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eg-writtenthoughts · 11 months

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'Scarred' Book Review & Thoughts

Scarred: The True Story of How I Escaped NXIVM, The Cult that Bound My Life

Sarah Edmonton (with Kristine Gasbarre); 2019

This is my first post, and what better book to start off with than Scarred by Sarah Edmonson? In 2017, Sarah was an integral part of the NXIVM whistleblowers. If you don’t recognize the name, NXIVM was a cult masquerading as a self-help company since the early 2000s. ‘Scarred’ solely focuses on Sarah’s story of being promoted through NXIVM and its Stripe Path while working on her “personal growth”.

HBO’s ‘The Vow’ was my first real introduction to NXIVM. After bingeing the first season on my (ex)boyfriend’s couch, my interest had peeked. The directors perfectly set the stage by the end of the first episode, to make the audience, myself included, think ‘oh, it doesn’t sound that bad. I get why people tried it.’

‘Scarred’ is written to make the reader feel like Sarah is writing her story to you, a personal friend. The first chapter is when the reader is given a dose of discomfort. It tells of the day Sarah was branded under the watchful eye of her best friend, Lauren. This was filmed on Lauren’s phone and sent to Keith Raniere, the leader of NXIVM. It feels like Sarah is saying “this is the worst that happened. Here it is. Everything else you’ll read just leads up to my worst moment.” The chapter itself has the feeling you get when watching a horror movie, knowing the girl checking the empty bedroom where she heard the mysterious sounds coming from, is going to die.

But then, as you’re about to be transported back to 2005 to start Sarah’s story, an image flashed through my mind. The moment in a movie where the crazy opening scene happens and the screen freezes on the main character’s warped face as the voice over says, “Hi there. Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.”

‘Scarred’ has a cathartic feeling. As a reader, you understand that you’re reading a part of Sarah’s healing process. Some of her experiences are shared on camera in ‘The Vow’, but in ‘Scarred’, she lays it all out. You understand her thought process as to why she joined, allowed herself to spend the money/do a work exchange to learn more, and the decade of her life to be promoted up the Stripe Path (NXIVM’s company hierarchy) before opening her own education centre in Vancouver, British Columbia.

While reading, I’d have loved more details. What sash did Nippy have when Sarah met him? Was Nancy’s home the one that every other senior leader copied? How long was David a member of NXIVM? Did Sarah collect Air Miles? Did Sarah and Bonnie have a friendship? (Do any of these questions make sense if you haven’t read the book? No, which is why you should read it) It often felt like she gave the bare minimum of what happened in any situation. But I still read it, all 222 pages. If I didn’t make any notes while I read, it would’ve taken me two days to finish.

The want for more information is a ‘me thing’. I always want to know more of somebody’s story if it’s out there. At the end of the day, I understand that Sarah (and her co-writer Kristine Gasbarre) could only share what’s important to her story.

And if you’re wondering, NXIVM had its notes of wisdom. People wouldn’t have joined if it didn’t. Sarah was able to share those tidbits throughout her book. It’s how she could rationalise the strange things and behaviours she witnessed over twelve years within the company. Genuinely, they had sentences in their curriculum that could be applied to someone’s life to make them feel just a little lighter. And yes, I said sentences. Anything more, Raniere went WILD with confusing sentences.

But of course, we know who created that curriculum. Every time I saw a sliver of sense, I thought “if it wasn’t NXIVM, this could be beneficial.”

Before I wrap up, I’d like to add that Sarah Edmonson is an absolute badass. I know she didn’t write this book to brag but holy crap, this woman has a work ethic and determination that I envy. The dedication she put into ESP (the company under the umbrella corporation NXIVM), to growing the first Canadian centre for ESP that she opened, to enrolling as many people as she could and helping them to expand their own personal growth, is admirable. I think she could run her own non-culty company any day.

But overall, this is a story Sarah could’ve kept in her drawer with her diary or in her therapist’s notebook. Her willingness to share her vulnerability with the anonymous audience is touching and admirable. In lamest terms, she’s warning everyone not to join a cult.

Do I think ‘Scarred’ is a good way to introduce people to the NXIVM story and crimes? As good as Sarah’s book is, no I don’t. I think if you want to know all of the details about NXIVM and the timeline leading up to the 2019 trial, you should watch ‘The Vow’ for that.

Through HBO, ‘The Vow’, a docu-series was released in 2019. Sarah, her husband Anthony “Nippy” Ames, and other whistleblowers, Mark Vicente (who can be thanked for most of the in-the-moment NXIVM footage), Bonnie Piesse, and Catherine Oxobrough appear heavily in the first season. The second season focuses heavily on the trial of Keith Reniere, NXIVM’s creator and “Vanguard”. (I’d like to personally add that I cannot see the word vanguard now without being a little creeped out.)

After you watch the documentary series and pick your jaw off the ground, listen to ‘A Little Bit Culty’, Sarah’s and Nippy’s podcast (which I avidly listen to) and read ‘Scarred’. You read with Sarah’s empathy and wholesomeness in your head to know that she wasn’t your stereotypical person to fall for a cult. She was able to rationalise it and other than a few times, I don’t want to rip my hair out at just how obviously manipulative the people around her were.

My final note… ‘Coercive control’ is a term that’s becoming more familiar to the American legal system thanks to the NXIVM case. The United States Assistant Attorneys were able to show the 2019 jury that the women charged along with Raniere weren’t doing the horrible acts they committed because it’s what they wanted. They were manipulated (brainwashed, if you will), by Raniere, something he was highly talented at. Some of these women were under his influence for 20 years! Coercive control was recently mentioned in another high profile case; this time in Hollywood. Danny Masterson, of That 70s Show fame, was charged with the SA of three women. Masterson has been convicted at the time of writing this blog post.

#NXIVM #BLOG POST #TRUE CRIME #true story #sarah edmonson #book review #nonfiction #cults #tw cults

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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oh if you did a little something for jonmartin and "hiding their face in the other’s neck" i would be so 🥺💕

touches prompt list

a little post-circus kidnapping hurt/comfort! cw for wounds/injury, mild blood, mentions of non-consensual touching, and mentions of kidnapping

There is a stranger’s elbow digging into Jon’s side.

He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his side while surreptitiously giving the stranger a glare that he hopes adequately conveys his dislike of the current situation. The tube is packed, as it always is at this time of day, and there are… so many strange hands. An elbow, at least, is better than the hand that had pressed to his back as the individual it belonged to had instinctively tried to maintain their balance.

After all, Nikola didn’t touch him with her elbows.

Jon doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He wants to lie down in a soft bed and get his first good night’s sleep in a month and finally have the space to process. Alone.

Instead, Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

“I have a flat,” Jon had said uncomprehendingly when Martin had suggested (or rather, gently begged) that Jon come back to his flat with him. “It’s, um. It’s nice. Spacious. S-sturdy locks.”

“You… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Martin had said, sounding and looking very much like he wished Jon would anyway.

“I’m fine.” Jon was not fine. But he could be fine until he got back to his flat. It was always good to have a short-term goal.

Martin gave him a look that clearly said that he thought Jon was full of shit. Jon was, but it was still unnecessary. He was just trying to keep it together. What did Martin want—him sobbing and crumpling to the floor right here in the Archives? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You were kidnapped. Twice now. I really don’t want it to happen a third time. Besides, I…” Martin trailed off and fluttered his hands at his sides. “I—I should take a look at your hand. And your, um. Wrists.”

Jon looked down at his arms. They were, indeed, quite red and raw and scabbed over and likely to scar. Nikola had been irritated when she’d seen that he’d been tied up so tightly, but she’d decided there was nothing to be done about it. She would just ‘make do with what she had.’ And, well. She had never stopped Breekon and Hope when they’d cinched the ropes just a little bit tighter each time.

“I have first aid supplies in my flat,” Jon lied. He was fairly certain that he had a backpack of What the Ghost merchandise and a single mattress to his name at the moment. “I can take care of it.”

“So can I.” Martin took a deep breath. “I just… I don’t want to see you hurt, Jon.” His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, and he looked over Jon’s shoulder at the wall behind him. “J-just for tonight, at least? I want…” Martin swallowed. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

And then Martin had turned those lovely blue eyes to his, and, well. Here they are.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have long-term goals as well. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying. He achieves this easily enough. He finally escapes the cloying presence of strangers as Martin’s door shuts behind them, and then it’s blissfully quiet. Martin flips on a light, illuminating the space in pale yellow. It’s a little bit messy but otherwise spartan. The walls are painted a dull eggshell white, the floor made of cheap lino. Martin sits Jon down on the couch and disappears into the bathroom. Jon stares at the wall and focuses on breathing evenly and thinking about anything other than how smooth his skin feels when he slowly rubs his fingers together.

Step two: let Martin bandage his wounds without crying. This is… more challenging, if only because it hurts. Martin apologizes profusely as he wets a cotton ball with isopropyl alcohol and gently cleans the inflamed areas. Jon sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, focusing on anything other than the stinging, burning sensation in his wrists and hands. Funny—he’d thought that at this point, he would be used to the pain, but he’s not. All he knows now is what to expect.

Martin carefully wraps his hand and wrists in bandages. For a moment after he’s done, he delicately holds Jon’s hands in his like they’re porcelain. His hands are warm and soft, and Jon imagines how lovely they would feel against his cheeks. He thinks briefly that Martin is going to raise his unbandaged hand to his lips and lay a kiss across the back of it, but Martin doesn’t. Instead, he sets Jon’s hands back in his lap and stands, mumbling that he’s going to go make some tea.

Jon scrubs his uninjured hand across his eyes, just once.

Step three: sit on the couch with Martin and drink tea without crying. Martin presses a mug of steaming chamomile into his good hand and lays a plate of biscuits between them. “Th-they’re your favorite,” Martin says with a small, nervous laugh, like Jon’s not already staring at the plate with something choked sitting in the back of his throat. “I—I figured you probably haven’t really eaten today, and… I don’t really know what you’ve eaten lately. So, um. Yeah.”

Jon thinks of the things that Nikola had called food, then chooses not to think of them at all. He tucks the memory into a box next to cold hands and exposed skin and burning ropes and slams the lid before it can all come spilling back out again. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. He gingerly takes a biscuit in his stiff, aching hand that hasn’t had the time to heal properly and probably won’t get the chance to do so in the future and pops it into his mouth whole so he doesn’t get crumbs on Martin’s couch.

Step four: eat a biscuit that tastes like the best biscuit you’ve ever had and is the first palatable food you’ve had in weeks without crying.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks and comes back to himself. He’s staring blankly at Martin’s face, at eyebrows folded in concern and mouth curled into a small frown. Martin’s freckles are smudged into smears of tan, and the lines of his jaw waver like a mirage in front of Jon’s eyes. That’s odd, Jon thinks. Then, he feels something wet hit the top of his cheek.

Oh, no.

Quickly, Jon reaches up and scrubs the tears away from his eyes. As soon as he lowers his hand, more spring up in their place. He curses and sets his mug of tea down heavily on the table, taking one more look at Martin—whose eyes are now wide with worry—before turning away and attempting to pull himself together.

Step five: stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying.

(Stop crying, his grandmother says as he stands in the living room, hands and knees dirty and hair a mess. He’s managing to say words between his sobs, words like book and stole and spider. She’s frowning at him, but her voice is still patient and calm when she says, You’re not making any sense, Jonathan. Stop crying, please, and speak clearly. You had a nightmare?)

“Jon, what’s—” Martin catches himself, which Jon is thankful for. He thinks that if Martin had finished that question—asked him what’s wrong—Jon wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from saying, what isn’t? “What can I do to help?” he says instead, a hand hovering carefully in the air between them like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Jon or not.

“Don’t look,” Jon manages to say. He immediately feels ridiculous and follows with a quick: “S-sorry, it’s—I don’t k-know how to—I’m not—I’m n-not good at—”

“I’m not looking,” Martin says softly.

Jon cuts off, takes a breath, and turns his head back toward Martin. True to his word, Martin has his eyes closed, though his hand remains in the air between them. Jon presses his good hand to his mouth for a moment to hide how the sight rips a new, more ragged sob out of him. Then, tentatively, he reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand.

Martin inhales sharply. Jon almost lets go, but Martin curls his fingers around Jon’s hand and squeezes. He holds Jon’s hand tightly yet so achingly softly, and Jon could weep. (Or rather, is weeping.)

“Can I hug you?” Martin says abruptly, like he’d been fighting an internal battle about whether or not to say it and had just lost. His cheeks darken, but he doesn’t say anything else or take it back. His jaw shifts as he pinches his lips together and worries them back and forth.

Jon is… not the kind of person who initiates or seeks out hugs. He always makes them too stiff, or he holds on just a bit too long and makes them awkward, or he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and ends up just dangling them uselessly in the air. He’s also never really seen the point of them if he’s being honest. As a form of greeting, surely handshakes or waves or head nods get the point across just fine. Right now, though, there is truly nothing in the world that Jon thinks would make him feel safer than having Martin’s arms around him.

Jon nods, then remembers that Martin can’t see him and whispers, in as composed a voice as he can muster: “Please.”

Step six: hug Martin Blackwood without falling apart completely.

Martin’s arms are soft and warm around him. His chest is flush with Jon’s, and he’s holding him so close that Jon is practically on Martin’s lap. All Jon can think is that it’s been so long since he’s been held by something not made of sawdust or plastic. He grips the back of Martin’s jumper with lotion-soft hands and cries tears that have been collecting for a month into the fabric as he buries his face in Martin’s neck. Martin’s hands rub large circles across Jon’s back, and he’s whispering gentle words into Jon’s ear. Things about safe and okay and time and here.

By the time Jon feels thoroughly wrung dry, his cheeks are sticky and his head is throbbing and he’s desperately in need of a glass of water. He takes a few deep breaths, then carefully extracts himself from Martin’s arms. Martin lets him go easily, though his hands remain resting lightly on Jon’s elbows as if he can’t bear to let him go completely.

Jon thinks he knows the feeling.

Martin’s eyes are still closed, and Jon is hit with such a swell of affection he can hardly breathe around it. “Y-you can open your eyes,” he says, a bit sheepishly. Martin does, and if he’s affected by the state of Jon’s face, he doesn’t show any indication of it. “Sorry,” Jon mumbles, twisting his ring—now on his left middle finger instead of his right—around and around mindlessly. “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s elbows gently. “I understand. Any time you need me to look away, I will. Okay? I just…” He takes a breath. “I’ll always be here. F-for you when you need me.”

If Jon weren’t thoroughly out of tears, that would make his eyes water. Instead, he nods and offers a small, weak smile. “I know. Thank you, Martin. It… just. Thank you.”

Step seven: fall asleep safe against Martin’s side in the bed that he insists is big enough for two, face pressed into Martin’s neck once again and hands curled loosely in Martin’s sleep shirt.

He’s so drained by the time they’re there, so wrung-out and empty and relaxed, that he manages to do so almost immediately. He thinks he hears Martin murmur, “Sleep well, love,” as he drifts off. But it disappears into the fuzzy border between sleep and wakefulness, slipping from Jon’s mind entirely as he fades to black.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #willoftitanium #my fic #my writing

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Partner

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing, Mentions of injury

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

Summary: Following the final battle in the Dimitrescu Castle, Ethan is surprised to stumble upon a person who witnessed the whole debacle, offering him a safe place to patch up his wounds and rest for a little while.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! So sorry you’ve had to wait so long but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“That was...something else.“ Ethan Winters mutters to himself as he limps his way out of the Dimitrescu Castle which is now vacant in terms of residence - his doing. He killed Alcina Dimitrescu and her daughters, all arguably in self defense and with little guilt to follow. However, plenty of trauma’s definitely attached to him following the horrific events he had to go through and the things he had to see between the walls of those luxurious rooms hiding dark secrets of the vampires who took pleasure in torturing people, and wreaking havoc over the villagers who feared them.

“At least they won’t hurt anyone any longer.“ He tells himself, giving the monster of a structure one final look before he continues back towards the center of the village where he’s gonna rethink what he’s got to do next, gather his bearings, take a breath and keep going. He has no other option but to keep going, he won’t allow himself to quit no matter what danger he faces. In his mind, he’s convinced himself that he’s already seen the worst, it’s easier on him that way, it suppresses the fear he’d feel otherwise. The last thing he wants is to think what’s in store for him ahead, he’d rather focus on what’s up to him to do next.

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice startles him, causing him to whip out his gun and point it in the direction it came from. However, he quickly finds his deadly tight grip loosening ever so slightly because he realizes he’s pointing the barrel at a very human-looking and seemingly harmless person.

“Who are you? Who’s ‘we’?“ Ethan still refuses to let his guard down though, just cause it may not be a life or death situation, doesn’t mean this person won’t bring him trouble and Lord knows that’s the last thing he needs right now.

On instinct, the person takes a step back, “I speak on the behalf of all the remaining villagers. I mean, it was only a matter of time before we too became victims in the Dimitrescu Castle basement. I was next, actually, but the commotion you created allowed for me to escape. I owe you my life, foreigner.“ The speak hurriedly and in a hushed tone, as if the fear of their torturers overhearing them still lives within them despite the monsters being deceased.

“Glad I could help you.“ He nods curtly, remaining at the distance of seven feet between them, “My name’s Ethan Winters by the way.“

They give him the tiniest of smiles, “Y/N L/N, pleased to meet you.” Their gaze gives him a quick onceover, assessing the damage the horrors of the castle have inflicted on him. Their eyes widen in shock at the many bleeding wounds all over his body but what appears to rattle them most is the severe injury that’s causing his limp as well as the missing finger - a poorly wrapped would that has surprisingly not started getting infected yet. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t trust you to take care of yourself either. I live in that windmill over there in the outskirts, come with me, I’ll help you with...well, with all that. You seem rather hopeless at medical care.”

While he could refuse their offer, he wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that they’re right - he knows the basics of first aid, but his injuries are far too gone for simple first aid, especially when taken into account that he doesn’t even have any supplies. How he’s not died from blood loss is a surprise to him as much as it is to them.

“What’s my guarantee you won’t turn on me?“ He finally asks after a decent amount of time contemplating it.

They shrug, “You have none. But, you have the guarantee that if I turn on you, you’ll be the one coming out of that altercation alive.” Their gaze sizes up the guns he’s got on him, emphasizing their point.

Suddenly, Ethan feels sorta ridiculous - after all, guns or no guns, he could probably take on them easily with just his knife. Regardless, no one can blame him for being cautious. “Fine.“ He mutters, “But please don’t turn on me, I’ve already had one hell of a day.“

Y/N nods, motioning for him to follow them, “I promise I won’t.”

* * *

“Wow, what a back-stabber! Some friends you have, Winters.“ Y/N comments as they set down a cup of tea on the small wooden table in front of the freshly patched up Ethan.

Turns out, he made the right move by trusting them - they used to be the village’s main nurse until it all went to hell and they went to hide in the shadows of their windmill where they, as evidenced, still are today. That being said, not only did they have all the necessary equipment to fix him up, but they also had the skills and knowledge needed to use that equipment.

“There are those friends who borrow money from you and never pay you back and there are those who shoot your wife randomly while you two are trying to have dinner. Two types of friends out there really.“ He sighs, his tired, a thousand yard stare following the path of the steam levitating from the cup that’s been placed in front of him. “I have no time to dwell on that right now though. My daughter is in grave danger and I have no idea where I should even start looking for her.“

Y/N sits down on a chair opposite his, “Well, you’ve already defeated one of the village Lords looking for Rose, process of elimination should reveal where she is - wherever she is, it has to be one of the Lords’ residence. Mother Miranda trusted Lady Dimitrescu most so it’s a wonder why she wasn’t there, but then again, Heisenberg’s factory is damn near impenetrable, one cannot enter unless he wants them to so she could have entrusted her precious cargo to him.”

“How do I get to that fucker?“ Ethan tightens his hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turn white. There’s so much within him, so much that’s happened to him, so much in such a short amount of time and he’s had no time to deal with any of it. He’s a volcano waiting to erupt, but he has to do so at the right time - in front of the right danger to show he’s not hopeless or weak as his opponent may think. “Where do I find him?“

“He’s in the outskirts too just on the other side of the village.“ They sigh, regretting every word they are saying since they know they are just feeding him information on how to get himself in the worst kind of danger he’s probably ever been in. “That key you have, it’s not complete to access his quarters yet. By the looks of it...“ they observe the key Ethan has placed on the table, “You can only get to Lord Donna Beneviento’s estate, and I wouldn’t suggest heading there before you heal at least a bit more. Her and her dolls are a real nightmare. Of course, I haven’t experienced it for myself, but the stories are enough to get an idea.“

“So you’re telling me I have to waste my time with the little fish before I can finally get to Rose? You know how long that’ll take? You know how long she’ll have to be at the mercy of a fucking lunatic until I can finally save her?!“ Ethan snaps, banging his fist against the table, bad idea considering his hand’s been just patched up. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his arm that makes him hiss.

“I get it, I understand, Ethan. But you are a lot less likely to get to your daughter if you’re dead, you know.“ Y/N cautiously explains, their eyes narrowing a bit as they wait for the pearl white bandages to soak crimson, sighing in relief when they don’t. “Speaking of how likely you may or may not be to get to her on time, I’d also have to mention your odds would be significantly higher if you were to receive help from someone else. You’d need someone to have your back throughout all the shit you’re about to go through, especially Heisenberg’s factory where two eyes are not enough to track each and every threat that might pounce at you.“

Calmer now, Ethan gives them a puzzled look, “What are you suggesting?“

“I’m suggesting - well, I’m offering you my partnership.“ They explain, watching his expression change to one of knowing and understanding. “Of course, you’d have to give up one of those guns and hand it down to me, but I think that’s a small price to pay in exchange for an extra pair of eyes and limbs to guard and help you.“

Ethan’s first instinct is to decline. He can’t afford to see another person dying around him or because of him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But then again, just like he had no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on him, he has none that they’ll die. Of course, he’ll do everything in his power to keep them and himself alive and they don’t seem like they are in it to half-ass it either. Quite the contrary, they seem perfectly determined and ready to face the same shit he’s about to.

“What do you get in return?“ He asks, his gaze suspiciously measuring each line on their face to gauge their true intentions. He’s a complete stranger to them, they’d have no reason to be this selfless for him, it’s obvious they are aiming at something bigger.

Y/N scoffs, leaning back in their chair with a small bitter smile on their face, their gaze resting on the tabletop and avoiding his, “You really wanna know? I want my revenge - revenge for what they did to this village, to me, to so many people I cared about and to those I didn’t even know. But...” they trail off, pausing to sigh out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But I also wanna redeem myself. I knew I should’ve done all in my power to stop them when their havoc was still on the rise, I knew I should’ve done more, but I didn’t. And now I’ll die trying.”

“You won’t die.“ He says sharply, barely a second after the last word left their lips, “I won’t allow it.“ He adds, taking a bit of the edge off his voice.

Their eyes come up to meet his, searching for what he means, “Does that mean...“

“It sure does, partner.“ Within the blink of an eye, his pistol is on the table, fully loaded and free for their taking, “You just give a green light and we’re off.“

Y/N lets out a sound between a laugh and a gasp as their hands quickly wrap around the gun, looking at it in disbelief before whispering a quick ‘thank you’. Ethan allows them to marvel at it for a bit longer but they don’t wait another second. “Get your ass up, Winters. We have monsters to kill.”

He needn’t be told twice

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somethingwritey · 3 years

Note

How is the Rangshi long fic coming? Id love an update on ittttt!

Hello! I'm so glad you're still thinking about my Rangshi fic! It's currently around 20k at the moment—definitely getting a bit carried away!

Because you asked, here's another little out-of-context snippet ;)

-----

“Do you think the spirits would mind if I assassinated a world leader?”

Jinpa jerked his head up at the question, risking a glance behind him at her. Kyoshi knew she must be a sight to behold, laying out across the wide saddle and staring up at the darkening clouds. In her hands, she opened and closed a fan in time to her pounding pulse.

“I don’t think that’s listed as an Avatar duty,” Jinpa stammered, thoroughly taken aback by her proposal.

“Bummer.”

Jinpa was quiet for a few moments, no doubt trying to edge around the subject towards her reasoning. “I take it that meeting with the Fire Lord went… poorly?”

Kyoshi propped herself up on her elbows to stare him in the face. She hoped he could read how absolutely stupid that question had been. She’d emerged from the Fire Lord’s palace by stomping, causing tiny earthquakes as she marched over to the stables. That should’ve been indication enough.

“He’s out of control.” Kyoshi shivered—Rangi’s absence making itself very apparent just then; she could always be counted on for a little extra warmth while traveling.

Kyoshi went back to staring at the sky.

Zoryu’s words about the Firebender still echoed in her ears, doing more to chill her than the night air ever could. She wished she could put more distance between Rangi and the Fire Lord, despite being hidden away in Yokoya.

For a terrifying moment, she wondered if Zoryu somehow knew. If he could see the girl in her cotton shift, laid out on the infirmary bed with her hands knotted in the sheets. If he had discovered a way to look at the bruises on her face and the way her breath still rattled slightly whenever she breathed. Maybe this whole meeting had been a distraction, a diversion to take Kyoshi away from the infirmary and Rangi. Maybe, it was too late.

“Jinpa!” Kyoshi felt her heart pounding in her ears. “Fly faster!”

She worked herself up as they flew, imagining horrific scenes of injury and destruction—rivaling the iceberg or North Chung-Ling - only this time, it would absolutely be her fault. If anything happened to Rangi, the Flying Opera Company, even Hei-Ran and Atuat, she would be to blame.

Kyoshi gripped the edge of the saddle, her knuckles turning white from the effort. She watched the ground grow closer and closer as Yingyong spiralled into a descent. Her chest tightened with every drop in altitude, and once, she almost slipped over the edge and plummeted the last several feet to the ground.

“Quiet evening.” Jinpa seemed on the whole unaware of her own personal panic. He landed Yingyong with ease and dismounted, walking around the side of the bison to assist Kyoshi like he always did.

She didn’t wait for the monk to make it over to her. She tumbled from the saddle, falling hard onto the ground and scrambling back up to her feet.

“Kyoshi!” he yelled after her in disbelief.

She didn’t turn around, stumbling towards the infirmary to what she knew would be waiting for her. Blindly, she pushed open the door and tripped over the doorway, panting and gasping for air, to find -

No evidence of violence. No ransom note or bodies or trails of blood. Just Hei-Ran and Atuat sitting in a few chairs with bowls of noodles, with the rest of the Flying Opera Company still bedridden, but looking more vibrant than before. Even Rangi looked, on the whole, unchanged, propped up in bed. Someone had even taken the time to put her hair back up in its usual topknot.

“Well,” Hei-Ran said dryly, taking in Kyoshi’s haggard appearance. “Are you being pursued by wolfbats? Lion vultures? Spider snakes, perhaps?”

Kyoshi’s face flushed red, and she tried hard to catch her breath - smoothing down her skirts to remove the ruffles.

“Did the monk get eaten?” Atuat asked calmly, taking another bite of her noodles. Clearly, the two women were enjoying the joke at Kyoshi’s expense.

Rangi covered her mouth, looking as though she was trying to keep a straight face for Kyoshi’s sake and failing at it. Kyoshi glared at her.

“Not you, too.”

A little snort escaped Rangi’s fingers, and her eyes went wide.

“Some bison ride you must’ve had,” Kirmia ventured, surveying Kyoshi’s windswept state. “What did happen to that Airbender of yours?”

Kyoshi gestured out the door. “Probably unsaddling Yingyong,” she told them all, still somewhat out of breath. “I, uh, just needed to check something.”

“The Fire Lord put you on edge?” Hei-Ran put down her bowl of noodles, staring hard at Kyoshi.

She forced herself to look back calmly. The last thing she wanted was to let everyone know that she’d gotten worked up over some unfulfilled threats. And now that she was here, even Kyoshi could tell how stupid she’d been. The infirmary was the safest place for Rangi right now, surrounded as she was by Hei-Ran and Atuat and unable to make any wrong move the Fire Lord could use to justify an attack.

Kyoshi forced a smile, relaxing her shoulders the best she could. “Nothing of the sort.” She tucked her fans back into her belt. “The meeting was simply to confirm what he already knew. Pretty big waste of time, actually.”

Hei-Ran was still studying her skeptically, probably trying to pinpoint the reason for Kyoshi’s sudden change in demeanor. Kyoshi dared to look over at Rangi again.

Her expression mirrored her mother’s, lips slightly pursed and head tilted to the side. If Kyoshi didn’t want Hei-Ran to discover the true nature of her meeting with Zoryu, she definitely didn’t want Rangi figuring it out.

Rangi’s station meant everything to her, and she took her job very seriously. If she knew that her own Fire Lord was pondering possible ways to strip the girl of her life - or worse, her honor - she would lose it.

Kyoshi had already seen how Fire Nation citizens treated their disgraced ranking officials. Hei-Ran had been pitied, patronized, pet like an animal. If anyone were to take that tone with Rangi, well, Kyoshi couldn’t promise that she would be able to keep her Avatar State in check.

“Care for some noodles?” Atuat gestured to her own bowl, holding it up for Kyoshi to see.

There was no way Kyoshi could turn down food. She hadn’t eaten since… well, Kyoshi couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d eaten, and she could feel Rangi staring daggers at her.

“Yeah,” she smiled at Atuat. “Noodles would be great.”

////

It was three days before Rangi was able to stand.

Atuat worked on her the best she could, trying to heal the internal damage caused by Yun. She told Kyoshi that bits of his earth dagger had broken off inside her wound, causing irritation and leaving a large possibility for infection. It didn’t help that Rangi was a terrible patient.

“I can get up,” she kept insisting. “I’m fine!”

When Atuat finally let her try, Rangi leapt at the opportunity, getting to her feet much too quickly and nearly doubling over from lingering stiffness and pain.

“Careful!” Kyoshi cried, hovering nearby. The outburst earned her stares from both Rangi and Atuat.

When Rangi straightened up again—slower this time—Kyoshi could see the imprint of the bandages under her shift - wrapped generously around her torso like battle armor.

“Are you sure she should be doing this?” Kyoshi asked Atuat, probably only fueling Rangi’s determination. “She’s still got bandages on! What if she starts bleeding again? We can try again tomorrow! Or next week!”

“Kyoshi, what’s your problem?” Rangi narrowed her eyes.

She was being far too overprotective, Kyoshi knew. She should back off. Let Rangi manage her own recovery. But even though it was inviting Rangi’s wrath, Kyoshi didn’t want her Firebender’s stubbornness to impede her healing process.

Rangi needed to take it slow. Make sure she didn’t make things worse with her rush to get better. As much as Kyoshi wanted to see her girl back on her feet, she knew it wouldn’t benefit either of them if it happened too quickly.

That’s what Kyoshi told herself as she watched Atuat support Rangi and instruct her to gently raise and lower her arms - stretching out her muscles. Kyoshi just didn’t want Rangi to overextend herself. To tear open her wound. To hurry an infection along. Her concern was born from love and care, not selfishness.

Or cowardice.

As if to poke holes in her reasoning, Hei-Ran entered the tent, arms crossed. “Jinpa told me your meeting with the Fire Lord ended… abruptly.” She glanced over at Atuat and Rangi for the briefest of moments. “Rangi, straighten your shoulders. Injuries don’t excuse bad posture.”

Rangi huffed, but obediently did as she was told. She respected her mother’s authority, whether she liked it or not.

Kyoshi picked her next words carefully. Lying to Hei-Ran was never a good idea, but neither was letting on just how badly the meeting had actually gone. “I think… the messages of both parties had ample time for sinking in.”

The words could’ve come straight from Yun’s mouth—vague with just the right amount of high-brow language. Maybe she wasn’t a hopeless cause after all.

Hei-Ran seemed surprised by the response as well. “I see. And what message did the Fire Lord impart on you?”

Shit.

Kyoshi tried to think on her feet. “Politics,” she said at last. “The importance of… political relations.”

“Sounds like the stuff Jianzhu used to preach,” Rangi offered, crinkling up her nose at the mention of the departed sage.

Hei-Ran sniffed dismissively at the mention of the man who’d nearly poisoned her to death. Kyoshi wondered inwardly if the woman ever mourned Jianzhu, despite everything. He had once been her close companion, after all.

Every one of Hei-Ran’s old friends were gone, she suddenly realized - swallowing hard. Kuruk. Kelsang. Jianzhu. The once-inseparable gang hadn’t stayed that way for very long. Hei-Ran was the sole survivor.

Killed after hunting dark spirits.

Murdered by Jianzhu.

Murdered by Yun. And me.

What terrible fates had been waiting for the previous Avatar team, often at the hands of each other. Was that what waited for her? For Rangi? For Wong and Kirimia? Was every Avatar doomed to bring failure and annihilation to the people who loved them most?

“Atuat,” she said sharply, turning to look at Rangi who’d made good progress accompanied by the Waterbender. “That’s enough for today.”

“Yes, Avatar.”

As Atuat moved to help Rangi back to bed, Rangi protested - an angry haze settling over her face as she watched Kyoshi move towards the door.

“What?” Rangi twisted in Atuat’s grip, trying to break free, to run after her. “Who let her call the shots around here? Kyoshi, don’t you dare walk away from me! I’m not through talking about this!”

Kyoshi didn’t turn around. She couldn’t.

“Fine! Go clear your head! See if I care!”

And then Kyoshi made it out of earshot.

She would delay Rangi’s recovery as long as she possibly could, drag it out until the spirits themselves were begging the Firebender to get back on her feet. Because at least here in the infirmary, tucked away in Yokoya, she had people to keep her safe. She couldn’t get herself thrown into another life-threatening situation while she was still recuperating from the last one.

Kyoshi wouldn’t be the reason for Rangi’s obliteration.

And neither would Zoryu.

---

more coming soon! my commissions are open (and so is my ask box!)

#rangshi #atla #rise of kyoshi #kyoshi x rangi #longfic #writing commissions #fanfic #shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi #avatar kyoshi #avatar the last airbender #rangi x kyoshi #fan fic #fic update

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Note

It's been a while, but the Undertaker role on Friday night among us got me thinking!

The glitch where a player doesn't die instantly after being injured happens again, this time to Etho. He's in shock at first and can't communicate what's going on, and the Undertaker imposter (pick who might go best with Etho) starts to drag him away. The Imposter quickly realises that somehow, horribly, this guy isn't actually dead, and makes a snap decision to drag him to the medbay and try to save him rather than hiding the body, knowing they'll probably get seen on the way and have their cover blown. Whether or not the Imposter succeeds in their first aid attempt is up to you!

(Also gives room to explain Etho's absense that night with him having to recover from the glitch! Fluffy recovery opportunities!)

yay for the return of the long-and-painful-death glitch! lol

technically a sequel to this one

...

It’s the first match of the session and the tension is palpable. The newest role has everyone quietly excited: the Undertaker role, allowing an imposter to move a body from one place to another. It’s such a simple thing and yet, as with all the special roles, it could be a game-changer.

Crewmate Etho is on his own again, monitoring the cameras in security. There’s six people left and even though they’ve already ejected Impulse, Etho isn’t completely convinced it was him. He has two suspects in mind, and he wants to make sure he knows where they are.

But all of a sudden, he hears the vent flap open and he spins around…

...just in time to see a flash of green and feel a sharp pain in his stomach.

Etho sinks to his knees, pressing his hand against the wound to try and help the pain. He lets himself collapse to the floor, the agony dulling his senses and threatening to pull him under. He’s not even attempting to stem the blood flow; he knows he’ll be dead in seconds.

But seconds go by.

A minute.

He doesn’t die.

His mind is fuzzy. But he knows something is wrong. He just can’t do anything about it except lie on the ground and slowly bleed out.

Eventually, something takes hold of him under the arms and starts to drag him away. Even though he’s seconds from death, he feels a bolt of panic and he lets out a groan.

Immediately, the grip on him is released and at the same time, he hears a quiet yelp: “HOLY fu-!”

A very brief pause.

“E-Etho…? Are you… alive…?”

This time, Etho can’t muster another noise. But as he attempts to move his hand, arm, leg, anything, his chest spasms and he lets out an involuntary cough.

“Oh my actual god, you ARE alive…!”

Etho is able to identify the voice now, and it’s one of the people he suspected of being the imposter.

But before he can make another attempt to speak or move, Brody takes hold of him again and continues dragging him. More panic hits him; Brody must be the Undertaker but he knows Etho’s not dead, so where is he taking him? He wishes he could look but when he opens his eyes, the world around him is still too fuzzy for him to register where he is.

Finally, Brody stops dragging him and heaves him up. Etho can’t work out what Brody is trying to do until he registers a soft surface below him and he realises.

Brody has brought him to medbay.

“Stay with me, Etho,” Brody murmurs, hurriedly collecting up first aid supplies. The benefit of being an imposter here is the fact that he’s able to shut the medbay doors to ensure he’s not disturbed.

But he realises there are two people who need to know about this.

Thankfully, one of them vents into the room just as Brody is cutting open Etho’s shirt to access the wound.

“Brody, what on earth are you doing?” Astro demands. “What is this?”

Brody fixes him with such a serious look that a chill runs down Astro’s spine. “Astro, there’s been a glitch. When you stabbed Etho, he didn’t quite die.”

Astro stares at him in shock. “Wh-What?”

“He’s still alive and suffering horrible pain. Astro, I need you to go get Evil.”

Astro, frozen in horror at what he’s caused, doesn’t move.

“Go get Evil!” snaps Brody, giving him a quick push. “Just GO!”

Managing to shake himself into action, Astro jumps back into the vent.

Brody turns back to Etho and finishes cleaning up the wound. Unfortunately, the majority of the machinery in medbay is just for show, so he can’t assess any internal injuries Etho has. But all he really needs to do is keep Etho alive until the game ends.

As Brody is patching up the wound, the medbay doors slide open and Astro reappears, followed by Evil. Astro closes the medbay doors again while Evil dashes over to the bed, his worried eyes asking a silent question.

“It happened again,” Brody confirms.

“Again?!” Astro bursts out. “This has happened before?”

Evil nods slowly, ignoring Astro. “You two are the imposters, then?”

“Yeah. But I don’t care about that now. I just need to keep Etho alive until the game ends. The post-game process will heal him.”

“Guys, WHAT are you talking about?” Astro demands. “What’s going on?”

Brody huffs annoyedly. “Evil, catch him up.”

As Evil explains, Brody finishes patching up Etho’s injury and starts to wrap a bandage around his body. Throughout all of this, Etho has remained pale and still, prompting Brody to continually check his pulse. He’s still alive, but barely. Brody’s treatment is helping him cling onto life.

Evil appears back at Etho’s side. “How is he?”

“Hanging in there. Where’s Astro?”

Evil points over at the corner near the vent, where Astro is sitting against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest, his face buried in his hands.

“What’s wrong with him?”

As a response, Evil simply gestures to Etho.

After a moment, Brody sighs and hands the tail end of the bandage to Evil. “Finish this off for me quickly.”

He joins Astro in the corner and crouches down next to him, awkwardly placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fault, Astro,” he says.

“How is this not my fault?” Astro responds despondently, his voice muffled through his hands. “I caused this.”

“You were playing the game. There’s no way you could’ve known this would happen.”

He doesn’t get a response to this, so he gently pulls Astro’s hands away from his face, forcing his friend to look him in the eye. “Astro. You can’t blame yourself for this, okay? Etho is gonna be fine. And going by what happened last time, he won’t even remember that this happened.”

“But I will, won’t I?” asks Astro quietly.

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Brody admits. “Impulse was the imposter in this situation last time and as far as I know, he never found out what happened.”

“Oh. So even though Etho won’t remember me stabbing him and leaving him to bleed out very slowly, I actually might?”

Brody nods reluctantly. “You might.”

Astro lets put a low groan. “I feel sick…”

“Brody?” calls Evil at that moment, his voice low and shaky.

Brody turns his head. “What?”

“He- He’s not breathing.”

Brody’s stomach drops and he shoots forward so fast he almost trips over. He rushes back to Etho’s side and checks his friend’s pulse using both his wrist and his neck.

He finds nothing.

Touching Etho’s hand, he finds his friend’s skin cold already, confirming what he already knows to be true.

A muted noise comes from Astro as he turns away.

As Brody hangs his head, Evil reaches over and gently touches his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“We need to end this game,” says Brody, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Now.”

With almost no hesitation, Evil says, “One of you kill me.”

Brody glances sharply at him. “What?”

“There’s five of us left, right? Etho was the sixth. So there’s five left now. Kill me and end the game.”

“Are you sure?” asks Brody hesitantly. “The glitch might happen again.”

“I’m sure,” Evil responds firmly. “Like you said, we need to end it. It’ll take too long to just vote you guys out; I’m standing right here so you may as well end it by killing me.” He glances over at his friend. “Astro?”

“No,” says Astro shakily.

“Astro, it’s okay.”

“No it’s NOT!” Astro’s voice rises. “You think I can bear causing so much pain and suffering to two of my friends in the same game?! I’m NOT killing you!”

Evil quickly nods. “Okay, I understand. Brody?”

“Aren’t I in the same boat?” Brody says. “Do you really trust me to do it properly?”

“Yeah, I do.” Evil gives a brave smile. “I trust you, Brody. With my life.”

Ignoring the twinge in his chest, Brody draws his gun and aims it directly at Evil. “Okay. Good luck.”

Taking a deep breath, Brody fires.

BANG.

And luckily this time, the game acts as it’s supposed to.

As soon as Brody respawns in the lobby, he rushes over to his friend. “Etho, hey. You good?”

“Me?” Etho blinks. “Yeah, why?”

Brody gives a slow nod. “Nothing. Just checking.”

He draws Evil aside to a corner of the lobby. “Okay, Etho definitely doesn’t remember,” he confirms.”

“Does Astro?” asks Evil.

Brody glances over at their green-clad friend, who’s leaning against the wall, arms folded and eyes staring blankly out into space.

“...I think he might.”

Evil and Brody approach Astro, who glances numbly at them as they get closer. “I remember,” is all he says.

“So the crewmate in the situation won’t remember what happened but the imposter will,” says Brody thoughtfully. “Interesting. I wonder why that is?”

“I don’t really care,” Astro responds bluntly. “I just want to forget that whole thing ever happened.”

“No, this is good. Kinda. It means you’re now part of our little trifecta of people who know about the glitch. Evil and I promised each other last time that if we experience this again as imposter, we’ll go find each other and let them know, even if we’re the imposter.” He fixes his friends with a serious look. “This is a dangerous glitch. Astro, promise me that if this does happen to you again, you’ll come find one of us.”

Astro watches him for a moment, before slowly nodding. “Okay. I- Hey, Etho’s leaving.”

Brody turns just in time to see Etho leave the lobby. Frowning, he quickly follows Etho out and catches him just going down the corridor. “Etho, wait!”

Etho pauses and glances back. “Oh, hey. I just let Tango know I had to leave; I’m suddenly not feeling too great.”

“O-Oh.” Brody stares at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. Feel better.”

“Thanks. See you.”

Brody watches his friend disappear round the corner, his mind racing. This has NEVER happened before. Etho has never felt unwell this early in a session before — or really ever. Surely it’s no coincidence considering what happened last round? Even though his brain doesn’t remember what happened, maybe his body does.

Or maybe his code does.

#ethoslab #etho #brodyman #evilnotion #astrozoan #vaunna’s requests

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stayevildarling · 3 years

Text

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- When the time is right Pt 2

Part 1, Part 3

word count: 3.5k

warnings: brief mention of dizziness and feeling sick, mention of scoliosis, angst + fluff at the end

A/N: Part two! I will write one more part, potentially two, kind of depends. I hope everyone enjoys this story so far!

Taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @mrsdeanhoward , @alexajbitar , @in-cordelias-coven , @kenzbro , @loverofallthingssarah , @twistedpoeticjustice , @billiebeanhoward , @minaslittleone , @lilypadscoven , @vintagepaulson , @ninaahs , @whitelotus00 , @httpfiftyshadesofgay

After getting back to your desk and quickly sitting down as it felt like your legs might just give up on you, heart still racing fast and mind filled with thoughts, you try and focus on the tasks ahead again. Your boss instructed you to make arrangements for the new partnership with Kineros Robotics and as you do some research on their website instead of clicking the Company History link or the product one to actually write the article, your thoughts trail off.

As a result, you click on ''Employees'' and you recognize the two men from earlier. One of them is called Jeff Pfister and the other one is called Mutt Nutter and you chuckle at that name. You learn they are heads of the company and then you see HR and there she is Wilhemina. In the photo she seems cold and harsh and not even in your worst nightmares you imagined meeting her would be like it was today.

First of all, you have trouble believing she works and lives in the same city you do now like it must be fate right? You moved and changed jobs and you find yourself in the same city? Your new firm working together with hers? and you running into her after thinking of her earlier while listening to some lyrics in your lunch break?

It all seems too good to be true and it definitely must be the universe sending you both some kind of signal. As you type out some words on your computer, actually trying to get some work done, you feel how shaky you are and that you can't even type properly. Taking a deep breath, you try and remind yourself to say calm and that this feeling will pass and reminding yourself this is just the result from today's events.

As you lean down to get your bag to drink something you see stars and you can feel dizziness approaching, so you slowly make your way to the employee's bathroom, also feeling slightly sick. Standing by the sink, you let some cold water run down your wrists and you also splash some cold water on your face to try and calm yourself down.

Obviously, it would affect you, seeing her again so unexpectedly but you didn't think it would hit you like this and feel like a tornado just rippled through your life. It feels like all this time since Wilhemina walked out of your life, the pain never truly stopped, and even though you had healed since, the scars opened again today.

After a while, you hear the bathroom door open and you hold onto the sink feeling sicker by the second. ''Oh dear Y/N are you okay?'' you hear one of your co-workers ask and rush over to you.

''Yeah I- I think I didn't drink enough'' you say and she offers to take you home but you don't wanna bother her. ''I think I will be fine'' you say and after drinking some water she got for you, you feel less dizzy but still completely exhausted.

''I will talk to Mr. Odell'' she says and before you can protest she is gone. After a few moments, she comes back with your bag and coat and guides you outside the building, and takes you to your car.

''Are you sure you should drive?'' she asks concerned but you reassure her you are fine. ''Thank you'' you say and she leaves with a smile and says ''Just rest and if you need anything just call'' and with that she leaves and you are left, sitting in your car and you let out a deep breath you have been holding in for way too long.

You start your engine, knowing deep down that you are in no state to actually drive and that you probably shouldn't but at the same time you just want to get back into the comfort of your own apartment, as soon as possible and lie down.

The drive doesn't take too long and with the window open, music very quietly playing in the background, and the occasional sips of water, you manage to get home quicker than you initially thought. You drop your bag and coat in the hallway and after shutting the door, you head straight to the bedroom, abandoning all your thoughts and things and practically falling into bed.

The dizziness quickly subceeds as you feel your body now adjusting to the comfort of your mattress, soft pillow, and blanket you managed to wrap loosely around your tired body. Sleep quickly consumes you, your body needing rest after this exhausting day, the thought of the redhead, causing this reaction, abandoned for now but she is here yet again to haunt you in your dreams, moments after falling asleep.

''No no no please don't leave'' you scream, currently caught in a nightmare, another sign your body and brain are still processing today's events. It feels like your personal hell, as you seem to relive the worst moment of your life over and over again and that's Wilhemina walking out of your life just in different scenarios and moments but it hurts in every form of it. Tears stream down your face as you beg her not to go but each time she leaves and it feels like dying every time.

The next morning:

As soon as your eyes snap open after hearing a faint sound coming from the other end of your apartment, you feel exhausted, the last night not providing you with the kind of sleep you needed for your body and mind to fully relax and be ready for another busy and packed day ahead.

Sighing, you rub your eyes and slowly get out of bed, your feet automatically following the source of the noise, that initially woke you up and as you realize it's your phone, you are somewhat glad for the distraction as it pulled you out of several nightmares. As you finally reach your bag, you retrieve your phone and you feel relieved as you realize it's 6:30 am and you didn't miss work. At the same time, your heart skips a beat as you see Mr. Odell's number this early in the morning.

''He-hello?'' you ask slightly dumbfounded why he would be calling you at this time in the morning. ''Ahh Miss Y/L/N I was just checking to see if you feel better'' he starts but you can already feel he is after something as this seems like a small excuse to call you. ''Yes I am, thank you'' you quickly reply, waiting for his actual reason behind calling you this early.

''Listen, the contracts with Kineros Robotics are finished, I need you to go and collect them with Ms. Venable this morning'' he instructs and you can already hear him typing away on his computer. ''Of course'' you reply before he says a few 'Thank yous' and ending the call.

Closing your eyes, you try and take a deep breath and remind yourself that everything will be okay and to keep the raging storm of emotions at bay but somehow the thought of seeing Wilhemina again terrifies you and makes your stomach flip but at the same time there are so many 'What ifs' and unanswered questions, still filling your brain and causing you to overthink.

Still feeling sleepy and also exhausted from the night before, you decide to have a quick shower, before getting ready and adjusting your usual work attire in the mirror, styling your hair, and applying makeup. The only difference today is that no amount of makeup could cover or hide the bags under your eyes and how exhausted you look.

Taking a deep breath and grabbing your things, as well as a coffee, you leave your apartment and head over to Kineros Robotics. Somehow, even though it seemed like on the entire car ride there you didn't even pay attention to anything, the day before you, you somehow did as you find yourself in the familiar parking lot, a while later.

As you walk in, heading straight towards the familiar corridor, walking past the front desk, you don't realize at first, that the entire building is dead quiet, your own thoughts too loud and only as you pass a clock on the wall, you realize it's seven thirty am and probably the reason for the silence and no one there yet.

Part of yourself feels relieved as you hear some clicking on a computer keyboard and without being able to see her yet, you know Wilhemina is already there. You aren't actually that surprised because the redhead used to be the first one in the office every morning, at your old firm where you worked together, always the first to open up and last to close up, really focussed on her work and taking it seriously.

As she hears footsteps approach, Wilhemina looks up confused about who would already be here at this time because she is always the first one and her idiot bosses wouldn't be awake at this time. ''Y/N?'' she asks confused as she sees you enter, stopping whatever she is working on, and for a moment you just look at her unable to say a word.

She scans each one of your features and by your posture and facial expression she knows you are not okay, she used to hold you whenever you weren't feeling well or after a nightmare and she can read you better than anyone else.

''What- what are you doing here this early?'' she asks confused and you can tell she hesitated at first before asking and you notice her voice still sounds dominant but it sounds slightly softer at the same time.

Finally clearing your throat and approaching her desk, ignoring your sweaty palms or heart beating faster, you compose yourself and manage to form a reply.

''I'm here to pick up the files and contracts for Mr. Odell'' you say, still feeling intimidated by her burning gaze. It seems as if she is staring straight into your soul, reading and knowing every single detail about you like the sleepless nights, nightmares, or how she still haunts you every single day.

''Very well'' she replies and nods and she retrieves her cane, gripping hard around the snake handle, before walking over to a cabinet and getting out some folders with the needed documents. As she has to slightly bend down, you notice the same expression on her face, even though you can only see half of it. Wilhemina always hid her pains from you, even back then, she would reassure and promise and pull the most adorable faces, promising she is okay but you knew deep down by the furrow in her eyebrow and how quickly her eyes shut close, whenever she had to move her back the slightest, she was lying.

It takes her moments to gather the needed documents and you find a little smile playing on your lips because despite what happened to the woman you used to know so well, it makes you feel calm that deep down she is still the same organized and hard-working Wilhemina she always had been. It feels like a glimpse of hope, a little ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm.

However, your smile quickly fades as Wilhemina turns around, her gaze lingering on you as she walks towards you. Her expression is stern and cold, no emotion visible and your little glimpse of hope vanishing again. Slowly the realization sinks in that no matter what might have happened, there will be no way to ever get back to how things used to be and this doesn't just cause your throat to go dry, hands shaking uncontrollably again but also for your heart to beat out of your chest, the feeling of anxiety slightly creeping it's ugly way back into your brain.

The woman standing across you, that used to be so much more to you than a stranger, scans your features, noticing the bags under your eyes and the sadness radiating off you. She can look behind the facade, the forced and polite smile but the Wilhemina currently standing in front of you doesn't know how to reach you anymore, as deep down she knows that she lost you long ago and along with you, the only source of light in her life, ever.

Snapping out of it, Wilhemina hands you the files not once averting your gaze and it feels like you might just die from the force her brown observing eyes have on you. As she hands you the files, you reach for it, trying to hide the shaking of your hands but the redhead instantly notices, her gaze finally leaving your eyes.

''Thank you, M-'' you start to say out of a habit, as you were so used to calling her that nickname before but you stop yourself just in time. You give her a polite smile that she doesn't return, her face completely lacking any emotions or giving you any indication on how she is feeling, either about this interaction or seeing you again in general.

Slowly, you turn back around, the same polite smile on your face and a little nod as a form of saying goodbye to her, not expecting to see her again in the near future, as Mr. Odell's assistant would be back tomorrow and you wouldn't be working on this anymore either way. As soon as you turn around and are about to head to the exit, back through the same corridor, your smile fades, face almost crumpling, the pain of seeing the woman you love change into this person completely lacking emotions and reminding you more of a robot than a human, which technically is fitting, considering the company you are currently in and the work they do.

Just as you are about to leave, you suddenly feel a hand reach for your wrist. You flinch momentarily and freeze, as you feel the material of the cold gloves on your skin. Instantly you are reminded of her touch lingering on your skin before when the two of you were still in each other's arms and lives. Her hands had never felt this strange and cold before, as they used to have the sole purpose of making you feel warm and loved, either by holding you or making you feel beautiful in other ways.

Finally, you snap your eyes open as a wave of emotions hit you, part of you wants to cry, part of you is angry about the way she left, heartbroken even being in the same room and just deeply concerned and worried about the redhead standing behind you and holding onto you still as if she was scared if she let go, she would lose you all over again.

''Y/N wait'' Wilhemina whispers and as you turn around, now inches apart, you don't notice the way her voice went soft and she let go of her grip after noticing you flinched a bit at the sensation. The two of you instantly lock eyes and it feels like so much is being said, simply through the locking of your eyes.

Despite the redhead trying to hide her true emotions, internally reminding herself who she is and who she has to be, to keep her perfect and cold appearance intact, she crumbles underneath the bottling up emotions and the way it made her feel to see you again. You notice the inner battle she is fighting, her eyes turning a darker and lighter shape with each thought inside Wilhemina. It feels as if the soft Mina is trying to fight her way out of this darker version, wanting to say so many things to you, but at the same time fighting with everything she has left inside her.

As you stand there frozen, just watching the woman standing across from you, your own emotions take over as tears prickle in your eyes and your heart loudly begins thumping in your chest. You look at the redhead, part of you begging her to speak up, to finally let those bottled up emotions go as you can practically feel them radiating off her. For a split second you have hope, as her mouth parts and you expect something, an explanation, an apology or something that could soothe the many questions and aching in your heart, that started with the day she walked out of your shared apartment.

However, the battle inside Wilhemina is too strong, the darker side having ruled her little kingdom of emotions too long that in result, soft Wilhemina, the woman you used to know and fell in love with, has no chance of winning or voicing herself. You sigh in defeat, as you realize there is no chance to get even a simple explanation out of Wilhemina. ''It's okay'' you mumble, after giving her enough time to speak and realizing that it's too late.

Your ex-girlfriend watches, as you turn your back to her again, this time not stopping in your tracks and this time you being the one to walk out of her workplace and life. She stands there frozen, unable to move for a while as the soft Mina is utterly heartbroken as a small part is still inside fighting somewhere. It takes her several minutes to snap out of her state after hearing her two bosses walk in with silly faces, clearly wanting something from the redhead again and needing her attention. She snaps out of it, turning around and walking towards her desk, the same cold expression on her face as if nothing had happened.

A while later, you sit by your desk after handing your boss the documents and unavoidably handing him the key to your connection to Wilhemina, as from tomorrow on Mr. Odell's assistant will be working on the Kineros Robotics case again, like she was supposed to. You try and focus on the tasks ahead but avert your gaze from your computer, looking out the window and watching as the clouds keep the sun from shining and blessing the city with sunlight. Your mind can't help but wander to Wilhemina and the question what had happened to her in the first place to change into the person you had met again yesterday.

Feeling a little shiver run down your spine, you try and ignore the thoughts, accepting fate and believing that fate always has a plan in the end. ''Maybe we aren't meant to be after all'' you think to yourself, before focussing your attention on your tasks and work for the day again, unaware that in a similar, much more purple office, on the other side of the city Wilhemina is sitting by her desk, her mind occupied by you.

#wilhemina venable #venable #miss venable #wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagine #wilhemina venable imagine #au #american horror story #ahs #ahs apocalypse #wattpad #writing #fanfic #lgbtq #part two #one shot #ficlet

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bunchofstraydogs · 3 years

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Dazai Osamu character breakdown as I understand him

Meaning that this might be inaccurate and your opinion and visage of him might differ from mine, which is just fine. We perceive the world and the people around us through our experiences and expectations. I'm curious to know how you guys see a complex character like Dazai, just please respect everyone's opinions.

Warning: Manga plot mentions, s2 spoilers, BEAST light novel spoilers, Dazai Osamu

Dazai Osamu was introduced into the scene of Bungou Stray Dogs at 14 when Mori found him.

Even at that young age, Dazai had suicidal tendencies and had been wrapped in bandages similarly as he is in the present. Already dealing with too much trauma for a child his age, the fire is fuelled as he was forced to bear witness to the death of the Port Mafia boss at the hands of Mori, the person that took him under his wing. To use him; which was becoming very apparent to Osamu if he hadn't been aware since the start. Now, I'm not saying that death of the previous boss left a particular scar on Samu, he even agrees with it and is something he himself would have done. But that that is the scene that bore fruit of the following quotes:

"Or could it be that you're afraid, Mori-san? That one day i will slit your throat and take over as the boss?"

followed by

"Everyone seems suspicious to those who have an axe to grind."

This tells us right away that he can tell what type of person you are just from the way you perceive your surroundings, which is logical, but not something many think too deep into.

Even less who have their evaluations of others on point like he does. And he has to, since Dazai's plan is always to understand his allies, his enemies, possible allies and possible enemies. He also takes into account important neutral parties that can still, in one way or another, affect the outcome of his plans or decide to align with one side out of common interest. After comes realising the main goals, along with side achievements (just in case some of those maim his allies or ruin the future plans he made) of every party. Taking in their morals and motivation, and being familiar with the ground the confrontation will happen on, he now has the view of the whole chess board and it's pieces in his head. He moves his allies in the right places, knowing how they'll react in the situation to come, and awaits the enemies with open fire arms. He was tought to think like that. At all times. Mori made sure of it. You know how specialists never really stop thinking in their areas of expertise, like doctors, for example, will naturally notice people's posture and look for scoliosis or whatever? How your foot hits the floor, if you're walking straight, your knees and shoulders, etc. Same for Dazai. His brain maps out person's expressions, reactions, choices, personality, etc. in great detail. I'm pretty sure he has eidetic memory, if his conversations in manga with Fyodor are anything to go by.

Another thing his brain does is think of worst possible outcomes.

Not in a fear of what if things go wrong, but as a possible route. He uses it to determine how big of a threat the opposing force is and what steps they'll have to take to achieve that. Knowing that, he'll know how to intercept them. Also, like everything else, it's not something he can control since we're talking about thought process here and that's just how his brain works. Can't magically turn that off. It's especially annoying to him when he's genuinely enjoying himself with, let's say, ADA members and then his brain goes brrr.

•"A lot happened recently and we're a torn in many people's eyes." *Tanizaki and Atsushi drinking punch* "There's a possibility, while a small one, about 8% at this very moment, but as time goes on will increase, that an organisation outside of Yokohama decided we're an unavoidable threat and poisoned the drinks. Don't drink that. Nothing will happen, they'll wake up tomorrow in pristine condition don't drink th-"

Yeah, i feel bad for him too.

He has PTSD and insomnia, besides the hectic brain,

so he's not getting proper amount of rest. Actually, he drinks almost every night by himself at home. Pretty sure it's canon as well, because if you search for a picture of him in his room, you'll see him surrounded by multiple bottles. Two of the PTSD symptoms are hallucinations and night terrors (no, that is not the same as a nightmare). What people usually do is use opium to cause hallucinations in a safe environment so that there's little chance of them happening uncontrolled. He's probably using alcohol to numb himself while he's reminiscing, since if he does still have hallucinations after years having passed by (which isn't impossible), they're probably few and far between. Not saying there's no chance he isn't using opium. He would know where to get what he needs, after all.

Osamu's haunted by his own actions as well, not just by trauma caused to him.

At an uncountable amount of occasions, he found himself looking into a mirror and not really comprehending his image. It was like dissociation. Looking through a fog at what's supposed to be your carbon copy, but not knowing all of your features perfectly, so whatever you're seeing could only be an impostor, yet you're not sure because that would take comprehending physical proof of your life to the fullest and how it works and he just... can't. He can but he doesn't want to. He already knows he's despicable and broken, doesn't really feel the need to see just how much. He can't, for all his perfect memory, remember the faces of the people he has killed. He hadn't even seen all of them, but he was responsible for their demise. Causing havoc and misfortune in general through other crimes besides murder as well. We've seen his expression when he listened in on Atsushi talking to Kyouka over the earpiece how the 35 deaths don't matter anymore. He knows they do and he knows that the change of heart won't justify what he's they've done. Ango thought him to value each life. But he also knows that even murderers can change and become good. Oda did that. It's also what's keeping him in the agency.

When Oda died, his last words mentioned that Dazai doesn't care about good or bad and that was correct for Dazai Osamu back then. I genuinely think that his present self does mind the difference.

He believes in necessary evil and will do dark shit to get the good outcome he's envisioned.

He doesn't separate outlaws and lawful people, however.

He knows that generally speaking, the line is thin and easy to cross and that many were born or forced into the situations they are. Those that fight the life thrown at them are an exception, not a rule. That's also why he likes Atsushi, probably the main reason. The boy has every right to hate the world and yet. Dazai is envious, he doesn't really have the same capacity.

I want now to talk about why does Dazai Osamu do what Dazai Osamu does.

The reason he attempts suicide, joined the mafia, made friends at all, is because for all his intelligence and observations, ability to understand others, he doesn't really understand himself.

He doesn't understand his worth. He doesn't understand his purpose. In all of that confusion, he finds no reason to live. He laughs but can't get the high, he bruises but can't fully heal. In all of the things people find happiness in he can't feel joy from. He is emotionally stunted. He thinks too logically. He doesn't understand actions out of emotions because to him, it doesn't make sense. Emotions cloud your mind and when you're not thinking straight, you make mistakes. Plain and simple. He just accepts it, that most people simply cannot control themselves and prefer lashing out instead of methodical approach. All the better for him, he has leverage. Even when he does act on impulse, which is incredibly rare and not as explosive and dramatic, his brain rationalises it as to why his actions were a good way to go. And if his reaction was one that bore fruit, than it was a tactical one.

"If you place yourself somewhere close to raw emotions, where you're exposed to raw violence and death, instinct and desire, you can brush against man's true nature. I though that way i could find a reason to live somehow."

From this, i can tell that he was hoping that, in a situation where he's pushed far enough, he'd realise what's important to him, what he wants to protect or destroy, what's one thing he wouldn't want to leave unsettled before dying. What is that one thing he'd regret dying before achieving? What should he fight death for. What is worth living on for? To him, it doesn't matter if that something is good or evil as long as he gets to keep it in his life.

It seems he hadn't found it exactly, but is satisfied with what he has for now, in the agency, to just keep going. But he still tries to commit suicide, hoping that one day, when the clear picture of the world around him is fading away, when he's becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen, when he's loosing control over his body and thoughts don't seem to flow well, there will be one thing, anyone, screaming at him to fight it. New day new chances. It didn't happen today, better luck tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomo-.

Now, like Mori, Dazai feels the need to, at all times, be in control of the situation. Including people.

That means no one, but perhaps Ranpo due to his own abnormal intellect, is aware of their own role. They know their mission, but they're not expecting to be given that particular one because they'll come across an obstacle they would react to in a way that would satisfy Osamu's plans.

Dazai Osamu is more of a chemist, than a chess player, if you ask me.

Throwing different people into the mix, under different conditions at different times and is noting down their reactions in safe surrounding if possible, so that when the time calls for it, he'll be able to make a perfect concoction for the predicament. A chemist and his substances; A chess player and his pawns; A puppeteer and his puppets. Now, Dazai is meticulous and never rash, but like everyone else (except effin Lovecraft what is he even) he's only human and he bleeds when he falls down and humans aren't perfect. He isn't always right. That means he makes mistakes. The issue with big shot players that control the board is that, when they fall down, everyone on their side crashes and burns as well. So the day Dazai fucks up everyone else will follow because of lack of insight on their part that's completely out of their control. All it takes is for him to underestimate or overestimate one person and chaos ensues. There is no such thing as happy little accidents small mistakes for someone like him. I have crippling anxiety and a sole thought that one hiccup could blow up in everyone's face... damn. I would try committing suicide myself. But it's his fault, he brought upon himself an obligation and pressure like that. To be fair, it was Mori that drilled that type of thinking where no one should know what you plan because they can't ruin what they don't know If they turn against you, they can't stop you.

For his own sake, and everyone else's, Dazai needs to learn how to show his cards and share the burden.

Again, going back to the emotionally stunted guy that has commitment issues (where he either can't commit or can't let go) trope.

He never outright does something good for someone where people would acknowledge it, he uses his underhanded tactics here as well.

He casually makes himself look like a bad guy, an asshole, to conveniently move attention from the inner turmoil a person is struggling with to a present problem at hand that they can fix and let their frustrations out on. But he hopes that, one day, someone just might notice his intentions for what they are and do the unspeakable- see through him.

"I'm a very private person. You don't ask, i don't tell."

Yes, and your whole existence is just a huge cry for help. He wants to be asked. He's begging for attention. A specific type of attention. One that will see him without making him feel imposed on. One that will understand his sins without making a big deal out of it. Accept him as a person he is, makes him feel like one as well. Makes him feel alive. Makes him feel... period.

The day he finds that thing is the day he completely turns his life around and fully dedicates to it. It's where the part of not being able to let go commitment issue ensues.

Since Oda's death he's been secretly keeping an eye out on possible ways to bring him back. If you've read Beast AU you know that when Dazai gets his hands on the book, he'll create a universe where Oda doesn't die. Should he find an ability user that can bring back the dead, just tell him what it will take, he's ready to destroy his own soul for it and if that isn't enough, well, he'll have no hesitation ruining theirs. After all, BEAST!Dazai Osamu never actually met Odasaku, he just had the memories he'd gotten from his canon self and that was enough for him to do everything he did.

He's incredibly selfish and has a weird come in but the door is a wall dynamic he rolls with in his self imposed solitude.

It's like the walls of the space in my brain are ugly and terrifying, so i closed off the entrance to keep myself in. I'm doing you a favour but please break the wall down and tell me it's okay to come out i don't want to be here-

Happy little thoughts woah woah yeah~

That's what i got from what I've seen of him. I may have missed some things, some things might prove to be wrong as the series progress further, but yeah.

There is, however, one more thing i want to put out here. Since Dazai was already like this before Mori found him, that begs to question as to why? What happened to him?

Now, since the characters are based on real people, is it crazy to say that Dazai Osamu has had a horrible childhood because of his father? Real life Dazai was terrified of his dad and was very intimidated by him. He always tried to stay in his good graces out of fear of punishment. Neither of his parents felt like a parent to him, actually. His father didn't care and his mother was often ill, but did care for him when she could. Both of them died eventually.

This could be the plot Kafka based Dazai's background on, but we'll have to wait and see.

#dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #bsd #meta #dazai osamu headcanon #dazai osamu headcanons #hc #hcs #psychoanalysis

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starshine583 · 3 years

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New Girl on the Block (12)

(Are you guys getting tagged for these??? I’ve been putting all of the names on here, but it doesn’t look right.. anyway, sorry if the tag doesn’t work. I tried!!! Anyone else who wants to get tagged or asked but isn’t getting tagged, please contact me and let me know!!!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 13 (ao3) (Journal Entries- a mini series connected to this fic)

Chapter 12: Quiet Conflictions of the Heart

Felix tapped his pencil against his textbook, staring blankly at the words that he wasn’t reading. The minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock that sat across the room next to the stairs, informing him of exactly how much time he was wasting by sitting there, and moonlight poured through the wide windows in front of him, signifying the beginnings of the evening. The fact that he started this assignment during the day and still had hardly anything done should have been frustrating, but Felix’s mind was too far lost in other thoughts for him to care.

As soon as Rosemary found out about his direct involvement with the akuma, they sent him, along with Marinette and the others, home for the day with light homework assignments and instructions to “take it easy”. The procedure was meant to help them regain composure and process the traumatizing events, but it only gave Felix more time to think.

And think.

And overthink. About him hitting the ground with Marinette, about her pulling them behind the fence only to run right out again, about her shocked and panicked expression upon being picked up by the akuma.

About her flailing body falling from the sky.

Felix set his pencil down and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. That scream still rang in his mind even hours later, sharp and blood-curdling, like a constant echo of a bad dream. He couldn’t help wondering what might have happened had Chat Noir not arrived on time, how she might have felt hitting the pavement, or if she would have survived at all. The very thought left him gripping his textbook and forcing a deep breath to relax. It hadn’t happened, after all. She was fine. Everything was fine..

And yet, no matter how many times he tried to push the gruesome images out of his mind, they continued to worm their way back in, fueled by how tame Allegra, Claude, and Allan’s reactions had been towards Marinette’s incredible risk of self. The girl almost died multiple times over the course of a single hour, and the only thing those idiots did was hug her and tell her that her actions were justified. Who cares if they were justified! Justification does not equate to rationality, and doing something for a good cause doesn’t always mean that it’s the right- or wise! -thing to do.

Normally, he could brush it off and ignore it. The experience had been daunting, of course, but he could accept it knowing that Marinette had learned her lesson, realized how stupid her decision was, and vowed not to do it again. The problem came with the little fact that Marinette hadn’t learned her lesson. Oh, she’d apologized and admitted that her actions weren’t properly thought through, but it was clear that she didn’t intend on waiting for the heroes any time soon. He couldn’t quite explain how he knew- maybe it was how calm she looked when she returned, as though everything had been in her control the entire time, or how she only smiled when he asked her not to do it again instead of fervently agreeing to his request -but he knew. Her entire demeanor gave way to her belief that her sacrifice had been both necessary and acceptable, and it disturbed him to think of how far she might be willing to go under that belief. What if she challenged another akuma that wasn’t nearly as polite or rational? What if she was alone next time this happened and didn’t have Allegra or Claude or himself to help her when things inevitably got out of hand? Why was she so willing to throw away her own life without a second thought?

“Felix?”

Felix flinched, his eyes snapping upwards. His mother stood next to the couch with a frown, which was odd. He hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching. How long had she been standing there?

Bridgette shot him a concerned look as she sat down next to him. “Are you alright, sweetheart? You’ve been on that same page for half an hour now.”

It’s been longer than that. He thought to himself, plucking up his pencil and closing his textbook. There was no point in leaving it open if he wasn’t going to read it.

“It’s nothing.” He muttered. “History homework just tends to be monotonous after a while.”

Bridgette narrowed her eyes at him, though her tone remained gentle as she said, “Oh, come now. You don’t expect me to believe that. We both know that you would sit and read every history book available if you had the time. What’s wrong?”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She could always read him well. Too well at times.

“Is it about the akuma attack?”

Felix felt himself stiffen, and he silently chided himself for it. That would be all she needed from him to know the answer.

It’s not that he wanted to hide his distress from her. He was simply unsure of whether he wanted to talk about it or not. The threat was over now, meaning all of this worrying was somewhat unreasonable, and Felix didn’t want to express irrational thoughts to his mother only for them to fade away by morning. It would just make this a bigger problem than it probably was.

Then again, watching your classmate casually wave off their jumping headfirst into an akuma and almost dying was a decently sized problem.

Bridgette lightly touched his shoulder. “Felix, honey, if it’s bothering you, then you need to talk about it. You can’t let things like this weigh on your mind unattended. It doesn’t have to be with me, but communicate with someone, please.”

The amount of earnestness in her voice caused him to avert his gaze, and he began tapping his finger on the arm of the couch. Her wording could almost be considered amusing, as he had no one else to talk to aside from her and Father. Allegra, Claude, and Allan clearly didn’t care as much about the subject as he did- not to mention, he’d rather spend his days putting up ad posters for Adrien Agreste than confide in them about anything personal -and Marinette was the cause of the problem. Besides hovering around those four, Felix was a common shut-in who proudly (and happily) hid himself away in the penthouse with his books and, on pleasant occasions, Mother’s tea.

Nevertheless, he knew that Bridgette was right. He needed to get these tangled ponderings off of his chest, but to do that, he’d have to unravel them first. Where should he start? The attack seemed as though it had happened within five minutes, yet it also seemed to drag on for hours. Time is a shaky illusion when your entire body is buzzing with adrenaline.

“I just don’t understand,” He said slowly, beginning with the thoughts at the forefront of his mind, “how they can all act like nothing happened. Marinette risked her life for no reason, and they all want to treat it as though it’s an everyday occurrence.”

“Who risked their life?”

Felix and Bridgette turned towards the stairs, where Felix’s father was now standing. The man’s eyebrows knitted together as he continued his descent, similar to how Bridgette’s expression had been a moment earlier, and in a few, long strides, he was standing in front of them.

“Oh, Francis.” Bridgette greeted with a smile. “I thought you were still working.”

“I was,” Francis replied, leaning down to give her a light peck on the lips, “but I came down to get a drink. What’s all this about someone risking their life?”

“Apparently, Marinette did during the akuma attack today.”

A disapproving hum came from him as he settled on the couch next to Bridgette. “Isn’t that the girl from school that he’s always talking about?”

Felix bristled. “I don’t always talk about her.”

A soft chuckle fell from his mother’s lips. “You do talk about her more often than anyone else, though.”

“Can we get back to the point?”

“Of course.” Francis said, lazily wrapping an arm around his wife. She leaned back against him naturally. “Start from the beginning. How did you get caught up in this akuma business in the first place?”

Felix sighed, letting his irritation quiet down before thinking back on the attack. Where were they when it happened again?

“I believe we were exiting the café.” He said. “Claude was telling some story as we walked to our cars, so we didn’t notice the akuma flying towards us until she was landing in this gust of wind that knocked us over.”

A ghost pain trailed up his back at the memory of skidding across the pavement. He didn’t get a chance to see it during the battle, but the prickling sting of the injury told him that his shoulders and back had been scraped up immensely, especially during the second blast. If the miraculous cure hadn’t healed him, he probably wouldn’t hadn’t been able to sit up straight now.

“As you can imagine, we were all terrified, since we’d never seen anything like this in person before, but Marinette wasn’t. She grabbed all of us and helped us hide behind a fence within the first few seconds of falling. It was like she hadn’t been phased by it at all.”

“Perhaps she’s simply more level-headed during a crisis.” His father suggested.

“I’d assume so,” Felix replied, “but it’s strange considering she’s usually someone who would jump at their own shadow.”

“True, but people with anxiety can still flourish in a stressful environment.” Bridgette remarked.

Felix tilted his head in a nod. He supposed that was true.

“The akuma said she wasn’t going to hurt anyone, only the buildings to get the heroes’ attention.” He continued. “But Marinette didn’t like the thought of that, saying the people in the buildings might get hurt or killed. So she decided to counter the claim by running out to the akuma to lure them away.”

“That’s very noble of her.” Francis commented.

Felix tisked. How many times has he heard that now?

“Noble and stupid. She was a powerless bystander running straight into danger. Am I the only one who sees a problem with that?”

“Sometimes you have to try to do what’s right even though you might not be able to succeed,” Bridgette said softly, “but I can understand why you would be distraught about her actions. You didn’t want to see her get hurt, and that’s not a bad thing. It proves you care.”

Felix’s gaze flicked to the ground. Admitting his recent attachment to Marinette hadn’t sounded irksome before. She was a kind and compassionate person who hadn’t failed yet in giving him a sense of satisfaction after each of their conversations. Anyone with half a brain would gravitate towards her presence. After everything that’s happened today, however, a part of him was starting to resent that sentiment. Why did he have to care for the one person who would openly throw themselves to the wolves without prompting?

“What happened next?” His mother prompted, tugging him from his thoughts.

Felix drew in a breath and continued again. “She told the akuma that she could lead them to the bigger, corporate buildings, since that was apparently what they wanted. I didn’t understand it at the time, because wouldn’t that bring more death? But looking back on it now, it was probably a ploy to stall time. I doubt she actually intended on leading the akuma anywhere.”

It was quick thinking, considering they’d all gotten attacked seconds earlier, but it hadn’t been quick enough to account for the consequences.

“The akuma accepted the offer and used more wind to carry Marinette into the air with them.” Felix paused, Allegra’s horrified cry resurfacing in his mind. “It was.. nerve wracking. We didn’t know what was going to happen or what the akuma was going to do to her later on.”

Bridgette reached forward and rubbed his upper arm, giving her silent support, and Felix leaned into her touch as thanks.

“I ran after them. I’m not really sure how, but I did.” He said, gazing absently towards the windows again. His reflection stared back at him, along with the glittering stars and illuminated city behind it. How many alleyways did he run through? Five? Seven? He knew he couldn’t see the cafe by the time he stopped, nor could he hear Allegra and the others calling.

“I followed them for a few blocks,” He resumed, deeming the exact number of alleyways unimportant. It was what came next that shook him to his core. “I thought I had lost them at one point, but then I caught a glimpse of Marinette in the air again. She looked like she was talking with the akuma again, but I couldn’t hear what was being said. Then..”

Felix briefly closed his eyes, once again trying to push the image of Marinette’s flailing body out of his mind.

It didn’t work.

“..Then she fell.” His voice was quieter than he expected, but he kept going anyway. “I’m not sure what happened. All I saw was this silver pole that came out of nowhere and hit the akuma, and suddenly, Marinette was falling from the sky and screaming.”

And screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming. He had to stand there and watch her fall, knowing full well that he couldn’t do a thing to save her. The feeling of helplessness that overtook him in that moment had been overbearing.

A classmate passing away was not something he hadn’t experienced before- accidents happened every year, and sometimes, those accidents involved Rosemary students- but he’d never witnessed their deaths personally. It was something you heard about over the morning announcements or from your teacher at the beginning of class, not something you stood there and watched in a daze, and he’d certainly never lost someone that he-- someone that was so-

“I heard later that Chat Noir saved her mid-air.” He added, if only to help his parents’ nerves. The anxiety crawling across their expressions was evident. “I wasn’t aware of that until after I went to look for her, though.”

Until after he scoured the dismantled streets and ever-increasing debris for signs of her. Until after he lifted boulder upon boulder by adrenaline alone and being torn about whether he’d want to see her under one or not. Until after he called her name till his voice was hoarse and searched relentlessly for some kind of clue, like a shoe or a purse or even blood.

Gosh, he looked for blood! Felix was out there, in the middle of a terrorist attack, looking for the lifeless corpse or the splattered blood of his classmate, and everyone wanted to act like that was fine simply because she came back alright. How could any of them be considered alright after that?

“She could have died.” He stated for the millionth time it felt like. She probably will die if she keeps doing this. “But no one seems to care. They all brush it off because she’s safe now, instead of worrying about the fact that she purposely decided not to be safe beforehand.”

Bridgette let out a breath and pulled Felix into a hug.

“I’m so sorry that you had to endure that.” She whispered, her voice full of emotion. It reminded him of Marinette’s apology back at the cafe. The way she carefully held his hand, the warmth of her palm against his- it told him, in that moment, that she truly was there and that she truly was safe again. That confirmation had admittedly been one of the things to keep him from unraveling towards the end of the fight.

Felix felt the slender fingers of his father ruffle through his hair. “You went through something that no one should have to go through, but you also made it out alive. And so did everyone else. Remember that.”

Bridgette’s cheek brushed against Felix’s forehead as she nodded. “I know it’s scary, and you have a right to acknowledge it in your own way, but don’t let yourself get carried away with the ‘what if’s and ‘what should have been’s'. You’ll never be satisfied with them.”

Felix heaved a heavy sigh and allowed his eyes to drift shut. After a full day of almost dying, almost watching someone else die, and worrying about both of those subjects for hours on end, he was officially exhausted. Felix couldn’t remember the last time he’d put so much energy into a single event.

Maybe it was best to just let it go..

~~~~~~

By the time Marinette arrived home from Rosemary, her parents were beside themselves with worry. Apparently, they saw her on the news while they were working and spent the last hour and a half trying to reach her. Marinette had been either running around as Ladybug or talking with Allegra on the phone so she hadn’t noticed her phone ringing.

They doted on her and hovered around her for a good twenty minutes, with Marinette insisting that she was fine and apologizing the entire time.

“Chat Noir saved me before I could really get hurt.” She assured, plastering on a bright smile. “And the miraculous cure healed any scratches that I might have gotten. See?-” she held her arms up and did a small twirl “-I really am fine. But I’ll try to keep my ringtone on from now on.”

Her parents’ worried looks didn’t change.

“We were hoping that transferring schools would keep you away from akumas.” Her papa lamented. “How do you keep getting caught up in these fights?”

“I don’t know, Papa.” She replied honestly. Maybe some of her partner’s bad luck had rubbed off on her. “I was hoping I wouldn’t run into any more akumas too.”

Sabine sighed and gently rubbed her daughters back. “Well, as long as you’re alright.. Would you like to see the package that came for you?”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “A package? For me?”

Tom nodded, a small smile returning to his features. “From a Mr. Claude Herolds. We put it upstairs in the living room.”

“Tried to.” Sabine corrected under her breath.

Marinette tilted her head slightly. A package from Claude? But what could he be giving her that he couldn’t give in perso-

“My fabrics!” She gasped, immediately shooting for the stairs. Her parents chuckled behind her, but she hardly heard them in her excitement. The fabrics finally came! How many were there going to be? What kind of fabrics? He hadn’t really specified when he talked about buying them, though she gave him as detailed of a list as she could. Oh, please, be the good ones-

Marinette threw the front door to their apartment open, coming to a dead stop as soon as she entered. The mere sight of their living room had her jaw dropping to the floor.

Claude had indeed sent her a package of fabrics, but her parents happened to leave out exactly how much fabric he had sent. There were rolls upon rolls lining the couch and the floor, hiding in the corners of the room, sitting on the coffee table and the dining room table- it was too much to count. She was quite certain that she couldn’t see the floor!

Just- Just fabrics.

Fabrics everywhere.

Marinette turned to her parents, who had since caught up to her. They shared eager smiles as they waited for her reaction, and she quickly found herself smiling as well. In fact, she found herself down right laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Who needs this much fabric for three suits? How did Maman and Papa manage to bring it up in the first place? What did the deliverer think as he loaded this up into his truck to take to one person? How was she going to fit it all into her room?

Nevertheless, despite the insanity of the situation, she couldn’t help being ecstatic. This was more fabric than she could have ever dreamed of having, and it was all of the highest quality. So, with the help of her parents and her steely resolve, Marinette got to work on carrying the “package” up to her room in the attic.

It took a while, as one would expect. They had to stop several times for Marinette to rearrange her room simply so she wouldn’t be completely swimming in fabric by the time they got everything up there. They also had to make sure she could reach her trapdoor to get out of her room, her stairs to get to her bed, and her desk to work with the fabrics in general. This resulted in her creating a sort of obstacle course with the few solid things in her room that she could stand on without the fear of breaking something.

“I can’t even believe it, Tikki.” She said to her kwami once her parents went back down to the bakery. “Look at all of this! How am I even going to use it all? This is crazy!”

Despite her words of disbelief, she had the widest grin on her face, so wide that it was starting to hurt. Claude had told her that once she was done with his suit, she could keep any of the leftover supplies, since he supposedly had no use for it. She assumed it was his own little way of paying for the outfit, even though she’d told him that she would make it for free.

Tikki zipped around the room, giggling as she inspected the different types of fabric. “You could make him ten different suits with all of this!”

Marinette laughed. “Tikki, I could probably make him thirty five different suits and still have some leftover.”

She walked over to the piles of fabric in front of her and plucked up the first one that caught her eye. It was a deep blue silk that sheened under her bedroom lights, and she smiled at the mesmerizing display. Marinette had used silk before, but nothing like this. This was the type of silk that she imagined royalty to have, something smooth and soft and slick as butter. It was incredible, and she couldn’t wait to start working with it.

Marinette picked out a few more fabrics, the finest of the bunch, and brought them over to her desk to compare the colors and theorize how they might look together. If Claude was going to give her the best of the best, she was certainly going to return the favor by giving him the most regal and enchanting suit she could muster. Not to mention, this was an amazing, probably once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Fabric of this quality was something she could never get on her own without saving months and months of allowance, and that was only to buy one roll. The fact that she had piles upon piles of this fabric at her disposal now was a miracle in and of itself. She couldn’t waste a piece of it.

She rolled the blue silk out across her desk to begin measuring, but just as she pulled out her sketchbook for extra notes and other things, her phone buzzed next to her, informing her that she’d received a text.

DancingQueen: Hey guys! Mom said that February eighth would work well for the sleepover if you’re all free! I think it’d be a great way to celebrate winter break.

A soft, delighted gasp passed her lips after reading Allegra’s text on the group chat. With the whole akuma battle and receiving Claude’s fabrics, she’d completely forgotten about the sleepover that they talked about earlier.

She quickly switched the calendar app to check her schedule, and her smile widened at the sight of an empty time slot. She appeared to be free that day.

Marinette found herself beginning to wiggle with joy on her rolling chair as she switched back to the messaging app. This was going to be her first sleepover with her new friends! It would also be the first time going to one of their houses! What was Allegra’s house going to look like? Would it be a mansion like Gabriel Agreste’s? She hoped it didn’t have high walls.

Another text drew her thoughts back to her phone, where a message from Claude had just appeared.

TheBetterShakespeare: works for me! What time are we gonna come over?

DancingQueen: I was thinking right after school like usual

TrebleChild: Sounds good to me :)

Marinette perked up when Allan joined the conversation. That meant most of them were going to be there! All they needed now was Felix.

She began typing.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: February eighth works great for me too! I’ll probably stop by the house for my clothes and stuff first though lol

DancingQueen: Of course! I can send a car by to pick you up if you want?

TheBetterShakespeare: Woohoo! Mari’s coming! All we need now is Felix

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Oh, you don’t have to! I don’t mind walking

DancingQueen: Are you sure? The walking distance is pretty far, and I totally don’t mind sending a car! (no pressure though. If you wanna walk that’s also fine!)

Marinette pulled her lip between her teeth in thought. Whatever the walking distance, she could probably just swing over as Ladybug within a few minutes. That way, she didn’t have to bother Allegra. If she got there too fast as Marinette, though, they might be suspicious.. Well, not suspicious, but curious because getting there faster than her legs could possibly carry her would be odd.

Ugh, just take the car. She told herself. It’ll be easier than carrying your luggage around while swinging through the air anyway.

TrebleChild: You think Felix is going to respond on here?

Marinette glanced down at Allan’s text and frowned. That was a good question.

After the akuma, Felix seemed to shut down. He hardly uttered a word to anyone, even after they were sent home early from school. She supposed he tended to be quiet in the first place, but it just felt different. It was as though he were in some trance, lost in the distant corners of his mind. He wouldn’t even talk to her all that much. Not that she was someone special to him or anything. They just.. They normally exchanged more comments to each other than they did on the way out of the school. Either way, she’d be surprised if he actually texted them back that night.

TheBetterShakespeare: Oh he’s going to have to respond when I’m done

Claude’s reply caused Marinette to suck in a breath and cringe. Oh, what was he going to do to poor Felix now?

Allan and Allegra appeared to have the same thought, as they quickly texted back.

DancingQueen: Oh dear

Marshmallow Man: Uh oh

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Claude, maybe you shouldn’t bother Felix. He already doesn’t like the group

TheBetterShakespeare: LET’S

TheBetterShakespeare: FLUSH

TheBetterShakespeare: HIM

TheBetterShakespeare: OUT

DancingQueen: Claude, please-

TheBetterShakespeare: I’M

TheBetterShakespeare: NOT

TheBetterShakespeare: STOPPING

Marshmallow Man: Dude

TheBetterShakespeare: UNTIL

TheBetterShakespeare: FELIX

TheBetterShakespeare: DECIDES

TheBetterShakespeare: TO

TheBetterShakespeare: SHOW

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: What do you want?!

TheBetterShakespeare: HIMSELF

TheBetterShakespeare: Oh hey Felix!

Although she felt extremely bad for the blond, Marinette had to purse her lips to avoid laughing. She could practically hear the growl in his voice, and the image of Felix’s signature glare flashed through her mind. He had to be so annoyed right now.

TrebleChild: I’m surprised you didn’t just delete the app again

Rolling-Eye-Emoji:You know, that’s a marvelous idea.

The BetterShakespeare: NOOOOO ALLAN SHUT UP

DancingQueen: lol we were wondering if you were free February eighth, Felix.

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Free for what?

TheBetterShakespeare: Can’t you just tell us if ur free or not?

TrebleChild: for the sleepover at Allegra’s house

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: We’re still doing that?

TheBetterShakespeare: Absolutely!

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: If you’re up for it!

TheBetterShakespeare: Mari that statement was way too nice for Felix

TheBetterShakespeare: You gotta drag him kicking and screaming or he’ll never do anything!

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Why don’t you take a guess as to why?

TheBetterShakespeare: because you don’t know how to have fun and it’s our job to teach you

TrebleChild: Claude, you’re never going to get him to the sleepover that way

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Claude, you couldn’t teach a cat how to climb a tree, and I know how to have fun just fine.

Marinette snorted towards Felix’s reply. She often wondered how he managed to perfect his sarcasm and cutting remarks to a fault. Did he read a book on it somehow or was it just practice?

TheBetterShakespeare: RUDE

DancingQueen: lol Felix, are you free on the eighth or not?

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: ..I’d have to check my schedule.

TheBetterShakespeare: Don’t laugh at him Allegra!

DancingQueen: Hey, if it’s funny it’s funny lol

DancingQueen: Do that please, Felix

TheBetterShakespeare: Betrayal!! I can’t believe I was naive enough to trust you!

DancingQueen: Oh whatever. It’s not like you haven’t laugh at me before

Marinette chuckled as she continued to set up the silk fabric. She almost worried about using her sewing machine for it in case it ripped, but hand sewing it wasn’t an option either. That would take way too long, and she wanted to finish this for Claude as soon as possible. (without cutting corners of course)

“Oh!” She gasped, straightening in her chair. She hadn’t told Claude about the fabrics arriving yet! He’d probably want to know that.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Hey Claude, I almost forgot to tell you but your fabric arrived today!

TheBetterShakespeare: Really?!

Marinette smiled and stood up from her rolling chair to take a picture of the room. She then sent the picture to the group with an added message:

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: I could barely fit it all in my room!

The responses were immediate.

TrebleChild: WOAH

DancingQueen: CLAUDE

TrebleChild: you sent that much?!

TheBetterShakespeare: …

TheBetterShakespeare: I may have gotten carry away

Marinette giggled and shook her head.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: PLEASE feel free to get carried away anytime you like, I’ve literally never been happier

DancingQueen: lol

TrebleChild: lol

TheBetterShakespeare: Will do! 😉

Marinette smiled and set her phone down again, before rolling her chair over to the other fabrics to pick another one out. Her phone buzzed as she rolled back, notifying her of the new additions to the group chat.

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Mother said that the eighth of February would work fine.

Marinette let out a squeal. They were all going! This was going to be the best sleepover ever!

TheBetterShakespeare: Aw yisss group sleepover!!

TrebleChild : awesome, so we’re meeting right after school?

DancingQueen: Yep! Except for Mari who needs to go get her clothes. Did you want me to send you a car Mari?

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: If you don’t mind :)

DancingQueen: Nope! I’ll make sure to tell you when it’s on its way.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Thanks 😁

DancingQueen: Of course! See you guys at school tomorrow!

TheBetterShakespeare: See you Al!

TrebleChild: Bye A

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: See you tomorrow!

Marinette set her phone down and let out another squeal of excitement as she kicked her legs back and forth.

Her first group sleepover with everyone!

How do you make time go faster?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester

#felinette #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block #Marinette #Felix Culpa #Quantic Kids

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tales-unique · 3 years

Text

FAULTS OF THE HEART IV

Chapter 4

“It’s healing nicely,” Alucard hums, nimble fingers gently tracing the puckered scar on your shoulder, looking for any problematic signs. “I still get some stiffness in it,” you acknowledge with a small laugh, “but at least I can use my arm again!” It's been a long, tiring road to recovery, but you have finally completed it. Your arm is no longer useless, wrapped up in bandages. Now it’s almost as good as before. You can even use a bow, which means that you are now ready to leave the castle, and Alucard, behind.

A frown darkens your expression at the thought; you’ve become quite fond of him in the time you’ve been there and he seems to have warmed to you too. “Is something wrong?” Alucard’s voice is gentle, his brow furrowed. He’s pulled back his hand, probably assuming that he’s the source of your souring mood. “Oh,” you force a smile, waving your hand dismissively, “no, not really. It’s fine.” Alucard sees through the flimsy lie easily and embarrassment colours your cheeks a dusty pink when he fixes you with a deadpan stare. You tug your sleeve back into place, looking away from him. You press back against the counter top you’re leaning against, distracting yourself by staring at a cracked tile on the wall. Soft afternoon light filters through the kitchen window, painting him in beautiful golden light; it does nothing to help you in that moment. “You know that doesn’t work on me,” he chides, circling around to face you. He’s grown bolder around you as of late, challenging you more often, and though it forces you to confront your emotions you rather like this side of him. He’s healing just as much as you are and you feel content knowing that you’re a part of that process. Rolling your eyes at his remark you cross your arms sulkily over your chest, eyes turning to stare at the floor in one last ditch attempt to make him drop it. It could really use a scrub, you think. It only delays the inevitable as he stands unmoved, shifting in his stance to lean against the counter too. He’s in it for the long haul, so you have no choice but to give in. “What’s wrong?” He asks again when you look at him miserably. “Now that my shoulder is better, there’s no real reason for me to be here anymore,” you murmur wistfully. You knew it would come to this eventually, yet you never seemed to make peace with it. You thought you had, but it turned out to be nothing more than a silly facade to try and hide the fact you didn’t want to leave. Alucard is silent, but the look of shock on his face speaks volumes. He hadn’t even considered the idea that you would leave. Like you, he had fallen into the routine of navigating around you and your ways, as if you had always been there at the castle. It’s just so easy and even when he had tried to fight it he found himself becoming even more compelled by you. “I suppose so,” he answers finally, crestfallen. A lump forms in your throat when you look at him, seeing how dejected he appears. “I’m sorry.” It’s pitiful, but you don’t know what else to say. To impose yourself further on him and his hospitality after he had already saved your life just seemed selfish and yet it felt as equally unkind to simply abandon him. He chuckles, a sad, sardonic sound beneath its silken lilt. “There’s no need to be,” he states, oddly cold despite the softness of his voice, “after all, there’s no reason for you to stay anymore is there?” It hurts. You don’t want it to and you know that you have no right to be but it penetrates deep, twisting and taking root inside. “No,” your whisper, scared your voice will break, “I guess not.” Confused, Alucard regards your drop in mood. He had anticipated that you would be happy to finally be able to continue on with your life, no longer bound to him or the castle for care of your injury. Yet here you stand, trying so hard to keep yourself from breaking. Your eyes glisten and you catch your lip between your teeth; all telltale signs. Alucard realizes with alarming clarity that he’s upset you, because you don’t want to leave. Just like he doesn’t want you to go, either. It was defensive, to lash out, and all it’s done is serve as further reasoning for you to remove yourself from his life. He’s such an idiot. “Wait,” he suddenly says and it breaks his heart, as dead as he had considered it to be, when you look at him with such a forlorn expression. You aren’t sure what to expect but you force yourself not to hope, knowing that it could and most likely would bite you. So you’re pleasantly surprised when it’s not what you anticipated at all. “Do you,” he starts, awkwardly, voice alight with

trepidation, “not want to go?” With wide eyes you regard him, startled. Hearing it out in the open so brazenly has your mind stuttering, your body stiff. Of course it was true, but that wasn’t what had you shocked. It was the fact that, for a brief moment, you saw relief flash in his eyes. But maybe you were wrong. Or maybe he was wrong. You stare at one another in silence, neither able to break the stalemate of truths exposed. In such a relatively short time you’d both grown accustomed to each other's presence and, if you were being completely honest, you were scared to leave the safety of the castle. Out there you were just one woman, no allies, no home, nothing. It’s sobering to know that your situation hadn’t changed since the first time he had asked you about leaving, what you would do and where would you go once you were healed and you’re not quite sure you’re ready to admit how pathetic it made you feel. “No,” you swallow thickly, blinking away stubborn tears, “I don’t.” You remind him of a child, afraid. You’re trying to make yourself as small as you can, no doubt hoping that the ground would open up beneath your feet and swallow you whole. It stirs something in him, the memory of a feeling brought on by your plight; the night that his mother was burned alive and his father turned his back on humanity as a whole. The same feeling he felt when Sumi and Taka betrayed him. Lost. A sorrowful, imploring look flits across Alucard's face and his fingers itch, wanting to offer you comfort. His mother would run her fingers through his hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement to help lift his spirits. “Then you don’t have to go anywhere.” Alucard offers instead, afraid of what such tenderness may invite. Your warmth still set him on edge, but slowly and surely he was coming around to the idea of being as he once was; open and inviting without the need to guard himself. If there was anyone he could see himself opening up to again it would be you. “I have been ignorant to your situation,” he sighs, looking away in shame, “I should have known how difficult it is to pick up the pieces of one's life after they’ve been shattered, especially without help. I’m— I’m sorry.” It’s a quiet admission, shrouded in misery and mystery. He had yet to reveal much about himself, but you could fathom that he had been the receiver of much sorrow in his lifetime so far from the darkness he carried with him like a ball and chain. It tugged at your heart to see him so isolated from the very world itself, threatening to tear it apart. You quickly swipe at your eyes, trying in vain to banish the tears that broke free, warm trails lining your cheeks. “Don’t be, Alucard,” you inhale deeply, trying to ground yourself. You can’t stand the sudden look of guilt on his face for making you cry. “I should have told you about how I felt,” your voice trembles and you scowl at yourself, feeling silly, “I should have been honest instead of hiding it away like an idiot.” Crossing your arms tightly over your chest you try to focus on something else, though it’s hard when all you can see blurs with your tears. You angrily wipe at them, frustrated, until your hands are gently taken away by his, the grasp warm and comforting. “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he murmurs, looking over your face with a gentle expression. Your mouth is slightly parted with shock and your eyes, rimmed red and shimmering, are wide and locked onto him. “I think you’re so very human.” The tenderness in which the words are said, and the endearing meaning behind them, sends your heart soaring and you can’t help the smile that comes to your lips. A soft, breathless laugh passes your lips with ease, the tension leaving your shoulders. Your tears start anew and for a moment Alucard thinks he’s done something wrong, but from the way your laughter mingles with your shaky breaths he knows that isn’t the case. He, too, smiles at the warmth seeping back into you, the dark melancholy that had hung over you like a veil lifting and he lets go of your hands slowly. Neither of you comment on the way

you long for the contact to return; the simple, fragile bond inspiring a sense of yearning. “Are you alright?” He asks once you seem to have regained control of yourself, your tears having stopped and your gentle peels of laughter melting away. “I am,” you hum, looking at him with an intense fondness that he had seldom seen before. You are so bright in that moment, all because he has given you a place to belong, and it gives him hope. If only his father could have had such a chance, perhaps things may have turned out differently for him.

#Castlevania #Castlevania Netflix #Castlevania Imagine #Castlevania Imagines #Alucard #Alucard Imagine #Alucard Imagines #Adrian Tepes #Adrian Tepes Imagine #Adrian Tepes Imagines #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes Imagine #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes Imagines #Alucard x Reader #Adrian Tepes x Reader #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes x Reader

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Will Miller: Sex in Publix

A/N: FINALLY writing for Will Fucking “Ironhead” Miller from Triple Frontier!!! So excited, my dears!! Here’s some smut about you helping Will recover from his violent cereal aisle incident at Publix... which results in you two having shameless public sex.

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, reference to traumatic experience, sex in public (obvs) Inspiration: WILL’S SPEECH from the opening scene of the movie. Serious big dick energy 🥵

Word Count: ~2.5k

** THE SPEECH **

Quoted from Triple Frontier’s opening scene

Parts that are referenced in this fic are in bold below. (You seriously need to watch it, though...)

About five years ago, when I was on leave... I found myself standing in the middle of the cereal aisle at the Publix... with my arm around some guy's throat. I was squeezing so hard he pissed himself. My fiancée at the time had to climb on my back just so I didn’t actually kill the guy. Do you know why I was doing this? Because he hadn’t moved his cart when I asked. I was the best of the best, able to shut down, control, manipulate... all basic human instincts towards one goal: the completion of my mission. But the effects of committing extreme violence on other human beings are biological and physiological. That’s the price of being a warrior.

Fic begins after ‘Keep reading’ ...

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

A/N: Why yes, I just inserted the same gif again, so that you have the image right above, for purposes of the description of this mouthwatering motherfucker doing his GODDAMN CHEWING GUM LOWER LIP TONGUE THING in the third paragraph 😛

“We shouldn’t even be here...”

“Will, you say that every time,” you remind your fiancé as he strolls your cart through the aisles at Publix, slowly approaching Aisle 6. You can feel him tense up now as you’re drawing near. “It’s like I told you, babe—the best way to work through your shit is to come and revisit the scene of the crime.”

“Crime?” he rolls his tongue around the piece of gum he’s chewing, lets it slide along the inside of his full pink lower lip. He knows just what he’s doing: making it bulge in a way that looks fucking delicious. That action in itself is a crime calling for arrest. “You know the guy didn’t press charges.”

“That’s because you threatened to kill him if he did. Besides, the poor bastard had just pissed all over the floor; I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going wild to include that kind of detail if he filed a police report.”

He shrugs that off with a half-laugh. Tries to ignore how he had choked a total stranger with such brutal force... simply because he hadn’t moved his cart when Will had asked. “The fact stands that I’m criminally innocent.”

“Of course. The perfect model citizen,” you can’t help but indulge him in a playful little compliment. “With model good looks, too.”

Will rolls his eyes, those eyes you constantly effuse are the most gorgeous shade of blue. He never seems to think it’s true. “Butter me up, why don’t you.”

“Like I always do.”

He cracks a smile, which quickly vanishes as you reach Aisle 6. “Speaking of which, didn’t we just finish the butter in the fridge? I’ll go and grab some; maybe you can get the cereal, then meet me in the dairy aisle...”

“Nice try, big guy—not happening. Come on,” you urge, taking a soft yet firm hold of his muscular upper arm. “What, are you scared of Cap’n Crunch or something? Man up, Captain. Don’t be a pussy ass bitch.”

“Cap’n Crunch is creepy as shit. Freaked me out as a kid,” he says with an exaggerated cringe. “But seriously, babe—you know that going back there makes me... twitch.”

“And I’ll be there to hold your hand, and talk you through it, like I always am,” you reassure him. “Will, it’s gotten better every time we visit. We’ve made real progress; it’s a process, and to be honest, I think it’s almost finished.”

He bites that luscious lip of his. “What if it isn’t.”

“Then we’ll keep trying till it is, okay? You have to trust me. Either way, we’ll hurry home, soon as we’re done... so you can fuck me.”

His eyes light up at that, just as you knew they would, and he pushes the cart straight ahead. Not afraid to admit he’s been played. “Damn does my girl know how to control and manipulate...”

“I learned from the best of the best, as they say. My big strong ironhead fiancé.”

As it turns out today, the sex will happen long before you leave the store. Neither of you will be able to wait.

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

“So. How you feeling?” you ask him, standing by his side in the spot where it happened. As he stands still and stares, you reach up to comb your fingers through the soft golden spikes of his hair, hoping that the tender loving touch will help his healing.

Will chews his gum a little harder, with a firm clench of his jaw. Blue eyes a little darker. And good God—you shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but fuck, the smoldering look on his face right now is just about the hottest thing you ever saw...

You can see the scenes replay inside his mind. Not just the incident itself, choking a random guy in Publix half to death, squeezing so hard the bastard lost his breath and pissed himself—but more importantly, the underlying cause. Years of trauma, molding Will into a man that he himself feared and despised. So many years spent searching for the kind of peace he always craved but thought he’d never find.

He tells you often how he found it in your arms; though you’re a sucker for his charms, you always brush the line aside. That shit’s just corny. And besides, he only says it when he’s horny... which is all the fucking time.

One of the many things that you two have in common. Ever since Will Miller claimed you as his woman, the two of you have been getting it on so fucking often that it’s probably a crime.

You try to stop your mind from wandering in that direction. Will needs to process heavy shit right now and you’re supposed to help him. Shouldn’t get distracted by your own lady erection, as you silently admire him in all his alpha male perfection... mind burning with questions—like, but how the hell can it even be possible to be so fucking beautiful...?

His hands aren’t twitching in the way that often happens when he’s here, but still, he’s awfully tense and quieter than usual. Maybe it’s time to head out of the cereal aisle; return some other time, after a little while. You hold him close to whisper in his ear, stroking his arm with a warmhearted smile. “Listen, babe—if you don’t want to talk... then let’s go home and crack open some beer, or a bottle of wine... I’ll suck your cock, and everything will be just fine. I’m proud of you for coming here today. Now let’s get out of here so you can come someplace better, okay?”

Now at that, Will at last has a few words to say. He snaps out of his self-hating haze and attacks you just with the sheer power of his deep blue gaze. “Mmm, you mean like deep inside my filthy little whore of a fiancée?”

You feign offense, reacting with a gasp, dealing his upper arm a playful little slap. “Captain Miller! What gives you the right to talk to me like that—in public, no less? Show some damn respect.”

He answers with a flirty, dirty laugh. “Respect my ass.”

“I do, and you know that. It’s perfect,” you remind him as you reach around to grab it through his pants, loving the way the sculpted muscle tenses up beneath your hands. “And I respect it even better when it’s naked, so let’s get—”

“Gimme a minute,” he interrupts you with a kiss on the top of your head. “You know, before you started talking all that frisky business... I was just about to tell you that I think we’re finally finished. Babe, you did it.”

You pause, dropping your jaw—does he mean what you think he does? Now that the tone is back to serious, you free his fine ass from the grasp of your horny claws. “...did it?”

Will smiles and nods. “I know my stubborn ass kept resisting these visits. But you were right, babe. Like always. I think I’ve finally gotten past this shit. I mean—not all my shit; that’s a serious beast. But the whole Publix incident, at least. I just... today I finally felt released. At peace with it.”

There are no words to capture how giddy you feel. You wrap your arms around his neck with an excited squeal, heartbeat happily racing. “Babe, that’s amazing! We did it. I may be the one with all the brilliant ideas, but you were smart enough to listen.”

He lets out a soft giggle, hugging you so hard it tickles. “I still say you get all the credit. Manipulating me with all those promises of sex the way you did. Straight up forcing me into submission.”

“Oh, don’t put it that way. Now let’s not forget who’s the dom in the bedroom. Promise you’ll always play Captain, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles. “Whatever you say.”

The one thing on your mind as you snuggle into his embrace is this man smells like actual heaven... hot damn. You pull back from the hug, desperate to get home and get fucked. But there’s still one more thing to get out of the way.

You make some effort to compose yourself before what’s coming next. “Oh, and before we go—there’s something else I wanted you to know. Now that your issue’s been addressed... well, I also have something to confess.”

After those words, you pause for longer than you should. Which isn’t good.

“Go on?” Will holds your hand and gives you an encouraging, heartwarming nod.

Ugh, he’s so cute when he’s all soft and full of love. Despite being so big and tough. All at once a sugar baby muffin and a savage fucking sex god.

You clear your throat, collecting your slightly embarrassing thoughts. “So, when the whole... incident happened, in the moments just before I climbed onto your back, to pull you off of that poor man, I was just—watching you attack... and... well, at first I didn’t even know how to react, because... uhhh...”

Those blue eyes of his blink, and you can barely even think. Apparently you have a goddamn golden eyelash kink?

Will tries to urge you to continue; though it’s clear he’s quite sincere, he’s also more than just a little bit amused. He always loves to see you bumbling like a fool and acting totally uncool. He says it’s super cute. “Because what?”

You re-clear your throat, though it’s all clear already. Try to stay somewhat calm and steady. Keep your hormones in control. You are in public after all; people can see you even if they’re out of earshot. “I don’t know, it’s just—watching you do that was... I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was fucked up, and yes I knew it had to stop—but it was also... you know... super fucking hot?”

He blinks again, brows arching up a bit. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Y/N, I... I was out of my damn mind. Completely out of line. Like, deadly dangerous.”

“Oh, you think I didn’t notice?”

“No, I know you did...”

Fucking hell. You pull your hand from his and turn toward the shelves, grabbing a random box of cereal to occupy yourself. “Now you’re kink-shaming me. Never done that before, but now the truth comes out that I’m a sick and twisted whore—”

“What? Y/N, come on,” he groans, wrapping his arms around you from behind, the kind of big bear hug that always feels like home. “You know that isn’t how I meant it...”

“No, forget it. Just forget I ever said it.”

“Can’t really do that, to be honest. Babe, I’m into all your kinks, I promise. I just need a sec to process this.”

“Seriously—Will, this whole cereal aisle shouldn’t be about me. Even just mentioning it like I did was selfish. So forget it.”

“I’m not gonna just...”

“Hey, I have an idea,” you interrupt, eager to change the subject, as you now notice that you’d just happened to pick a box of Cap’n Crunch. With the creepy cartoon captain’s face emblazoned on the front. “What if you need a final outlet? Just to let off any steam that might be lingering, to make sure that you’ve really gotten over the whole cereal aisle incident?”

Will purrs as he leans closer into your shoulder. You stupidly assume he’s also looking at the cereal box you’re holding, but he isn’t. “Hmmm, you thinking what I’m thinking...?”

As it happens, you’re totally oblivious to what he just implied, since you’re still trying to recover from embarrassment. You step off to the side, pulling away from his embrace so that you’re standing face to face. And hold the box in front of you like it’s a martial arts board made for him to break. “Here, if you need something to punch... why don’t you let it out on Cap’n Crunch.”

He blinks, again, apparently a little stunned. You’re too oblivious to even notice that he has a hard on.

You gesture toward the crunchy cap’n. “Go on. Clock him one.”

Will shifts uncomfortably in an attempt to hide the stiffness of his cock. “Punch a cereal box? Babe, this is fucking ridiculous...”

“This creepy bastard haunted you throughout your childhood,” you remind him. “Come on, do it, Will. Show him who’s captain. You know it’ll feel good.”

He tosses a quick glance behind him to make sure that no one’s around to witness. “Can’t believe I’m gonna do this, but if you insist...”

Balling his right hand up into a fist, he fucking launches it at the cartoon son of a bitch. You know he didn’t go full force—the blow would’ve thrust you and Cap’n both across the room, of course—but he went hard enough to cause the cardboard box serious damage.

Will looks down at the damage he caused to his childhood nemesis, more pleased with it than he’d like to admit. “Well, shit.”

You flash him a triumphant grin, glad for the win. “Felt great, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did,” he laughs at himself with a shake of his head. “But the box is all busted.”

“Well, we are model citizens, so we’re obviously going to take responsibility and pay for this,” you tell him. “And William—don’t even think about bitching that Cap’n Crunch isn’t a worthwhile purchase. The catharsis that he just provided was worth it.”

Your fiancé is fully in agreement with that sentiment. “Sounds perfect.”

Moving toward your shopping cart, you pause before throwing the box in, stopping to salute the captain with one hand over your heart. “We thank you, Cap’n, for your service.”

Will lets out one of his loud, loving laughs and hugs you from the back again. “My God, you’re such a fucking dork...”

You shrug, melting into the hug. “Well, my dorky ass just singlehandedly took care of your entire healing process. So don’t knock it if it worked.”

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna knock it,” Will replies, suddenly spinning you around with your back up against the shelves, so you can see and feel the feral fire in his eyes. You practically just wet yourself. Even more so upon the words he utters next. “I was just thinking that I really wanna fuck it.”

Holy hell. This man is living breathing sex. Your words come out all jumbled up and shit. “What—how... you mean right now? In public?”

Will grinds his hips into your crotch so you can finally feel the stiffness of his dick. God, it’s so big. His every word and action never fail to make your pussy twitch. “Hmm, what is that I’m hearing... judgment? Are you kink-shaming me, bitch?”

Hot damn, you love how playfully sadistic your fiancé is. “No, I wouldn’t fucking dream of it. I love it,” you respond, succumbing to the force of his cock and the heat of your cunt. For good measure before you both give yourselves over to such guilty pleasure, to everything both of you want, you glance nervously up and down Aisle 6.

All is clear at the moment. And if that unexpectedly changes... you know there’s a risk, the constant threat of danger of onlooking strangers... well, fuck it. You and Will won’t let that stop you from indulging in some shameless sex in Publix.

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

... Continued in Part 2!

Masterlist

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

Sixteen - Dream SMP Drabble

A/N: Based off of @tittybitch’s headcannon on why both Tommy and Tubbo were child soldiers, with the new info Wilbur dropped a while ago on Tubbo and Tommy’s ages when he wrote about them for the Dream SMP - twenty. What if Tommy and Tubbo lied about their ages to Wilbur in order to become soldiers in the First Independence War?

TW: Major Character Death, murder, lying/breaking laws, drug mention, child soldiers, cursing. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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

When Tommy had fallen into the water, staining it crimson red with a large arrow in his chest, Tubbo had screamed, rushing over. The soldier fell to his knees as Tommy’s items simply began to float towards the surface. Wilbur’s head bowed in respect at his right-hand man, his gaze lingering toward the floor a bit longer than normal. Tommy was a good man, he’d made his choice, this choice, in order to save their nation and he stood by it. That was something even the L’manburg General could admit was admirable. Dream walked up to him.

“So you will disband L’manburg, and Tommy’s discs will be given to me?”

“That was the deal.” Wilbur breathed, putting a comforting hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, who hadn’t moved from his place on the ground, just staring at the mass of items and bloody water. “Alright men, let’s head out with our dignity and honor.”

“No…” Tubbo whispered to himself, his hands gripping the floor as he shook with pure emotion. “No! You don’t get to just brush past this! Dream killed Tommy, he killed him- and… and you’re just gonna give up?!”

“Tubbo, this duel was not our decision or our plan, you know that.”

“Our decision?!” Tubbo snapped, sitting up and getting in the face of his commanding officer. “Our DECISION?! He was sixteen, Wilbur! Sixteen!”

Wilbur’s eyes focused solely on Tubbo’s as he began to calm down, beginning to process what exactly his soldier had said. Sixteen. Tommy Innit, his right-hand man, a fellow soldier who amounted more than his fair share of injuries thus far, someone who just died for their country in a duel… was sixteen years old. A teenager. A kid. Anger boiled within his chest and stomach. “What?”

Tubbo’s eyes tried to avoid the General’s increasingly intense stare. “Oh, you… uh… I’m sorry, Wilbur - I didn’t mean to just go off like that, you know sometimes I just say stuff that just comes off the top of my head, it’s… it’s uh… crazy-!”

“Tubbo, I’m going to ask this once and only once, so listen to me very closely…” Wilbur rested his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, using the other to tilt his chin up to look at him. Tubbo gulped as he could feel his heart drop looking at how angry Wilbur was becoming. “How old is Tommy Innit?”

Tommy swore Tubbo to secrecy, he made him promise to never, ever, ever tell a soul how old they really were, not even through torture or death. Tommy told him that they’d be ruined if they told anyone their real ages, never taken seriously, and constantly looked down upon. Dream already thought of them as less than him, being children… teenagers, would only make it worse. They were so much more than just teenagers, and they were both so determined to prove how capable they were, how much they could do.

But now Tommy was dead, he saw his best friend die before his eyes and it all became too real. There was so much more they both wanted to do...they were only sixteen, he was only sixteen. This stupid lie that Tommy convinced him was better to tell than the truth could end up costing them their lives. Though it was selfish and cowardly, Tubbo didn’t want to die, he didn’t want Tommy to die. Not yet. Not now.

“Soldier, answer me.”

Tubbo’s throat turned dry as he took a deep breath, the words ‘Not yet’ echoing in his head. “Sixteen.”

Wilbur kneeled down to be more level with the fellow soldier, moving to gently grab both of his arms, his face looking more sympathetic, pitiful. “Yeah? And… and what about you, soldier?”

“I’m sixteen years old, sir.”

Wilbur nodded to himself, still trying to wrap his head around this fact when Fundy piped up from the corner. “Dad, Tommy’s respawned.” Anger and sadness fought in a tangled mess in Wilbur’s stomach as he stood once more.

“Right, men. Let’s go pay a visit to our fallen brother in arms. I have a feeling he’ll need it. Move out.” Fundy walked off quickly with Tubbo trailing behind him, his gaze focused on the ground, both of them silent. Dream and his posse were mostly gone already, not bothering to witness the fallout except for Sapnap and Eret.

Eret’s crown weighed heavy on his head - he betrayed two teenagers, as well as a son and a father to earn this, to earn his crown and his place on the throne. They were kids, they were a family. “Look, Wilbur I-”

“Tommy’s dead, Eret. It’s over, you won. Congrats.” Wilbur crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at Eret intensely. “Look, no matter what happened today, no matter who won what - if I see you within five feet of Fundy, Tubbo, or Tommy, you’ll fucking regret it. I think they’ve suffered enough because of you.”

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

When Tommy opened his eyes and the soreness and tiredness took over him, a feeling that he remembered vividly, all he wanted was to curl in on himself and cry. He was ashamed of himself, of that stupid stupid duel - now L’manburg would never get their freedom, and it was all his fault. All because he couldn’t land one arrow. Trying to distract himself from the guilt that weighed on his heart, he moved, wincing at the small pricks of pain spread throughout his body, and opened up the chest near his bed, grabbing some bandages and health potions to help heal him and numb some of the pain.

With a heavy heart, he hesitated for a moment, taking off his L’manburg coat, knowing it would probably be the last time he’d do so. He ran his hands over the stitching to try and commit it all to memory, in some weird effort to not let L’manburg die. He fought so hard to protect it, yet he killed it with his own hands. He let out a defeated sigh, piling the coat and his hat on top of his chest, moving to take care of the nasty scarring around his chest where Dream had shot him.

He didn’t expect anyone to visit him, let alone Wilbur. The General entered with his hands behind his back, deep in thought, thinking behind his eyes. Tubbo rushed over, nearly crashing into him. “Tommy!”

“Woah, Woah, Woah big man.” Tommy smiled at the sight of his friend, wrapping an arm around him a bit of an embrace. “Thanks for the worry, but I’m still sore-”

“Oh, right, right - sorry.” Tubbo sheepishly added, pulling away from the tight hug he had around his best friend’s middle, moving to sit beside him.

“I...uhm… didn’t expect all of you to be here.”

Fundy walked over, a cloth and a gleaming bottle in his hand. “Here, I just brewed from regen if you need it, it’ll be a lot better than those health pots. A hit like that’ll need lots of healing, that’s for sure.” Tommy’s eyes furrowed at the weird sadness Fundy’s face held, how he seemed like he was forcing a smile. It was weird to see someone act tense around him, and Wilbur’s silence definitely was NOT helping.

“Uh… thanks, Fundy.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright - With your injuries, we weren’t sure you were going to respawn.”

Tommy smirked, moving to take the potion and cloth from the fox hybrid, popping the cork off. “Please, nothing that green bastard could do could ever keep me down.” He took a sip of the potion, the dull and numb sensation traveling throughout his body and slowly melting away any lingering pricks of pain. Laughter echoed from both Tubbo and Fundy, enjoying the slight sense of normalcy.

“Tommy?” Wilbur walked toward the three who sat around or on the bed, his eyes flicking back and forth, looking like he wanted to say something but he didn’t know what to say.

“Sir?” Tommy looked up at the General, sitting up straight almost on instinct at this point. Tommy had never seen Wilbur like this in his entire life, never seen his General this conflicted, this unsure of something. “...Wilbur?”

“I…” Wilbur swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. “I know, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you and Tubbo hid from me, I know you’re not twenty.” Tommy’s eyes flicked over toward Tubbo, who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You don’t know shit.” Tommy spat.

“Tommy, I told him.” Tubbo spilled out, clinging on to his best friend’s arm like it was a lifeline.

“Tubbo you promised, you looked me in the eyes and you promised me, you swore to me, not even with death-!”

“I thought...I don’t want you to die, Tommy!” Tubbo finally looked up toward his friend, and Tommy finally saw the distress in his eyes. “You have one life left. ONE. You’re my best friend, I…” Tubbo could see the hurt in Tommy’s eyes, and his gaze fell back on the bedsheets in shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Tommy took a deep breath, looking at his best friend, then turned toward Wilbur. “So, I guess all those ‘child’ jokes were true, innit?” He glared at the other two in the room. “Come on, out with it then. Tell me how reckless and immature I am. Tell me I never took any of this seriously, how I doomed and destroyed everything because I’m just a ‘stupid child’.” Tommy’s hands gripped into fists, getting up from the bed, angry at the silence. “Come on, just DO IT ALREADY!”

“You’re not a stupid child, Tommy.”

“Don’t you dare fucking pity me-”

“Pity you?! PITY YOU?!” Wilbur exclaimed. “Do you honestly think I would do that? Do you think after everything you’ve done, I pity you?”

“What?”

“Tommy, you’ve dedicated yourself to L’manburg, you put your life on the line for it and were willing to risk your discs for its freedom. That’s earned my respect, however old you are.” Wilbur looked between Tommy and Tubbo. “I wish you would’ve told me, I could’ve been able to protect you from all of this. You wouldn’t have had to fight this war, it’s not yours to fight. Not yet.”

“You know without me or Tubbo you wouldn’t have fared as well with Dream’s army. You needed help, we wanted to fight.” Tommy’s voice was no longer angry but tired. “I don’t regret it, Wilbur.”

“But you’re… you’re both kids, you’re...fuck, what have I done?!” Wilbur cursed under his breath.

“What you had to.” Tubbo’s voice was soft in its reply. Silence passed through the room as Wilbur moved toward both of the teens, shaking his head.

“No, no no no, there was another way, you shouldn’t have- you both should have never had to go through any of this, never been on the battlefield or running for your life. You shouldn’t have had to make those calls, you should’ve just enjoyed being kids instead of getting dragged into my mess...my war. I put you through that - if it wasn’t torture enough to put my own son in that position…”

“If you know me at all, Wil, you know I wouldn’t just sit by and watch. L’manburg… this place… it’s so much more than just a place. You and I started our first drug trades here, you made me feel important, you made me feel a part of something, instead of some kind of prick that everyone just wants to go away. You’ve all had my back, you’re all my friends… this is my home.”

Tubbo sat up to stand beside Tommy with a small hopeful smile. “Our home.”

“Our home.” Tommy echoed. “We needed… no, we wanted to protect it, no matter what. So I don’t regret this at all, Wilbur. Even if we lost. I don’t regret a damn thing.”

At that moment, no truer words had ever been spoken.

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multi-fandom-freak0221 · 4 years

Text

The Shell of a Girl that I Used to Know Well

Inspired by "Love of three" by @misashabunbun

Thank you @thestressmademedoit and @maleive07 for helping me find the fic.

So this turned out to be longer than I thought it would be (probably because I based it around like 5 songs) so I'll break it into parts and post each part separately. Oh and did I mention this is songfic? Because it's a songfic! No Felix yet, but you guys do see Peter but I surprise surprise I turned this into an OT4 pairing. Anyone wanna guess who the other lucky person is to date Mari, Peter and Felix? Also bonus points for anyone who can figure out Mari's stage name.

The song in this part in Stitches by Shawn Mendes and The Lonely by Christina Perri is where I got this parts title from. Also the song mentioned at the end is Partners in Crime by Set It Off ft Ashley Costello.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was grateful for the quiet she found in what she was pretty sure was some kind of presentation room. There was a raised platform which she believes is supposed to be some kind of stage and a couple of tables with chairs surrounding them. She still has no idea how she got here, she was just trying to find some peace. She knew her pseudo Uncle and her friends meant well but they were suffocating her. It's been over a week since she left that bastard, not likely that he even noticed. Since Marinette has gotten to Stark Towers everyone has been treating her like she's about to break and she can't stand it. Yes she's hurt, but like give her a chance to fall apart before trying to shove her back together again! Marinette took a deep breath to calm herself as she sat on the little stage to work on the embroidery she was putting on the back of the blouse. She already had a full heart there but it was kind of plain. She wanted to add something but she didn't know what.

She sighed softly. At times she really missed Tikki being around to be her second opinion.

Ever since the defeat of Hawkmoth the kwamis asked to be renounced and to have their respective jewelry return the Miraculous box. They were working together to heal poor Nooroo and Dusuu. Even though Marinette had been able to fully fix the peacock Miraculous, as well as heal Emilie Agreste and Nathalie Sancour from the effects of using a broken Miraculous, the two kwamis had to deal with a significant amount of emotional trauma from the whole affair.

Even though the final battle had been won quietly without casualties it had taken a lot out of everyone who had been a part of it. Adrien's relationship with his father has been very strained to say the least. Even though Gabriel is doing his best to right his wrongs, it goes to say that the only reason Adrien even speaks to his father at all is because of his mother who is desperately trying to make up for years lost between the two of them.

While Marinette was trying to think of an idea for her embroidery she started humming a song she had heard recently on the radio. In her eyes it fit her past relationship with Damian Wayne perfectly. Soon enough she was singing softly.

I thought that I've been hurt before

But no one has ever left me quite this sore.

Even on their worst days Lila's lies, Alya's beratings, hell even Mlle. Bustier's looks of disappointment never hurt half as much as Damian's total disinterest did. She had cooked him a nice romantic dinner yet he barely acknowledged her. More interested in whatever, or should she say whoever, was on his phone. After 5 mins of trying to carry the conversation alone Marinette sighed and just decided to eat the meal she worked so hard on. After 10 mins of stiff silence in their shared apartment, only filled with the sounds of Marinette eating and Damian texting, the latter got up. Grabbing his coat he made his way to the door, barely turning his head towards his fiancee to call out "I've got to go. Something came up at work."

Marinette wasn't even shocked anymore, just resigned. Still she tried to reason with the man she no longer recognized. Sometimes she wonders if she ever truly knew him at all. "You just got here. Isn't there someone else who can handle it? You haven't even touched your dinner."

True to her words, the young heir's meal sat completely untouched, quickly cooling in the AC.

"Mari, you know these things are important. Not just anyone can handle them." Damian's words were patronizing at best. It frustrated the young designer, but she didn't let it show.

"Will you be back tonight?" She knew the answer but she asked anyway.

Damian hummed noncommittally as he walked through the door still looking at his phone and not the beautiful young lady in front of him. "Most likely not. Don't wait up for me." He quickly walked out, closing the door behind him. Marinette quickly placed her ear to the door as he walked away from the humble abode. She could hear him on the phone.

"Yeah. I'm on my way, gorgeous. I just left." Silence. "No, she doesn't suspect a thing." Nothing but his footsteps as he continues to leave unknowing of her distress behind the apartment "Perfect. The less you're wearing, the better."

Marinette crumbled to the floor after she could no longer hear him. She had suspected as much but that didn't make hearing it less painful.

Your words cut deeper than a knife

Now I need someone to breathe me back to life

She remembers the first time he truly yelled at her. The way he looked at her with disgust. The way she flinched away from his imposing figure and his cutting words. If tried hard enough she could delude herself that he was doing this out of her best interest. The illusion made even easier to believe by the way he apologized and hugged her after he stopped yelling. The way he told her he was worried about her going out and being made a target to Rogues because of her connection to him. The way he feared that he disguises wouldn't be enough even though he himself didn't recognize her at first when she walked back through the apartment door the day. She believed she was safer staying in the apartment because he said so and he only wants what's best for her. So eventually the walls of their apartment was all she saw 24/7. For her safety of course.

Got feeling that I'm going under

But I know I will make it out alive

If quit calling you my lover

And move on

Marinette's head was spinning. Or was it the room? Was she even breathing? She couldn't focus on any of that. All she could focus on was the picture sitting on the screen on her phone. The phone Damian had bought her. The idea made her feel sick now because all those gifts he was giving her now seemed to have double meanings. Especially when the picture filling her screen was of a naked Lila whose body was hidden behind a sheet lying on Damian's bare chest while he slept. She didn't even think to process how the lying bitch managed to get her number. Instead all she could focus on was tears streaming down her face as she felt her heart shatter. She didn't even process the fact that she left the phone right there with the picture still on the screen and started packing her stuff. She grabbed everything that was hers that she bought herself, later on she'd be surprised at how little that was. She stuffed her things in a small suitcase, put the miracle box in a duffle bag wrapped in her leftover fabric from commissions, grabbed her purse with her wallet and left. After locking the apartment door she slid the key underneath the door so he could have it back. He could have everything back he ever gave her. She was done. She was so distressed she didn't even notice that she had put on the one disguise she had and taken a train to New York until she was standing in the lobby of Stark Tower with her Uncle Tony and her Aunt Pepper holding her while she sobbed.

You watch me bleed until I can't breathe

I'm shaking, falling onto my knees

And now that I'm without your kisses

I'll be needing stitches

Tripping over myself

Aching, begging you to come help

And now that I'm without your kisses

I'll be needing stitches

Marinette was so engrossed in the lyrics, in her feelings, that she didn't notice the tears falling from her eyes, nor the way she was furiously embroidering the shirt in her hands. And she definitely didn't notice that she had gained an audience.

Just like a moth drawn to a flame

Yeah you lured me in and I couldn't sense the pain

The first time she met Damian it had been an accident. She knew when her classes started she wouldn't have the time to get the fabrics she needed for her last commissions that she agreed to before going on hiatus. She knew juggling her business and school would be hard so told her clients she'd be on break for the unforeseeable future. She was so focused on her phone trying to make sure her list was complete, that she didn't notice the man right in front of her.

"Oh!" She fell back with a little yelp and when she saw what, or who, she ran into she hurried to help them up as well. "I'm so sorry monsieur. Are you okay?"

The man yanked his hand away from her and growled, "You wouldn't be having to ask if you weren't caught up in whatever idiotic nonsense is on your phone."

Marinette fumed silently. "Well excuse me sir, I don't know who you think you are, but that is uncalled for. I apologized and helped you up. All you had to do was walk away. No need to be so rude."

Damian raised an eyebrow at her curiously. "You don't know who I am?"

Marinette crossed her arms still annoyed. "Am I supposed to? You could be the president for all I cared and I still would say you were being rude and disrespectful."

Damian's expression changed slightly to a bit of amused intrigue. "I apologize. I thought you were another fangirl with some kind of ruse to get my attention. If you don't mind me asking, what is a girl like you doing in a city like Gotham? I can tell from your accent you are not from here."

Marinette relaxed a little bit. "I'm here going to college when the semester starts, but right now I was out doing some shopping."

"Perhaps I could join you as a way to apologize for my rude behavior. I could give you a mini tour along the way." Damian smiled softly at her.

"I don't know," apprehension was clear on Marinette's face. "I don't even know you let alone your name."

Damian chuckled lightly. "I assure you, even if you don't know me, the rest of the city does. I won't be able to get away with doing anything to you without being plastered across every newspaper and magazine in town, Angel. But my name is Damian by the way. Damian Wayne." He grabbed her hand and kissed it softly after his introduction.

"A-angel?" Marinette stuttered as she blushed.

"Well, I still don't know your name."

Marinette smiled before introducing herself. "My name is Marinette. Your company would be much appreciated, Damian"

Your bitter heart cold to the touch

Now I'm going to reap what I sow

I'm left seeing red on my own

Sometimes on nights like these Marinette wondered what she did wrong. Because it had to be her of course. Why else would Damian go from her caring, charming, wonderful, Dove to Gotham's very own cold, unfeeling, ruthless, Ice Prince.

"Hi, Damian. You're home early." Marinette tried not to let the hope seep into her voice. She had a feeling she wasn't successful.

Damian barely grunted at her as he continued to their room. "My idiots brothers dragged me into spending some time with them so I'm forced to change into something less formal."

"Oh okay." She knew she did an even worse job of hiding her disappointment. "You know I finished Uncle Jagged's outfit the other day. He loved it."

Damian hummed noncommittally. She knew he wasn't paying attention, he never was but she kept trying.

"You know how he's doing that "World's Greatest" Tour. Celebrating the hero's of the world in their respective cities. Luka's been opening for him. His career has really taken off. Hell I'm sure half the tickets Uncle Jagged sells are people just trying to see Luka. He'll have to tour solo soon."

"I bet." Damian's voice was muffled from being the closet, but she could still hear the disinterest in his voice.

She sighed as she leaned against the doorframe of "their" room. It was only theirs in name the fact that his clothes were there. She spent almost every night there alone. She took a deep breath trying to gather her courage for what she was going to ask. "Well they wanted to thank me for the outfits. Claimed the tour would have been half as successful without them. They invited me to take me out to dinner tonight to catch up, then for me to hang out backstage during their show. They said they missed me." Marinette hoped he still wasn't paying attention, but as soon as he settled his famous glare on her, she knew she wasn't that lucky. She flinched into herself under his gaze.

"Marinette. You know what would happen if you left this apartment. The famous Wayne Heir's sweet vulnerable fiance. The one never seen in the media anymore. You would get off this block before your picture would be on every media outlet in the city. Then you would be the Rogues target for the night. They would go anywhere you would be. Including the concert. Would you really be so selfish to endanger hundreds, possibly thousands of innocent concert goers just to 'hang out' with people you can see any time you please?" The disappointment on his face and the coldness of his delivery had her feeling ashamed. She hung her head low trying to hold back the tears.

"I'm sorry." She knew her voice was barely above whisper, but if she tried to speak any louder she knew she'd open the flood gatesp.

Damian brushed past her. "You should be. I'll be heading to the concert with my brothers. I'll inform Jagged of your apologies for not coming."

"Just telling him I'm sick." She offered weakly still not looking up from the floor.

She could feel his judgeful look on her. "Of course not. He'll insist on coming to check on you then he'll see your lying. I'll tell him you're busy with commissions." He left her standing there as headed to leave again. She heard his phone ring and he answered it harshly. "I'm coming down, Todd!" "Of course not, you imbecile! She's a serious designer who can't be bothered out of her schedule to spend time with my idiotic brothers, especially when she's up to her nose in commissions!" She heard the door shut after that statement. I guess her soon to be brothers in law didn't know the real reason behind her lock down either. She stood there for a few more moments before she broke down into loud heavy sobs. She collapsed to her knees and just cried. Not for the first nor last time in that prison she called an apartment.

Got feeling that I'm going under

But I know I will make it out alive

If quit calling you my lover

And move on

You watch me bleed until I can't breathe

I'm shaking, falling onto my knees

And now that I'm without your kisses

I'll be needing stitches

Tripping over myself

Aching, begging you to come help

And now that I'm without your kisses

I'll be needing stitches

Needle and the thread

Gotta get you out my head

Her hands were moving furiously as she was trying to rid her mind of her cruel ex.

Needle and the thread

Gonna wind up dead

She wanted to forget everything about him.

Needle and the thread

Gotta get you out my head

His smile, his laugh, the loving look in his eyes.

Needle and the thread

Gonna wind up dead

His kisses, his hugs, the way he held her like he was afraid of losing her

Needle and the thread

Gotta get you out my head

His scowl, his glare, his need to hide her from the world

Needle and the thread

Gonna wind up dead

His distance, his apathy, the way he was happy in any other girl's arms but her's

Needle and the thread

Gotta get you out my head

Get you out of my head.

She wanted to forget loving him and hating him. She wanted her happiness back

You watch me bleed until I can't breathe

Shaking, falling onto my knees

And now that I'm without your kisses

I'll be needing stitches

Tripping over myself

Aching, begging you to come help

And now that I'm without your kisses

I'll be needing stitches

And now that I'm without you kisses

I'll be needing stitches

I'll be needing stitches.

As she finished singing she awoke from her haze. She felt the tears on her face and wiped them away before looking to see what she had made. The simple heart from before now had a jagged line down the middle that stopped a quarter of the way to the bottom to represent a break. From the bottom it looked like the heart was dripping. The most noticeable change was the crude yet tasteful stitches that laid over the break in the heart. They weren't neat as if she were suggesting they were professionally done. The way she laid them subconsciously represented as if they were self done by someone trying their best.

While she was studying her impromptu embroidery a voice surprised her. "It looks nice."

She looked up in shock to see a brown haired boy around her age, 21 maybe 22, sitting at the table closest to the stage she was on. He looked as if he had been there for a while.

"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you. I heard you singing so I came to see who it was because you have a beautiful voice, but then I saw you crying and I wanted to make sure you were okay, but you seem really focused and I didn't want to interrupt, but I didn't want to just leave you either, but- I'm sorry I'm rambling. My name is Peter. Are you okay?" The boy, Peter, asked her softly, looking concerned. For Marinette it was enough.

She had sat in the chair next to him and finally let out everything she was holding in. The tears were flowing freely now "I don't know. I'm so mad, so hurt, so confused. Where did it go wrong? One minute I'm getting my business degree at Gotham University, the next I'm in a relationship with Damian Wayne. It was amazing he was so kind and sweet and loving and he made me so happy. Then next thing I know after dating for about a year and half he proposes. I'm on cloud 9 and I say yes and I'm so excited for what's to come, but suddenly everything changes. Next thing I know he's saying I can't leave the apartment because he wants me to be safe from the Rogues and I accepted it. Then he's yelling at me for trying to sneak out and I'm thinking I deserve it. I should have just stayed home and he's already apologizing for yelling. Then suddenly he's gone more and more. He's never home and I'm alone and it hurts. Then suddenly I'm selfish for asking to go out to see my friends because how can I put everyone at risk just to go see some friends who I can see anytime I want. Yet nobody is ever allowed over. But I still believe he's right. How can I be So now I'm alone and miserable and it hurts because he keeps getting further and further from me and I'm starting to suspect what's going on but I'm too scared to ask him because if he confirms it, then everything I believed in is a lie and I couldn't live with that. But I didn't even have to ask because soon someone is sending me a picture and it's the girl who made my school life hell by taking everyone I thought was my friend away from me with a few far fetched lies, and here she is laying naked on my fiance's naked chest as he sleeps. And I know he knows who she is and what she did to me because I told him. Yet he doesn't care because here he is fucking her while I'm at home all the time because he told me to be. So I grabbed my stuff and left everything he ever got me and just left. So here I am miserable staying with my Uncle Tony trying not to think about the asshole while my friends try to help me feel better yet I feel terrible because I loved the jerk and I still kinda do and I still have the engagement ring which I should pawn, but it was Bruce's mom's ring and that would be wrong and Bruce would be devastated. Why do I care so much about him and his family when he couldn't be bothered with me?" She felt better after finally letting it all out. She hadn't cried since she came to Uncle Tony. Not when Adrien arrived with Kagami, Marc, and Nathaniel, not when Luka arrived with Uncle Jagged and not even when Chole and Alix arrived. All her friends and pseudo family were there yet she hadn't cried once, nor had she actually told them the full story. But here this stranger asked if she was okay and she let it flow like Niagara Falls.

If Peter was shocked by her rant he didn't let it show. Instead he placed a hand on her before speaking softly "Because you are an amazing person who is a million times better than him. He is insane to choose anyone over you especially someone so foul as a desperate liar. I just met you, but I can already tell that you are a kind hearted, talented girl and anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives and I can tell by the crowd over there by the door that you have many people standing with you who already figured that out." Marinette looked up at his words to see her friends and pseudo uncles and their respective wives standing in the door.

"Hi guys." As soon as Marinette finished speaking they all rushed towards her. Adrien reached her first pulling her into a tight hug.

"Oh bugaboo, I'm so sorry you had to go through this. Are you okay? Why didn't you tell us, princess?" He buried his face in her neck purring slightly in a way that calmed her.

"I guess I was still processing everything kitty. He really had me thinking he loved me and to find out he didn't was a hard blow." She confessed quietly.

"He'll meet my blade for hurting you, Mari," Kagami seemed to have Chole, Alix and surprisingly, Marc ready to back her.

"No, Gami, I just want to get over him. He's not worth it." Mari remarked sadly before smiling at her friends. "But thank you, all of you, for having my back."

There were various "Of course" and "Always" that were heard among the group before Tony Stark cleared his throat. "Marinette let me properly introduce Peter Parker, my intern. Peter, this is my niece Marinette Dupain-Cheng also known as MDC owner and head designer of Miracle Designs."

Peter looked star struck. "I love your work. You make the coolest clothes on the planet."

Marinette blushed lightly. "Thank you, Peter. Uncle Tony told me much about you and I was always impressed. You're nothing short of a genius." Marinette missed Peter's blush as she started introducing her friends to him, but Tony didn't.

"This is Adrien Agreste, former model and Physics major. This is Kagami Tsurugi, world champion fencer. This is Luka Couffanie, singer songwriter signed under Jagged Stone. They're dating. This is Nathaniel Kurtzberg and Marc Anciel creators of Miraculous Tales comic. They're engaged. This is Chole Bourgeois, the best lawyer in all of France and probably Europe. And this is Alix Kubdel, X Games Winner, and famous archeologists. These two are also engaged. I'm sure you know Jagged Stone and his manager and also his wife, Penny."

"You guys are amazing! None of you look much older than me yet you're already so successful! What is in the water in Paris? Some kind of talent steroids?" Peter was amazed.

"Speaking of talent," Luka turned towards Marinette. "Melody why didn't you tell me you could sing like that?" Soon everyone was agreeing that she was an excellent singer.

Marinette was bright red. "It's no big deal guys. I was just singing to myself, I wasn't expecting an audience."

Jagged took his chance to pull his pseudo niece into a hug. "Nettie, my girl you have got to let me sign you. It would be so rocking to have talent like yours produced under my label!"

"No way Uncle Jagged! I'm not even that good!" Marinette began protesting before Luka put a hand on her shoulder.

"How about this? I need some vocals for a song I wrote and no matter how much I love them, my dear boyfriend and girlfriend can not sing." Adrien and Kagami looked at each other before shrugging. No point denying it. "How about you feature in my new single under an alias and if it's hit you'll give an album a try?"

Marinette looked around at some of the most important people in the world to her before sighing and agreeing.

"Alright. But no promises that this will be hit. I'm really not that good. You guys are just biased."

Alix ruffled Marinette's hair. "Whatever you say, DC. Now let's go play some UMS3!"

As everyone was heading out to find a room large enough for all of them Peter prepared to go back to work on a project until Marinette turned back to him with a huge smile and bright eyes. "Come on Peter! Come play with us."

How could he say no to that? So he came along.

A couple weeks later Luka's single "Partners in Crime" featuring Neon Titanium hit number one on the charts. And the most searched inquiry on Google for 3 days following was "who is Neon Titanium?" Needless to say Marinette was busy for the next couple months. Especially after Luka dropped a music video which she starred in as well wear a full face mask to stay hidden.

#maribat salt #maribat #spideybug #felinette #past Mari x Dami #marivenger #ex daminette #neon titanium #moving on

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maiyami · 3 years

Text

𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮

𝕂𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕠 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕞𝕚 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

ℝ𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝟙𝟠+

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕒𝕘𝕖, 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥, 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖.

𝔸𝕝𝕝 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝟙𝟠+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Hawks saw you there, holding this mans head in your lap. Hands glowing a bright green, eyes too as you tired your hardest to save this hero. He couldn’t be more than in the thirties for ranking but you were trying your hardest to save him. Damn did you look beautiful, a little bit of sweat on your brow while you concentrated hard, your y/c/h hanging on your cheeks, and this determinate look on your face. But sadly it was to late for this hero, he lost to much blood and there was nothing more that you could do for him. Another hero had put a hand on your shoulder, letting you know that you did everything you could.

Hawks just stood there looking at you, that’s when you finally picked your head up. Your eyes caught these gorgeous golden ones. Maybe you both stared at each other a little too long, until one of your colleagues called for you. “Angel! We are leaving.” He yelled too you. You shot him a small smile, then you were off. Even though that smile was small, seemed a little forced but it was breath taking. He would do anything to see that smile once more, be the reason why you smile. He was going to try and see you again, whatever it takes.

While you were on your way back to the agency you worked for, you couldn’t get Hawks out of your mind. Have you ever seen eyes as golden as his? Or wings so bright that you could see them a mile away? Probably not. He just carried himself in a way that you had never seen before, he had a slim but muscular build. Damn he was pretty much perfect, no wonder so many fan girls swoon over him. It was a long day, you needed to wash up after that one.

Hawks decided to look into you more, he already heard your hero name. It shouldn’t be that hard to find something on you. The only thing he found about you was that you’ve been in the low teens on the hero chart since you were eighteen. However you spend a lot of time working at hospitals while still working for fatgums agency. Other than that, there isn’t much about you. He couldn’t even find your actual name, where you went to school, or anything about you until you turned eighteen. It was like you didn’t exist, like you just came out of nowhere. This just made him more interested in you, he wanted to find out more.

You were just going through the motions of the day, going on patrol then getting called off to the hospital to help the hurt. Once you arrived at the hospital, you were taken up to a room immediately. A big pro hero had been hurt, they needed you. Once you got into the room, you were met with those beautiful golden eyes. Hawks was sitting on the table, he looked pretty beat up. His right wing was drooping, plus there was horrible cuts on his right arm. You told everyone to leave, closing the door behind them.

You looked over him, he was smiling. Like it didn’t matter he had been hurt, his spirits were super high. You walked over looking at his arm, then his wing. “So what happened.” You asked him. He shrugged a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. “Got thrown through a window, pretty hard too.” He said back. You nodded at him, reaching out to lift his wing but then stopped. “Can I?” You questioned. Which he nodded back. You slowly rubbed your hand along his wing, bringing it up slightly. When you looked at him, he just seemed content. “Can you move it?” You asked and he shook his head no. “Can you feel it?” You asked. Which he nodded yes. “I can, just hurts like hell.” He said back.

“It’s more than likely broken, but don’t worry.” You said then you sat down. You placed both hands onto his wing now, they started to glow green. Your eyes changed as well, you were staring straight as you healed him. Hawks felt this warm sensation run through his body, it was like being completely covered in a light sun. Just enough to make you warm but not enough to burn you. It was the most peaceful thing he ever felt. Quickly his wing started to twitch, moving back into place. You moved down to his arm, softly rubbing your hands over it until the cuts were gone. The process only took about twenty minutes, but Hawks had never felt so good in his life. He had so much energy after you were done, but when he looked at you, you seemed so drained.

There were some bags under your eyes now, looked a little more pale. You were leaning back in your chair, almost breathless. “Are you ok?” He questioned. You nodded, giving him a soft smile. “Yea, sometimes when injuries are bad it takes me a second to feel better.” You admitted too him. He kind of just kept looking at you, a little confused look. You laughed softly. “My quirk is different than most healing quirks. Your pain transfers too me, I pretty much swap energies with the person I heal. So while I take away your pain, I feel it. While also healing any injuries, sometimes I just need a second to bounce back.” You said then some of the life was coming back into your eyes.

Hawks couldn’t believe what he was hearing, you put yourself through so much just to help people. “Does it hurt bad?” He questioned. You shrugged, not really knowing what to say. “Some more than others.” You answered honestly. Which was true sometimes you felt nothing at all, but others could really put you down for the count. You stood up once more, looking over his wing then back to his arm. “You’re all set here, please try to be more careful.” You said to him, a soft smirk spreading across your lips. There it was, that smile Hawks has been thinking about for weeks. You finally brought it out, it could fucking melt his heart if he looked at it for too long.

He stood, walking towards you. “Thank you for healing me. By the way, I’m Hawks. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself the other day.” He said while holding his hand out too you. You gladly took it, your hand seemed to get swallowed up in his. “No problem, names Angel.” You said back too him. Just keeping it the hero name, interesting. Hawks thought too himself. “Ahw, come on kid. What’s your real name?” He asked, putting on as much charm as he could. You were hesitant, almost like you were lost as to what to say to that. “It’s just Angel, love.” You said back at him, you smile fading away slightly.

“Damn, I pushed her a little to much.” Hawks thought too himself. He needed to recover quick, he didn’t want to see you without that smile. “Real names are overrated anyways, take it from me.” He said back with a big toothy grin. It made you perk up a little, more comfortable now. That smile returned to your face, a little brighter now. “Glad you think so, Hawks.” You said back. Hawks beamed at you, looking at your face. “Let me take you out to dinner, it’s the least I can do for putting you through so much.” Hawks offered. You pondered the idea slightly in your mind, then smiled. “Sure, I’d like that.” You said.

A few days later you were getting ready for your dinner with Hawks. He said he was going to bring you to this cute little barbecue place, nothing to fancy. You were very pleased with that, you never really cared for over the top “dates”. You were dressed in this cute floral crop top, paired along with high waisted leggings, and shoes to match. You pulled your hair up, letting it hang long behind you. You grabbed your tan leather jacket off the chair, putting your outfit together. That’s when you heard a tap at your balcony door.

You turned to see the bird man himself, right on time and waiting. You quickly went over to the door, opening it and waving him to come inside. This was the first time you had ever seen Hawks dressed down. He was in a v-neck t-shirt, dark jeans, and he had some jewelry on but not too much. He just seemed so comfortable, you were pretty excited to see him this way. He smiled at you, looking you up and down. “You look amazing, ready for the date?” He questioned, which you nodded at him. Then he stepped out onto the balcony, you were confused but followed.

He opened his wings, stretching them out completely before holding a hand too you. “We flying there?” You questioned him, taking his hand. He pulled you in close, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Of course, so hang tight dove.” He said back. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, and he took off into the sky. You weren’t afraid of flying by any means, you just weren’t extatic that you were miles above the ground with just a pair of arms holding you for safety. But as you flew, you could feel how secure his arms were around you. There was no way he would ever let you fall, it made you feel safe.

Hawks could feel your heartbeat going a mile a minute, he thought it was kind of cute. Then he felt you slightly loosen your grip around his neck. Looking down at you, he didn’t see any fear in your eyes. You looked extremely joyful, like this was an amazing experience for you. That smile that could knock him dead was shining brighter than the sun. God, how he loved to see this look on your face. It made him hold onto you a little tighter, taking it all in for himself.

Once you arrived at the restaurant that’s when the date really kicked off. You exchanged many hero stories, talked about work, and just everyday life. You applauded Hawks for being able to deal with so many fans, and he shot back with how he thinks your extraordinary for doing what you do. It was an amazing date, you never felt more comfortable with someone than you do with Hawks. “I have to ask, why do you just stick with your hero name?” He questioned. Ah, the dreaded question. The questioned you hated more than anything else in this world. You sort of sighed, leaning back to look over his face. “It’s just going to sound silly too you.” You said meekly back.

“No, it won’t trust me.” He said back, serious he knows exactly what you mean. You looked over to the window, watching people walk by then back at him. “I forgot it.” You said softly back. If Hawks wasn’t so keen in hearing, the average person wouldn’t have heard you. You forgot your own name? Hm, that’s interesting. Sure, sometimes he forgets his own name since he can’t tell anyone it but he always remembers it. “You forgot it?” He questioned back. You sighed, rubbing your arms. “I didn’t grow up like most kids. I was practically put through military school but on crack. I had to completely strip myself of my own identity. My name was just lost in time, something forgotten.” You said back.

Holy shit, you went through exactly what he went through as a child. He just sat there dumbfounded at you, seeing that you weren’t fucking joking about forgetting your own name. He wanted to know more, he wanted to see if he could get a little more information out of you. “How did you end up at the place you did?” He questioned. You laughed, yes laughed at him when he asked. “My parents were quirkless and poor. Somehow I ended being born with a quirk, a quirk that could heal. I could be useful for many different things, so they sold me off. Their only child, for a quick buck. I haven’t seen them since I was five.” You said back at him.

He just couldn’t believe what he was hearing, that here is this beautiful woman that practically had the same up bringing as he did. “I’m not just good at healing Hawks, that “program” made me get my skill level high, but they also taught me how to fight. I was a good little fighter for them.” You beamed. “Was?” He questioned. You smiled, leaning forward to rest your head on your knuckles. “Well I shouldn’t say was since I am technically still apart of it. My parents only sold me off until I was eighteen. So I got out, but I never went back to my parents. I actually ended up going back to the Commission only a few months after they released me. They gave me more of a home than any other place. Plus I really had no where else to go.” You said back.

The commission, so they got their hands on you when you were a child as well. Slippery fucking bitches. Then an idea came to Hawks mind, he leaned forward smiling at you. “What?” You questioned, to which he smiled harder. “I can find out your real name, Dove.” He said back. Your eyes went wide at him, shock written all over your face. “How?” You questioned him, to which he just kept smiling. “Easy, I’m the commission favorite pet. I can get the information quick and easy. No one would know a thing.” He said back. You were at a loss for words, this man would do something like that for you? Why though, you didn’t give or do anything to have him be like this. “Why would you want to do that for me?” You asked. Hawks now leaned back, looking over your whole face. “Because I want to be the reason you have that beautiful smile on your face.”

His words struck you right in the heart, it was crazy what he made you feel. As the weeks pasted, you heard very little from Hawks. He would send you a text here and there, asking about your day but that was it. He said work picked up hard, he was staying late in the office. You had just gotten out of the shower, your hair still damp. You had on a crop tank top along with some booty shorts. Brushing through your hair, until a familiar tapping sound came from your balcony. You smiled to yourself before getting up to open the door. But what you were met with scared the shit out of you.

Hawks looked like he just got out of a prize fight, his face was swollen, hands bruised, and his wings were twitching causing him discomfort. It was pouring rain, so you pulled him inside quickly. “What happened?!” You asked him, there was so much concern laced into your voice. Hawks kind of just grunted, sitting on the chair in your room. He was tired, beat down, and maybe slightly concussed. “Bad fight with a villain, it’s alright though.” He said in a huff, but you ignored it. You stepped behind him, putting your hands against his temples. You were glowing, trying to hear him.

Holy shit it was painful, one of the more painful things you had been through in a while. You moved down to his neck, then to his shoulders, just making sure you healed him correctly. Hawks sighed with relief, all the pain had gone away from him. Once he looked at you, he just saw this blank stare then you fell to the ground. You had passed out, Hawks was quick out of his chair. He was holding you, trying to shake you awake. Then he remembered that if the pain is too much it does take a lot out of you. He picked you up, placing you on your bed. Hawks waited for you, sitting on your bed looking over you. He wanted to make sure nothing happened while you slept.

You started to stir, slowly fluttering your eyes open. You looked around your room, it was completely dark now, only light on was from your vanity lap. Then you saw Hawks sitting on your bed, looking out the window. You just looked over him a bit, he was much better from when he did come into your room. Then it hits you, you fucking passed out. Damnit, how did you not keep it together in front of him. You must have scared the shit out of him too do that, no wonder he stuck around. You leaned to softly tug on his jacket sleeve, trying to get his attention.

Hawks was long in thought, just thinking about what you must go through everyday. All the pain you must feel, the feeling of death you come in front of everyday, and taking all that pain for someone else. You were amazing, that you would put strangers over yourself, you were completely selfless. Maybe he could learn something from you, be a better person by being around you. Hawks was taken out of his trance once he felt his sleeve get pulled on. He turned to meet those beautiful eyes of yours, a little tired than they were before you passed out. He smile softly at you, leaning over towards you. “There she is, how are you feeling?” He questioned you, you could see a little bit of guilt in his eyes.

You smiled back at him, it was small and meek but it was there. It just made Hawks chest tighten, he loved that smile of yours. “I feel better now, you must have been hurt more than you said you were.” You said in a playful tone. Hawks rubbed the back of his head, looking away from you. “I’m sorry, when I saw how worried you were, I didn’t want to make it worse.” He said softly. You shook your head, pulling on his arm. He turned to look back at you, softness in his face. “It’s fine, Hawks. Don’t worry about it. I just don’t understand how you ended up here. Why not go to the hospital.” You questioned him.

Hawks remembered why he decided to come to your place, he found your name. Your real name, and he wanted to surprise you with it. But then those stupid villain's had to get in his way, mess up his plans. “I was on my way here, I found out your name. But then I got...side tracked.” He said back. Your eyes widened a little, sitting up fully now. “You really found it?” You asked. There was excitement in your voice, the way your face lit up just pushed Hawks heart over the edge. “Yeah, it’s y/n. It’s very beautiful.” He said back, you were over the moon. “Y/N.” You repeated back at him. There was such joy in your eyes, it was amazing. You got out from the covers, moving over to throw your arms around Hawks neck, pulling him in for a hug.

Hawks was stiff for a moment, then he relaxed into your embrace. It wasn’t just your quirk that can make someone feel a peaceful warmth all over their body, Just you, yourself could have that affect on Hawks. It made him feel so safe, pulling out of the hug to look over your face. You smiled brightly at him, pulling him in by his cheeks. You placed a kiss on his lips, it was quick but the feeling made Hawks melt. You broke it off and got out of bed, walking over to your closet. “We should celebrate.” You said too him, turning to look at him over your shoulder. Hawks just sat there, blush creeping over his nose to his cheeks eyes never leaving you.

That’s when it hit you, you just kissed the number two pro hero. You eyes widened, then your hand shot over your mouth. You started to walk forward, then stopped. “I am so sorry! I just did that on impulse, I didn’t mean to over step.” You said too him, fear laced in your voice. How could you just kiss someone randomly, you don’t know if he is with someone or if he is even into you. Hawks quickly got up, walking straight up too you. He moved your hand from your mouth, then let his hands rest on your hips. He leaned in and placed his lips back onto yours. You slowly let your hands run up his chest then into the back of his hair. It was one of the most passionate kisses you have ever had in your life. No one was fighting for dominance, it was like you were working together. He pulled you so your bodies were right against each other. He broke the kiss off to whisper into your ear, his breath was warm against your skin. “Don’t be sorry, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I met you.” He said

You were a little shocked, you didn’t think that someone who wasn’t as popular as him, get his attention. “Really? I’m not that special Hawks.” You said back too him. He kind of laughed at you, he couldn’t understand how you couldn’t see how amazing you are. “Y/n, you are so selfless, brave, and caring. You are so special.” He said back, rubbing your hips a little. You smiled back at him, wow is he beautiful too you. “So being covered in blood, not saying a word too you made you want to kiss me?” You teased him. He laughed at you, pulling you in to hold you tighter. “That beautiful smile is what really pulled me in. The situation you were in was grim but you still managed to smile back at me.” He said back. You just played with the back of his hair a bit, taking in every feature of his face. “You can be such a simple man, Hawks.” You said back. He leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. “Call me Keigo, and lets go celebrate.” He said softly.

You smiled at him, walking over to grab something out your closet. You told him you’d be right back, walking into the bathroom. When you closed the door, it didn’t shut all the way. It just left a small crack, enough for Keigo to see you. He saw you pull off your tank top, exposing your bare back too him. He noticed that you had a big scar on there, but he quickly looked away. He didn’t want to already be called a perv for looking at you change. You came back out, taking Keigo’s hand into yours. He moved out onto the balcony, holding your hip tightly. “Ready?” He asked you, which you nodded back. You were in the air, flying high as you went to go celebrate.

Everything was going great, you saw Hawks more offend. Went out dates, and checked up on each other daily. But one day you just disappeared, you didn’t reply to his texted. He was getting worried, so he paid a visit to your place. Once he got there, his heart sank into his stomach. Your place was a reck, things throw everywhere, bed tossed against the wall, and your vanity mirror shattered. He looked around to find anything that could help him find out what had happened, he found your phone under some blankets. He saw all the unanswered messages from him and some friends of yours. What happened? You didn’t just up and leave, something must have went down. He needed to find out, he had to find out.

He went to Fatgums agency, they must know what had happened too you. Once he got there, he talked with him. He found out that you had been sent out to spy on a hangout for the LOV. Sadly some of the villain's had followed you back to your house, you might be extremely skilled but trying to take on five people in such a cramped space isn’t easy for most. You had been seriously hurt, you hadn’t woken up in over a week at the hospital you were staying at. Keigo was quick to leave, heading over to the hospital. He was brought right up to your room, his heart just broke looking at you.

There were IVs, wires, and everything else you could think of coming from you. Part of your face was bandaged over, along with your arms. He walked over, taking your hand into his. While he spoke with the doctors, they just told him that he had to wait. It was up to you know to wake up, they did everything they could to keep you here. So that’s what Keigo did, he waited. Only time he left was when he needed to be somewhere, he left all his patrols to one of his sidekicks.

It had been weeks, still you had not woken up yet. Your bandages had come off, exposing scars left from the attack. You had this new scar coming from from the top right of your forehead, cross your right eye, half way down your cheek. Keigo gripped your hand tightly, thinking about what he was going to do once he gets the people who did this too you. He just wanted you to wake up so he could be blessed with that beautiful smile of yours. “Please come back, y/n. The world is such a brighter place when you are in it. I am a better person when you are here, just wake up.” Keigo said softly, then kissed your knuckles.

Everything hurts, your whole body is sore, and you have the worse headache of your life. You fluttered your eyes open, looking around the room. “Hospital?” You questioned yourself. You turned your head to see that two doctors were speaking to each other, then once they saw your eyes open they were in shock. It had been almost three weeks since you were in your coma. They asked you all the questions, all the ones you usually ask the hurt. How do you feel? Do you know where you are? Do you remember who you are? What year is it? Which you answered them all, you knew what happened. They smiled, then said someone has been waiting for you to wake up.

A few hours passed, your eyes were shut since you were trying to rest them. You heard the door to your room open up, you opened your eyes slightly to see that beautiful winged man looking back at you. He nearly dropped to the ground when he saw you open your eyes. You smiled at him, which he quickly walked over to kiss you on the top of your head. “You’re awake, holy shit you’re finally awake.” He said softly against your hair, holding the back of your head into his chest. You could feel him shaking a little bit, tightening your frame to hold you closer. “Keigo, it’s okay. I’m awake, don’t cry please.” You asked him.

“If I had been there, if I wasn’t so caught up with work. I could have protected you. I am so- “ He started to say but you pulled out of his hold. You grabbed both of his cheek, making him look you in the eyes. “Keigo. No one would have known that would have happened. None of this is your fault at all. Get that out of your head. I’m fine, I’m here, and I’m alive.” You said back. You kissed him softly on the lips and it seems like all his worries washed away with that kiss. “Live with me?” He questioned back after the kiss was done. You smiled at him, which he smiled back. “Ok.” You said back.

It had been a few months since the attack happened, you were sitting on the bed waiting for Keigo to come home. Boredom taking over you while you waited, you picked yourself off the bed walking over to look through the closet. You found one of Keigos jackets hanging up in there, pulling it out to look at it. I smelt like him, it was so comforting. You were only in your bra and panties, you felt a little cold so you decided to slip it on. Laying back on the bed, looking at some videos on your phone until you fell asleep.

Keigo had come home about an hour later, he walked into your shared bedroom to find you laying on the bed. He looked over your frame, how his jacket was too big on you, it put a smile on his lips. Then you turned a little in your sleep, exposing your thighs a little. As you kept moving, the jacket get creeping up your exposed skin until it showed off your barely covered asscheeks. What a fucking sight Keigo thought, you just laying in his clothes. He walked over, rubbing your arm softly until you slowly woke up.

“Well little bird, don’t you look good in my clothes.” He teased softly. You rubbed your eyes, sitting up on your elbow, the jacket slipping off your shoulder to expose your chest a bit. Before you had fully fallen asleep, you took of your bra to be a bit more comfortable. “I was a little cold, and this seemed so comfortable.” You said with a sleepy voice. Keigo smirk, looking over you. “Now your scent is going to be all over me the next time I wear that. I think you want to drive me crazy, huh little bird?” He questioned. You tilted your head slightly, a smirk coming to your lips. You slowly sat up, kneeling before him.

“Maybe I do. Do you not like it?” You questioned back with sass in your voice. He shrugged off his own jacket, letting it hit the floor. “I fucking love it.” He muttered before his lips were on yours. The kiss was heated, all teeth and tongue. He slowly pushed you onto your back, letting himself get ontop of you. He looked down as you kissed his neck, looking at how amazing your breasts looked while you were on your back. He nearly growled at the sight, leaning up to pull his shirt off. You leaned up, starting to take the jacket off but Keigo stopped you. “Oh no, little bird. Keep that on, I like seeing you in my clothes.” He said before he started to trail kisses down your chest.

You bit your lip at the feeling of his tongue licking over one of your harden buds. Letting your fingers run through his hair. As he made his way down your chest and stomach, he pushed your panties to the side. Letting his face rest between your legs, then he slowly licked a broad stripe up your entrance. He moaned at your taste, while you threw your head back at the sensation. “Such a pretty little pussy.” He moaned then let his tongue feverishly lap at your clit. You gripped his hair a little tighter, feeling the pleasure running through your body. He slowly pushed in two finger, pumping them quickly. It made your hips buck up into his tongue. “Someone’s impatient.” He teased at you.

“Please Keigo, fuck me.” You moaned too him. Which he snickered at, leaning back to pull his pants along with his boxers off of himself. He pulled your panties off your hips, down your legs, until he threw them onto the ground. He dipped back down between your legs, spitting on your entrance before leaning back up. Letting his head tease you for a few seconds before slowly slipping himself into you. You leaned up to pull him down by his neck, letting his forehead rest against yours.

He started off slow but then picked up his pace, making sure you could feel his whole length deep inside of you. With each thrust, his head kissed your cerxics. It was making you see stars, your moans got louder with each pump of his cock. He pushed your legs up to your chest, causing you to let out a loud moan. You clamped down on his shaft, causing him to moan. He leaned down to give you a heated kiss. “Gonna cum for me?” He questioned while his thrusts began to become sloppy. You nodded at him, gripping the back of his head tightly. He leans down to whisper into your ear. “Say it.” He says back.

You moan loudly, looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m gonna cum, Keigo!” You moan too him. He starts to thrust hard into you, putting everything he had into his motion. “Ya. Fuck, cum on my cock.” He says then he released his load into you. You felt over the edge, clamping down on him tightly. As you both slowed, you just held each other there. Until Keigo lifted his head slight to look at you. You had this beaming smile on your face. That smile he fell for the moment he saw you, the smile that’s kept him going, the smile from someone he truly loves. “I love you, y/n.” He said softly. You push a few sweaty hairs out of his face, pulling him down for a soft kiss. “I love you too.” You said softly.

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wandaswigglywoes · 3 years

Note

Junksen - Aubrey takes care of lil werewolf Emily

Don't know if Aubrey is also a were

This took me some time to figure out what I was doing. Thank you for prompting me!!! :3 I hope you enjoy!! I’m going to try and let this be sort of ambiguous— let the reader decide if they wish to ship them romantically. (If my muse will let me. We’ll see where the girls decide to take it lmao) Haha, just kidding-- this has been sitting in my drafts for 84 years. basically ignore that above, i can't do ambiguous apparently. bye

“Why me?!” Emily winces at the shrill voice on the other side of the door, but only for the fact that it’s loud and causes the sharp pain behind her right eye to pulsate. “Why do I have to take care of her? I should be out in the trenches!” The voice continues, outraged. Emily thinks under normal circumstances, she would feel hurt, and guilty that this woman would rather be out fighting then to have to deal with her, but the only kind of emotion that Emily can muster is a sort of throbbing numbness.

“Aubrey!” A warning growl. “Her entire pack was brutally murdered before her eyes, and she was taken captive only to be tortured. Have a bit of sympathy!” Something sharp digs through the numbness and suddenly, as if she’s being submerged into an icy fjord, it all hits her at once. She has nothing— no one left.

There is silence on the other side of the door, but Emily’s exceptional hearing picks up heavy breathing. “I— I’m not saying that what happened isn’t terrible and despicable,” The shrill voice from before is much softer now, remorse evident in her tone. “I’m saying that perhaps I’m not cut out to be the one to take care of her. Someone like Chloe could—“

“Chloe is unavailable, and you know that, Aubrey. She is dealing with our spy that brought Emily in.”

“But daddy, I—“

There is a low growl and the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Aubrey? I know I am your father, but I am also your alpha, so are you challenging my authority?”

“No. Of course not.” This time the voice is tight and controlled.

“Good, then you will do as I say.” The sound of someone retreating is followed, leaving no more room for argument.

Emily stares down at her bruised and raw wrists, waiting for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Not right away at least, but she knows that someone is still standing on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door creaks open, sounding so much louder in the quiet bedroom. Emily keeps her gaze downcast, wishing for all the world that she could disappear. There’s a sharp intake of breath that Emily knows has to be about her appearance. She hasn’t been able to bathe in— well, she isn’t really sure. Maybe a week? Her wrists and ankles are raw and bloody from where they had kept her shackled in pure silver, and there were fang marks at her neck where they had fed from her.

Werewolf blood was said to be warm and intoxicating to vampires, and not only that, but they lasted a lot longer than normal humans. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds much softer now, though Emily can still hear the strain underneath.

Anger burns the back of her throat. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," Emily says darkly, still unwilling to look up.

There is a sharp inhale through flared nostrils before it's exhaled shakily. "You heard that..." Emily chuckles derisively, but says nothing. "Right, of course. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just-- I'm not good with--" The voice trails off and Emily finally brings her gaze up to put a face to the voice.

It's a mistake. The woman is beautiful, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun with wisps of it framing her pretty, delicate features. Her eyes are a piercing green with flecks of gold, and behind them is remorse. Emily feels all the anger melt from her body in that moment. The woman's hands are clasped together tightly in front of her, as if to keep them from fidgeting. She's wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a maroon colored Henley shirt, the whole outfit making her look effortlessly beautiful.

Emily clears her throat. "It's fine." She finally murmurs, eyes dropping back to her bloodied wrists, feeling as if she's been staring for too long.

"I'm Aubrey," The woman says gently, slowly approaching the edge of the bed where Emily sits rigidly.

"Emily," She mumbles, a shaking hand coming up to push a few greasy strands of hair out of her face.

She looks up to see Aubrey smile gently and Emily feels her insides clench. She has a nice smile. "Emily, is there--- is there anything I can help you with? We should probably clean up your wounds so that the healing process doesn't take more time than it's already going to."

Emily feels herself blush, realizing she's going to have to ask Aubrey to help her with bathing. "I--I'd really like to wash up, but-- I don't think I can stay standing long enough."

Aubrey nods. "Of course, and then we'll tend to those wounds." She approaches slowly and then holds out her arms for Emily.

Emily slowly reaches out, gripping both of Aubrey's forearms and allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Her body screams in protest at the movement, but Emily manages to keep from crying out in pain.

Emily sits in the warm bath, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back slightly as Aubrey carefully pours water onto Emily's hair. Some of the tension leaves Emily's broken body as Aubrey's fingers massage shampoo into her scalp. The last time someone else washed her hair, Emily was a small child and it had been her mother.

This is-- it's different. The air feels charged, the action too intimate for two strangers.

Aubrey had respectfully kept her eyes averted while Emily struggled to undress, using Aubrey's outstretched hands to keep herself upright. They hadn't spoke since Aubrey had agreed to help her, the silence somehow louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

"Are you okay?" Aubrey finally asks, voice quiet, as if afraid to break the previous silence.

Emily swallows the dryness from her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse your hair." So Emily does, barely suppressing a shiver as Aubrey's fingers comb through her hair.

After Aubrey had helped Emily get dressed (Some borrowed sleep clothes of Aubrey's), she lead Emily back into the bedroom at had her sit at the edge of the bed once more.

Aubrey is very gentle as she wraps her ankles and wrists, before looking her over for any other wounds. They still hadn't said very much to each other, which is fine with Emily. She doesn't have the energy to try and make conversation, too emotionally numb to think.

It isn't until Aubrey's fingers gently trace the fang marks on her neck that Emily's mind buzzes to life quite suddenly, pain shooting down her neck. Emily jumps and in turn, so does Aubrey. "S-sorry, is it painful?"

Emily blinks, suddenly realizing how close Aubrey's face is to her own. "I--a little," She squeaks, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

Aubrey's fingers are still on her neck as she stares into Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, the ointment should numb it." She finally says, and Emily realizes that Aubrey's fingers are coated in something thick and that the pain is slowly receding.

"T-thanks," Emily says, eyes quickly finding somewhere else to look other than Aubrey's probing gaze. "For everything, for doing this even though you didn't want to."

"I'm sorry you heard that," Aubrey looks ashamed as she finally pulls her hand back, wiping it on a towel. "It had nothing to do with you, I hope you know. I'm just-- not very good at any of this."

Emily smiles for what seems like the first time in a while. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's gentle and earnest. She reaches out and takes one of Aubrey's hands in her own, ignoring the way her heart picks up speed as she does. "You've done a pretty good job so far."

She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light or not, but Emily thinks Aubrey blushes at the compliment, eyes falling to their joined hands. "Thank you, Emily."

Emily wakes up screaming, her neck burning and her ankles and wrists aching painfully, and the haunting screams of her family echoing in her mind. For a moment, Emily isn't sure where she is, chest heaving as she chokes on her own tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hands are on her shoulders, stilling her thrashing, and when that doesn't work, arms wrap around her. "It's just a dream, Emily, you're safe."

"A-Aubrey?" Emily sobs, her world slowly coming into focus, nose picking up Aubrey's scent.

"Yes, it's me. I have you." Fingers comb through her sweaty hair.

Emily's body sags into Aubrey, nose burying into a slender neck and allowing the now familiar scent to push away the image of her family being murdered in front of her. "They're all dead," Emily hiccups, her arms wrapping around herself. "I'm-- I'm alone."

Aubrey pulls Emily practically into her lap, fingers trailing up and down her spine. "I'm so sorry they're gone, Emily," Aubrey murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "But you aren't alone, I promise."

"Y-You don't even kn--know me," Even as she says it, her fingers grip the edge of Aubrey's sleep shirt as if she might disappear.

Aubrey sighs softly. "It doesn't matter. I have good instincts, and I can tell you're a good person. So, I mean it when I tell you that you aren't alone."

"Will you-- will you stay with me?" Emily doesn't think she can be alone again. True, Aubrey had made it into Emily's room in record time, but the thought of laying in this big bed alone with her thoughts scares her.

Aubrey doesn't hesitate. "Of course I will."

Emily sits with her back against a large tree, basking in the sun. It had been months since she was rescued and the war was getting closer to ending, and though Emily's heart still ached for her family, she had adjusted relatively well in this new pack.

A shadow crosses over her face and Emily frowns, opening her eyes to find Beca staring down at her-- the one who had rescued her. "Hey." She offers Emily a crooked grin before settling beside her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Beca lulls her head to the side to look at Emily. "Just checking in on my favorite little wolf."

Emily chuckles, nudging Beca with her shoulder. "Are you sure that title doesn't belong to someone else?"

Beca flushes slightly. "Shut up."

Emily's grin grows wider. "Pretty blue eyes, red hair--" Beca shoves her playfully and Emily laughs.

"If you're going to tease me about Chloe, then I can tease you about Aubrey."

Emily's smile drops. "Aubrey and I are friends." She says mechanically.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Beca asks gently.

"Why don't you tell Chloe?" Emily counters, annoyance evident in her voice.

Beca sighs resignedly. "I plan to... Later today. So you've got no reason not to to tell Aubrey."

Emily whips around to stare at Beca in shock, before something dawns on her. "You're going on another mission, aren't you?"

Beca inhales slowly, seeming to hold the air in her chest for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah, and life's too short to keep this shit bottled up."

Emily swallows the sudden burn of tears in her throat and nods jerkily before dropping her head to Beca's shoulder. "You better be careful, or else." She murmurs.

"I always am." Beca lets her own head drop onto Emily's.

Emily smells her before she sees her, the scent of lavender and earth growing stronger the closer she gets.

Aubrey stands outside her room on her balcony, leaning against the railing and staring up at the moon. "Hello, Emily." She says without turning around, probably having both scented and heard Emily.

Emily steps up beside her, heart in her throat. "Hi," She replies quietly, leaning against the railing next to her. Their arms brush against each others, and Emily allows it to calm her racing heart. "I uhm-- I wanted to talk to you."

Aubrey turns slightly to look at Emily. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

Emily visibly swallows as she brings her own gaze to meet Aubrey's. "Yes-- I mean, I think so." She can feel her cheeks heating up beneath Aubrey's concerned eyes and hopes it's just dark enough that Aubrey doesn't notice. "It's just-- I was talking to Beca earlier, and she said-- well, she said something to me that made me realize that I should tell you how-- how I really feel about you."

Aubrey's eyebrows draw together in confusion. She turns fully to face Emily. "How you--"

"Life's too short to keep these feelings bottled up, and I should know that better than anyone. So even if you don't feel the same, I wanted to tell you that I-- that I have feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?" Aubrey stares at Emily in shock.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm like-- a little bit in love with you. Which--- I don't want you to feel pressured to love me back, or feel guilty if you don't. I'm perfectly content to be your friend, I just-- I felt like you should know. So don't--"

"Emily," Aubrey's fingers press against Emily's lips.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey grins, eyes watery. "I'm a little bit in love with you, too." And before Emily can try to say anything else, Aubrey kisses her.

#junksen #junksen fanfiction #fanfic: mine #pitch perfect fanfiction

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bnhayyy · 3 years

Text

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now…

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do.

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

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