virgil guessed was Janus’s doing given what he’d said about Remus, and fairly dark. It wasn’t the kind of dark that made you feel uneasy, but rather as in lighted only with soft ambient light. He didn’t get a good look at their living room before Janus pulled him into his bedroom. It was painted a pretty yellow and lit with a color changing lamp, which Janus turned to purple.

He sat Virgil down on the bed, who was still rather dazed from the day. Janus rummaged through his clothing drawers until he found a shirt smaller than the others and an old-looking pair of sweatpants.

“Here, you can change into this.”

Janus grabbed some clothes for himself and left the room for a moment, allowing him privacy. Virgil removed his soaked hoodie and Evanescence t-shirt, putting on the soft purple one Janus had found. It had short sleeves, but he didn’t have anything to lose at this point. He put on the sweatpants, soft and warm and opened the door for Janus. He was changed into a big hoodie that Virgil would kill to wear.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I- I think so. Sorry about the, the cuts.”

“It’s okay, Virgil. If you want me to get you something with long sleeves-”

“I think I’ll just end up stealing your hoodie at some point. Otherwise… it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

Virgil sat down on the bed again, craving the soft blankets. Janus took his spot beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks, Jan. It- I’m, I’m alive because of you. I don’t know how I could repay that.”

“Tell me when this happens, and I’d die happy.”

Virgil smiled, leaning against Janus. He pushed himself against the wall, pulling Virgil along with him. He heaved the thick blanket around him and Virgil, but mostly Virgil. He snuggled into the weight and comfort, still sitting against Janus as if he were the only thing keeping him balanced.

“What happened today?”

“I got… fired. ‘Cause I’m too depressed to work. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“I can help you find a job, V. It doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Sometimes it just… feels that way. Like you’re never going to get out of this pit of loneliness and you’re sure everyone hates you, and you’re so scared something will go wrong all the time even though you don’t really care.”

“I don’t hate you. And I know you can end this the healthy way. Shall we start with some ice cream?”

“Ice cream’s not exactly healthy, Janus.”

“Ssshh.”

He left for a moment and returned with two tubs of chocolate ice cream and a spoon for each of them.

“No bowls? And two whole tubs?”

“Mhm. It’s better that way. And you could have both of them if you asked.”

“Nah, you deserve some ice cream too. I probably hurt you a lot by doing that.”

“Mm-mm, Virgil. You’re hurting, not me. Self-care rule number one: you’re better than everyone for a while, put your feelings first.”

“I’m not.”

“Pretend. Now, what would you like to do?”

Virgil considered the question for a moment. It might be nice to listen to music, or to distract himself with a game or movie, but he didn’t really want that.

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I… want to kiss you.”

Janus turned pink for a moment, before smiling his smile with one corner of his mouth.

Before he could say anything that he wanted to, Virgil kissed that smile. He wondered what it would be like to do so many times, so he wasn’t going to miss his opportunity. He put his ice cream down to hold Janus’s face with cold fingers, savoring the feeling of the little half-smile turning surprised and then into a giddy smile that began to kiss back. Virgil grinned when it ended, looking back into Janus’s eyes.

“So you’re going to surprise kiss me now?”

“Yep-”

Janus, just as quickly as Virgil had, kissed him quick on the nose, eliciting a blush from Virgil this time.

“Unfair, Janus.”

“Nah.”

“I’m gonna pout and eat my ice cream now.”

“Is there anything else we can do while eating ice cream?”

“I suppose we could watch a movie.”

“Lion King?”

“...Lion King? I mean, yeah, sure, okay!”

He smiled as Janus put the movie on, his familiar excitement seeping through. Virgil managed to wrestle the soft hoodie from him, revealing that one, he had no shirt, and two, that Virgil would cuddle Janus’s burn marks and he appreciated that. As Virgil fell asleep next to him, he pressed his lips to his forehead, who was just awake enough to feel.

And one by one, the messages were unlocked to him. Once, after a dance, came the desperate, passionate kiss that told him “I need to kiss you.” One Disney marathon he came to feel the peppered kisses on his cheeks that said “You’re adorable.” After a weekend trip alone he got the long cheek kiss that said ‘I missed you.’ When he finally got a job, he was given the messy kiss, cheeks held tight that said “I’m so proud of you.” One tired night he blushed at the kisses on his jaw and neck that said “You’re hot and I’m bored.”

And again and again and again, the tender forehead kisses that said “I’m here for you. I love you.”

[togafukagiftexchange]

@chimeras-and-company Hi there! I’m your gifter!! I wrote an one-shot for you, it’s with the prompt of a deadly raid and byakuya resulting more injured than Touko! It’s angsty at first, but get better at the end :D I hope you like it and had fun in the holidays ^^ umm idk what else to say honestly, i put a little of vent in there to make it more… powerful(?) i hope you enjoy itt

here we go! ******

“H-how did we end up like this?”

The ‘hospital’ of the Future Foundation was silent. Too silent, its patients being all quiet, even when the floor was filled with injured people and blood.

“Y-you said… you were a-alright…”

All the deaths, the despair, made just by an annoying child… Nobody would’ve thought that Monaca still had that many robots in her control, edifices filled with black and white bears while the Future Foundation agents were scarce.

“I… y-you are great, Master, but you’re n-not immortal…”

Byakuya was one of the injured. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, yet he was close to death. Thanks to bruises and scratches, that were darker and deeper getting closer to his head.

“M-maybe you thought that y-you were fine”, Touko whispered, looking at her Master, her friend, with tears falling over the white blankets that covered his chest. “A-and… you h-had covered your neck. Why d-did you cover your neck, M-Master? If Hagakure w-wasn’t with you when you p-passed out, you would’ve been d-dead. Dead!”

Touko covered her mouth when she realized she was shouting, when the doctors and nurses looked at her with pity. Nobody got angry at her; all of them knew very well that the ex-heir would probably never wake up. And she knew it. The writer knew that Byakuya could die in his coma, she was preparing herself to hear the news, but it was just the night after he passed out and the pain was raw, too recent, too fictional to be true. Nothing could be done, yet she cried and cried, whispering to him as if they were talking, as if he wasn’t dying. It made things less painful, allowing herself to act like he was alright and awake and didn’t got a brain aneurysm because of a stupid robot-

“Touko, it’s late”, Komaru exclaimed at her side, placing a hand in her friend’s shoulder. “We have to go back. Makoto is waiting for us.”

The doctors weren’t the only ones that pitied Touko. Komaru’s voice was sweet, soft: a careful whisper. She was thinking about her words, swiftly choosing them to try and comfort the writer. But she knew, she noticed it the same moment that Komaru opened her mouth. She didn’t like it at all, she didn’t need pity.

Who she needed was asleep in front of her, and wasn’t going to wake up in a long, long time.

‘If he ever does’, the voice of reason hissed in her head, with a thought that Touko was trying to hide. To deny the obvious fact; she had to, or despair would consume her soul.

~

Her ex-classmates were the only ones that didn’t pity her(at all). Even if everyone knew about her crush on Byakuya, they were the only ones that didn’t look at her like she was a lost puppy. They were close to her Master too, and suffered his soon-to-be loss as she did. Maybe in a smaller proportion, but most people only saw him as a cold, skilled man. Not many people saw his honesty, his intelligence, or his-

“Fufu, are you alright? You didn’t answer my question”. Hiroko snapped Touko back to the present, outside of her thoughts, and the girl kept quiet. When the writer didn’t say anything, she simply sighed. “I asked if you feel pain somewhere. You had pretty deep cuts and burns, it’s impossible to have recovered in just three days”, the woman explained, looking at Touko with calmness. 

“I-I’m fine”, Touko replied, chewing one of her nails. Hiroko’s gaze was still on her, one eye closed with suspicion, in complete silence. “… w-well, my back started to ache a-again. B-but…”

“I won’t make fun of you, Fufu. The injuries can get infected if untreated, they will hurt more and more”, Hiroko commented, guiding her to a patient bed. The writer frowned, doubtful, but she knew she could trust her. She didn’t know why she was being so defensive against her, against everyone.

Touko’s skin was filled with cloth, used as a quick bandage, and dust, dry blood decorating her torso. She wasn’t sure when she would be safe enough to bathe (Komaru would’ve insisted, if she wasn’t the one patching her when they came back from the raid). Her stun-gun failed in the worst moment, and she was forced to fight with her own weak arms and hands. A robot exploded behind her, and she was lucky to not obtain third-degree burns… 

“Geez, this looks bad. And Koko used the wrong bandage…”, Hiroko whispered, concentrating in her task. She moved stuff from inside a first aid kit, and gently placed a gloved hand in the brunette’s back. “This will hurt”, she warned with a soft tone.

Cloth was almost glued to the burns, to the borders of the skin, and Touko couldn’t remember something as painful as removing sticky bandages from that injury. She silently thanked Hiroko for the warning, cursing under her breath without tears falling under her chin. And she made a mental note about checking the type of bandages she was going to use to an injury, before actually using it.

~

After her burn was properly healed, Touko was allowed to visit her Master again. An entire week away from him, nothing compared to the time she spent in Towa City with Komaru. But in that occasion, she didn’t fear for his life. Now, the writer sat at his side holding his warm hand, eyes closed and head dropping thanks to tiredness. Kyoko was with them too, observing in silence. 

She has been quiet since the raid, answering with monosyllabic words at every question. Her serious face fooled most people, but you could tell that she was sad just by looking at her eyes. The writer used that strategy with her Master too. He appeared to be cold, but he wasn’t. Deep enough, the Killing game survivors had a place in his heart… Touko’s being the most important for him, showing it with his caring words and the mails they shared. Or, that’s what she wanted to believe.

Her Master’s hand felt warm, and his fingers moved. She opened her eyes, with a grin now decorating her face. Kyoko showed a tiny smile, and a nurse entered the room. They had to leave, thanks to some privacy policies that no one was in the mood to break. When both girls were in the hospital hallway, Touko started to talk with excitement, clasping her hands over her chest.

“H-he moved”, she quickly explained to her friend, who just stared at her. “H-he’s going to wake up!”

“Probably”, Kyoko replied, the longest word she pronounced in a week.

“He’ll w-wake up”, the writer whispered to herself, holding to that hope that shined brightly under her skin.

It darkened later that day, when the nurse told them that Byakuya almost died again. That he was safe now, but he couldn’t breathe alone anymore and had to use an oxygen mask.

~

Touko couldn’t dodge the fact that the raid wasn’t successful. That any healthy agent had to keep fighting, and only ten members of each branch could stay in the base. She was an intern, and they took advantage of that, sending her to finish the raids alongside Komaru and countless of unknown people. At least her back didn’t hurt anymore…

Now, her heart was in her throat, beating quickly as she gasped for air. Syo had been in control for… how many hours? Had she switched with her stun-gun, or passed out? Touko couldn’t tell. The sky was always red, and the sun didn’t light the cities anymore. Having to use a watch to know the time instead of just looking up was something awful, something that the girl still had to start doing.

She was alone in the unknown, pink staining her body. As if she was injured, even if she felt no pain. Had the genocider killed someone else? Her Master would be so disappointed of her…

“Touko! You’re awake!”, a distant voice exclaimed, as if its owner was behind a window. When the writer scanned the room, she found Komaru smiling. Relaxed, as if she had something heavy in her shoulders and could finally drop it to the ground.

“K-Komaru…?”. Touko could feel the soreness in her throat, the pain, the screams that her alter should’ve done to let their body in this state. “W-what happened?”

Her senses were waking up with her, and her alter’s feelings were still hidden in her chest. Disgust, hate, fear… Syo probably discovered what happened to her Master. But why did she felt the need to kill, after almost two years?

“We won”, Komaru whispered, looking at someone at her side. “Syo helped us in the raid, but…”

The disgust faded from her mind, and was quickly replaced with dizziness. Blood was everywhere; in the ground, her clothes, her hands… Her mouth felt weird, dry, and her stomach growled.

“She killed Tengan. And, uh, tried to starve herself when… we tried giving her medicine”. The mysterious person accompanying her friend let themselves be seen; a girl with pale grey hair, with a mask hiding her mouth. “Munakata thinks that she has to go, since we finally defeated Monaca.”

“W-well… what are you waiting f-for? I’m here n-now, give me the medicine”, Touko hissed, coming close to the dense window that separated the three girls. 

“… don’t you want to know why Syo killed our leader?”. The stranger- Kimura, was it?- seemed dubious. She wasn’t staring at Touko, neither was Komaru.

“I d-don’t care”, the brunette admitted, crossing her arms over her chest. Kimura sighed, giving a small nod, and a hidden door was opened close to the window. 

Touko entered to the other room, noticing clean clothes and curry over a table and sat there, eating the food with excitement. She wasn’t interrupted. When she finished her (long-desired?) meal, Komaru placed a hand on her shoulder, and talked.

“Tengan said that keeping Togami alive was a waste of resources”, her friend explained, dodging her gaze. “He gave the orders in front of Syo, after the raid was won.”

“… He d-deserved it”, Touko muttered with a frown, and Kimura gave her a purple pill. She inspected it; it was big, almost rectangular, and she didn’t know if she could just take it or not.

After some seconds, she remembered Kimura’s talent: (Former) Ultimate Pharmacist. The girl made remedies and vitamins, discovering properties of already known substances that made her win her title. She was safe… probably.

“If you don’t swallow it, Munakata won’t let you see Togami”, Kimura admitted, looking at her eyes. She was calm, her voice steady, and Touko was convinced mostly by her statement. Kimura later explained that she would’ve to take the medicine every day, but it wasn’t a problem for her.

~

The world became a quieter place in just two years. No more raids, no more robots… the sky became blue again, and flowers bloomed everywhere you could look. There wasn’t as many people as before, and the streets felt… empty. Even if Touko detested crowds, it was weird that they simply disappeared from existence, abandoning entire cities in mere days.

'That’s the only good thing of all of this’, the writer thought in her seat, playing with her hair while the bus was in a stop.

She was in her way to the hospital. Byakuya was still asleep, barely reacting to anyone’s presence. The nurses said that he should be waking up soon, as the pollution was almost gone and it was healthy to breathe again. That he was alright.

And so, Touko visited her friend every week. Komaru or the other survivors sometimes went with her, but not this time. She had to say goodbye to him.

Writing wasn’t a valuable skill in a post-apocalyptic world. Towa City was the less… affected by The Tragedy, and they wanted to post her new writings. Being in the new Kibougamine school wasn’t bad, but working of something she loved was better. Plus, they would pay well. 

The decision was already made. Touko wasn’t going to change her mind; the papers had been filled, even if she wasn’t going to go until New Year had passed.

That’s what she had planned to say to him, her sleeping beauty. 

He was completely still, his golden mane reaching his ribs now; Aloysius said that Byakuya could like it that way, that he did in the past, and didn’t let anyone cut his hair.

Touko grabbed his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin as a contrast to the coldness of the start of Winter. She smiled softly, closing her eyes to rest at his side.

“It’s a cold d-day, isn’t it?”, the girl whispered, saving her glasses inside a pocket in her shirt. “Not cold enough for s-snow, but it’s still annoying.”

As expected, she got no response. Byakuya didn’t move this time, didn’t grab her hand like he did in the past. Touko sighed, gently brushing his hair with her fingers.

“I won’t be here after D-December, Byakuya”, she added, looking at the floor under her feet. “Komaru wants to come w-with me, I won’t be alone. Towa City is the o-only place that needs a writer right now…”

After another sigh, the girl left a gentle kiss on his wrist. She didn’t cry, not this time. Practicing this hurt, but now… a weight was gone, something that made her shoulders ache but not anymore. She felt free, safe, for the first time in years.

“S-so… search me if you wake up. I will wait”, Touko said, smiling again. She finally looked at his calm face, noticing a soft movement in his eyelids. 

A reflex, probably; he didn’t open his eyes the last time he did that, he wasn’t going to do it now. With this in mind, she turned to leave the room, not looking back. She wouldn’t go if she saw his face one more time, stuck at his side until something happened.

Something, anything… for better or worse.

“Miss Fukawa, where are you going?”, Aloysius (her friend’s butler, who was allowed to stay with Byakuya as he was closer with him than anyone else) wondered, having been waiting outside the room. In the Future Foundation there could be more than one visitor at a time, but not in a regular hospital. 

“I can’t w-wait anymore… He’ll probably won’t w-wake up, Aloysius, and I have a n-new job”, Touko answered, playing with her only braid. “I have to prepare e-everything for New Year…”

“Are you sure about that?”. The man offered her a biscuit from a paper bag, sitting in one of the chairs of the hallways. Chatter came from other rooms, making the girl feel calmer. “Won’t you feel lonely?”

Touko knew what he tried to do. She sat at his side anyways, grabbing the food he offered with a sigh. Aoi wasn’t the only one trying to convince her to stay, he was doing that too and the writer didn’t know why.

“K-Komaru will come with me”, she explained, taking a bit from the biscuit. It tasted good, with chocolate chips and a soft vanilla flavor. “I won’t be alone.”

“… Excuse me for interrogating you, Miss Fukawa. It is just… you and I are the only regular visitors that my young Master has”, Aloysius admitted, giving the girl a polite smile. “I know that he can seem harsh, or cold; a lack of visitors confirms that. So I gained curiosity about you.”

“Are we r-really the only ones that come here?”. Touko played with her fingers, a frown appearing in her face. The chatter from the other rooms had reduced to mere whispers and the occasional groans, and nurses took care of each patient that was in there. “I’ll h-have a talk with my classmates before I go away…”

“No, they do come. I was trying to say that we are the only ones that come every week, that make a space for him in our routines”, the man corrected, negating with his head. “Do not be angry at them, Miss Fukawa. It was my bad, as I had not expressed my thoughts as I should have.”

“O-oh… it’s alright, Aloysius”, the girl said, finishing her biscuit and smiling to him. “It was d-delicious, thank you.”

“My pleasure”, he answered, imitating her gesture. Someone moved behind them, and before they could say anything else, a nurse came out of a room(his), with wide eyes and sweat in her face. She recognized Touko, and stood in front of her as quick as possible, and the writer feared. Byakuya was dead, even if no alarm beeped from the monitors and machines that kept him healthy.

“You-”, the nurse interrupted herself, now noticing Aloysius. She sighed before continuing. “He wants to see you two.”

“He’s a-awake”, Touko exclaimed, her eyes barely holding tears that she forced herself to hide. “A-Aloysius, y-you were right, he w-woke up!”

Her companion just smiled, and the two were allowed to see her friend again, conscious after so long; Byakuya was laying in his bed, his pale blue gaze resting first in his butler, and then in Touko. She cleaned her tears, aware of how disgusting she looked with them, and Aloysius hugged him. He blinked, moving his arms at a slow pace to return the hug.

“What happened?”, were his first words in a while, said with a deep yet shaky tone, revealing the lack of use of his voice. Touko got closer to him, and the boy blinked again. “You said you had to go”, he remarked, squinting where she stood.

“Y-you w-woke up, and- and you r-remember… what I s-said”, the girl replied, making a grin to him even if he couldn’t see her well.

He smiled back and grabbed her hand, for the first time with both conscience and joy.

~

One good thing about living in a world that was recovering from despair, was the care that everyone gave to plants. Even in Winter, trees were strong and were in every corner.

The hospital had a small park, leaves from evergreens and snow mixed in its ground as the year was coming to an end. Nobody was out, coldness winning against the excitement of seeing the huge garden of the place.

Touko was a person that hated cold. She got sick thanks to it, and the feeling was horrible… but Byakuya had to exercise, recover mobility or something, and she just couldn’t say no to something so important regarding his health.

They were walking in silence, following a pebble road. Bare trunks were at each side of the path, looking a bit odd without their typical green tones.

“Have I been asleep for this long?”, Byakuya whispered to himself once they reached a bench, grabbing his friend’s arm to sit in a comfortable way. “It was April when we first raided Monaca.”

“Y-you were in a coma, Byakuya”, Touko gently reminded him, sitting at his side. “F-for… two years, almost three.”

“… It still is an unbelievable thing”, he admitted, unknotting his hair with his fingers. He didn’t want to cut it(and he honestly looked better with long hair, in Touko’s opinion). “The air is breathable. No acid falls from the sky when there is a storm… and all was solved so quickly.”

“Y-yeah, it’s weird at first”, the writer agreed, her head resting in Byakuya’s shoulder. He just stared at her, no complains leaving his mouth. “But it’s a-alright, we finally d-defeated Monaca, and everyone is working h-hard to not ruin the world again.”

“Defeat? What is this, a video game?”, he asked in an irritated tone, crossing his arms over his chest. “I doubt she was killed so easily, as she has been a pest like Enoshima was.”

“S-she did live in the space for two months.”

“See? A pest, adapted to live in any environment”, Byakuya finished, smirking as he relaxed again. Touko searched for his blue gaze, and was quickly drowned in the two puddles of his eyes. Byakuya separated her head from his shoulder as he stood up, looking at the ground instead of her face; he also stopped unknotting his hair.

His body was warm, warmer than what was expected in a snowy day, and Touko just wanted to hug him, to feel that sensation again…

“It is getting late. Let’s go back.”

He was dubious about something, yet the girl knew that he wouldn’t say a word about it. Too many worries, and he could get ill again…

“A-alright”, she replied, extending her hand to him. Byakuya hold it, and Touko could’ve swear she saw a reddish tone in his cheeks.

Touko smiled to herself and, damn, the work in Towa City wasn’t worthy of not being at his side. Writing was an escape from the rain, and her Sun had returned brighter than when the clouds covered it.

He was still processing everything, but a new softness was there, formed by the memories of tears and kisses in the hands, of whispers about casual things and books.

Both of them were happy how they were, in their own unique way, that they still had to decipher themselves.

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

blood and wine, chapter one

Here it is, the first chapter of my first-ever OC fanfiction. I hope you’ll give it a chance, even if it’s not what you would normally consider reading. If you admire me at all as an author, please give it a shot, as this story is very close to my heart. :)

Find it here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677440/chapters/33910176

Summary:

“It’s a scream that pulls her back to reality, one that is quickly muffled and cut off- but not before she’s able to pinpoint the source of the sound. She shouldn’t interfere, but she can’t quite bring her limbs to keep moving, to keep herself walking forward and far away from the sounds of a struggle. The man who shoves past her suddenly stiff body with a mumbled expletive doesn’t share her qualms, hurrying away even as her stare burns twin holes between his retreating shoulders.

Coward.

Then she’s alone beneath the flickering lights of the row of the half-broken lamps lining the street, and she’s moving towards the alley at a near-run. Her need to keep a low profile be damned, Maia is all-too familiar with the memory of what it feels like to be a girl whose screams are ignored.”

//

She’s an ex-assassin turned reluctant vigilante living in New York City. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: I know that most people avoid OC fanfiction, but I’m hoping that you’re here because my reputation as a somewhat decent writer has convinced you to give this a chance. :)

Now onto the important story stuff:

This will take begin by taking place roughly six months before Civil War, in late 2015, which is when it was canonically established that Peter Parker also began his vigilantism. For now, this story will be told from the OC’s POV, but that may be subject to change in later chapters. OC was born a year earlier than Peter, in 2000, making her a year older, and as of this chapter, 15.

Enjoy!

Chapter One: the price of salvation 

By the time Maia starts heading back to her apartment, a combination of the encroaching darkness and the biting cold seems to have been enough to have effectively chased most people back into the comfort of their homes. It’s only November, but the chill of the approaching winter has arrived early. She doesn’t mind the cold- she’s been in far worse situations to care about such a minor discomfort- and if the benefit of it is that the streets will be emptier, it’s an annoyance she’s more than willing to endure.

She lets her thoughts drift as she walks, imagines herself as one of the masses. Imagines returning to a brightly lit home with the scent of cooking food hanging heavy in the air and the sound of laughter to greet her ears as soon as she steps through the door, warm and genuine and purely inviting. It’s a silly, childish fantasy for her to indulge in, but it keeps her mind occupied for several blocks, so she allows it to drag on.

It’s a scream that pulls her back to reality, one that is quickly muffled and cut off- but not before she’s able to pinpoint the source of the sound. She shouldn’t interfere, but she can’t quite bring her limbs to keep moving, to keep herself walking forward and far away from the sounds of a struggle. The man who shoves past her suddenly stiff body with a mumbled expletive doesn’t share her qualms, hurrying away even as her stare burns twin holes between his retreating shoulders.

Coward.

Then she’s alone beneath the flickering lights of the row of the half-broken lamps lining the street, and she’s moving towards the alley at a near-run. Her need to keep a low profile be damned, Maia is all-too familiar with the memory of what it feels like to be a girl whose screams are ignored.

It takes less than a minute for her to beat the would-be rapist into unconsciousness. She feels like she’s cheated somehow, in trading a single minute of her time to save a woman now gasping out breathless strings of thanks in her direction. She’s spent so much of her life inflicting this same kind of violence, but never before for the benefit of people like the woman in front of her now, never in defense of the innocent.

Having the scales tip in a different direction is such a foreign feeling to her that it almost makes her dizzy. Even with Yasha on their hunts for the men who used to hold the whips, fighting never felt like this. It was still something dirty and brutal she had been wielding against the dirty and brutal men she used to serve.

Now, it feels like something else.

Now, it feels like salvation.

Concealing her face is nothing new to her, but by the time a fight usually begins she’s already ditched her wigs and false prostheses because people don’t usually get to walk away from her alive. Neither last very long once in-combat, anyways, and she doesn’t have the time or patience to apply them on a nightly basis. Nano masks are expensive and won’t withstand any real hits, and she’s really not in the mood to mimic common criminals by running around the city wearing what looks like a sock with cutouts for her eyes and mouth over her face. There’s the face-guard she’d worn on several missions that didn’t require a stealth infiltration, only straightforward assassination, but it works and feels like a muzzle, and she knows the design had been intentional.

Weapons didn’t need to talk. Weapons had mission objectives and targets to kill and no room for independent thought. And she may still be a weapon but that’s not all that she is anymore so she tucks the face-guard back into the bag she keeps in the corner of her closet where her old tactical suit and gear remains, having done nothing but gather dust for the past year. She’s outgrown what she used to be in the time since Yasha had set her free from the control of the Ouroboros in more ways than one.

The old bodysuit now feels tight and constrictive when she tries to slip into it again, and she remembers what it was like when her skin had clung close enough to her bones that it had been easy to count her ribs, one by one. They had liked to keep their weapon hungry, honed to a perpetually razor-sharp edge by discomfort and desperation. There had been times they wouldn’t let her sleep or eat for days just to test the limits of her body, her mind, her commitment to the task at hand, no matter how inane.

Now she understands what it’s like to be well-fed, to have enough flesh between skin and bone to dull the sharpness of her ribs and her collarbones. Her body is still sleek and muscled but no longer unhealthily slender, no longer bordering on breakable. Sometimes, in the dead of night when she can’t force herself to sleep, she likes to visit the 24-hour stores just to stare at the aisles full of food she can eat without waiting for a command, choices she can make without the heavy drum beat of a directive banging against the inside of her skull.

A month ago, she’d finally indulged herself and bought a fridge to furnish her apartment and had fought hard to keep from succumbing to the urge to self-punish for such a selfish, unnecessary act. She’d succeeded, then. A day later, Maia had ended up kneeling beside the bathtub and holding her head underwater until she’d almost passed out for treating herself to a hot cup of chai from a street vendor with kind eyes. She’d ended up on her back on the floor of the bathroom, vision blacking out at the edges as she struggled to breathe, hating herself for her failure to resist the voice inside her mind reminding her that she was an asset, and assets consumed sustenance for survival, not pleasure, and she deserved to hurt for the luxury of a single cup of chai. It was a battle she lost as often as she won, fighting to beat the vestiges of her programming back into the smallest, darkest corner of her mind.

In the end, she chooses a fitted black cloth neckpiece that she can keep around her throat until she needs to use it. It works well when she pulls it up to cover the lower half of her face, effectively concealing all of her features below her eyes. The lower end of it tucks neatly into the collar of the new custom black tactical suit that she’d used the man hired to act as her guardian to acquire. He was an accommodating man who didn’t mind taking orders from a girl less than half of his age, so long as she kept him on her payroll. The mask won’t provide much in the way of protection, but it‘ll keep her face concealed while still allowing her to speak, and that’s all she really needs.

None of the petty criminals and street thugs she confronts pose any real threat to her, but there’s still something exhilarating about the prospect of winning fights where she’s no longer on the wrong side. It’s new, different, and it doesn’t make her limbs feel heavy with regret when she lashes out with every intention of drawing blood.

The one rule she imposes upon herself is simple- no killing.

It takes longer to subdue her opponents sometimes, when she’s fighting a group and has to remind herself not to snap someone’s neck or crush anyone’s skull against the cement, but she leaves them all alive, albeit unconscious, and that’s a victory in and of itself for a girl who was raised to kill without a second thought. It costs her, leaving her with injuries she wouldn’t normally sustain if she didn’t care about leaving her opponents with a pulse, but every cut and bruise feels like a prize. She relishes the pain that she carries home with her after a night out on the streets, each and every single one of her aches serving as a reminder that she had left those people alive and with every reason not to step out of line again.

She’s been on the streets for nearly two weeks when she finally comes across another vigilante. The city turns out to have more of them than she expects, once she started paying attention. She’s seen blurry images of him on the news enough to already know who he is, but it still doesn’t stop a flicker of excitement from bursting to life in her veins when she finally meets the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

He moves in a way that has her wondering who trained him, aware of every single thing around him even without turning to look. She’s been trained similarly to be aware of her surroundings, but his spatial awareness is so obviously superior that she’s almost envious.

Maia watches him fight, patiently waiting at the opening of the alley where he’s currently beating the crap out of a couple of muggers. The would-be victim had already run past Maia and back out into the streets, clutching her bag and probably hurrying to retreat to the relative safety of her home. She hadn’t even spared the masked girl a second glance in her rush to flee.

When he’s finished- which she notes with a mild sense of disappointment because it would’ve been a genuine pleasure to continue to watch him fight- he turns to her and tilts his head in query.

“I’m not here to fight,” she says, mindful of the way he’s already tensed in preparation for an attack.

“Then what are you here for?” He growls back, something dark and dangerous lining the edges of his tone, a threat so visceral that she can almost feel it permeating the space between them.

Maia steps deeper into the alley, and the shadows embrace her form like an old friend.

“Well, it seems we’re in the same business, so I thought I should introduce myself.”

“You seem a little young to be in this business.”

She doesn’t allow herself to stiffen, even as her heart skips a beat at his words. Whoever the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is, he’s more perceptive than almost anyone else she’s ever come across. What gave it away? Maia’s trained her whole life to become a ghost, yet within a minute of introducing herself to this man in an alley, he can already tell that she’s still a teen?

“I took down those guys at the docks last week,” she tosses back, forcing herself to sound flippant and cold, “I think my age is the last thing you should be concerned about.”

It’s not quite a laugh that she manages to get of out him, but it’s close.

“I guess you’re right about that.” He nods, relaxing his stance and lowering his billy clubs to his sides. “What should I call you?”

Maia hums for a second, a little thrown by the question. She hadn’t quite considered creating a name for her nighttime alter ego yet. This new hobby of hers doesn’t feel so much as dressing up as it does dressing down, stripping away the costume of normalcy and returning to the truth at the core of her being, the part of her that has violence etched deep into the very marrow of her bones.

“Dealer’s choice,” she replies, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really laughs this time. It’s a rich, warm sound that echoes brightly in the quiet stillness of the alley.

“Alright. How about ‘Jane’?”

“As in, Jane Doe?” She doesn’t bother stopping the smirk that stretches across her lips, hidden beneath the fabric obscuring her face from view.

He shrugs, and the gesture makes the tiny horns of his mask catch some of the faint moonlight that trickles down from high above.

“Why not?”

She frowns, considering it. Something stirs in the recesses of her mind, and she tugs the memory loose with practiced caution. She thinks she was a Jane, once, in Europe. One of her earliest missions. But the memory holds no trace of blood, so she agrees with a shrug of her shoulders and the barest tilt of her head.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to be called ‘John,’ then.”

“You can call me Mike.” He smiles, then, almost wickedly, and she’s sure there’s a joke in there somewhere that she’s most definitely not in on.

But even beneath the mask, she finds herself smiling too, and just like that, Maia somehow ends up befriending the Devil.

to be continued...