my fanart hands are twitching. hide your blorbos

𝟓 ༒ 𝔥𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

⤷ complete bnha m.list

dabi / touya todoroki — daddy kink

a/n: it’s just pure filth. needy!rc & dabi being a dick daddy.

wc: 1.3k

tw: consensual somno, overstim, daddy kink (obvi)

It’s always a pleasure to see Dabi asleep.

Not in fitful naps filled with nightmares, murmured pleas, and sweat-soaked sheets—or the occasional post-battle concussion—but actually resting. He doesn’t get much sleep to begin with, and when he does there always seems to be a grimace attached, a tick of his jaw that makes your breath catch, worried for the safety of his subconscious mind.

But on rare occasions like tonight, you get a little glimpse of your boyfriend truly at peace. Chest rising and falling at an even pace, loose black hair tousled across the pillow, cheeks softly flushed. He looks content, for once, and it makes your heart soar.

It’s really too bad you’re as horny as you are.

Dabi always demands you wake him at the slightest of necessities, claims he’d much rather be buried inside your tight, wet cunt then fighting comatose demons. You should, given how often you’ve woken up to him tonguing it, licking and slurping you as though he’s parched and you’re a glass of water on the nightstand. It’d be a welcomed surprise, really, to turn the tables for once.

Still, you don’t want to be a bother, don’t want to be the needy little thing you always are for him. He deserves to be looked after too—and besides, the sight of him so tranquil is almost enough to quell your salacious thoughts. Almost. You can’t truly deny the slick dribbling down your thighs, the way he could have you satiated and fucked asleep with a few pumps of his wrist.

But maybe you can have the best of both worlds, take this rare chance to play caretaker while still getting yourself off.

So you begin your little mission, clambering over to where Dabi lays peacefully and snuggling up against him. Your actions are silent, completed with the utmost caution as to not risk rousing him. And his warm body welcomes you, stirring only to pull you closer.

When you’ve successfully wrapped a leg around his thigh, you test the waters by humping against it once, twice—softly at first—only focusing on your own pleasure when you’re certain he won’t awaken.

Soon, you’re rutting shamelessly, lost in the chase of your high, a hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle gasps and low moans. The friction of your clit against his rough thighs is pure bliss, the slick that drizzles across his skin only provoking you further.

What would Dabi say if he saw you like this? If he’s stirred into consciousness by your sharp inhales and the helpless little juts of your hips against him? It’s dirty, you’re dirty, for getting so worked up over his unconscious body. Knowing him, he’d probably–

“Enjoying yourself, princess?”

The sudden quip makes you jolt, shocking you out of your thoughts as you rush to feign innocence. It’s no use, of course; judging by the smirk on Dabi’s face, it seems he’s been watching you for quite some time.

“I- I was just–” You struggle to explain yourself, feeling heat blossom in your chest at being caught in such an obscene position.

“Well don’t stop on my account,” he tempts, voice dangerously gravely, low enough to make your gut tighten and your legs tremble. “Looks like you’re doin’ just fine on your own.”

You can see the smugness in his lidded eyes, the way he shifts himself up against the headboard, throwing his arms behind his head and repositioning you directly on his lap. All the while, he ignores the whimper you let out, the quiver of your bottom lip as you silently beg for him to touch you. This is a punishment, of course, a petty consequence of trying to fulfill your own needs when he’s right here.

So, what can you do except follow the command? You begin grinding against him again, eyes trained on the beautiful man in front of you. He doesn’t say a word, simply watches as you bounce pathetically, desperately attempting to regain the rhythm you had fallen into only moments ago.

But with his gaze glued to your body, it’s impossible. Now that he’s fully present, you can’t help but long for the rough graze of his fingers, for the feeling of being poked and prodded by the nimble digits that know every inch of your warm walls. And he knows good and well how badly you want him to reach out, to allow you to melt beneath his touch.

Finally fed up with your failure, you mumble a soft, ‘please help me,’ eyes trained anywhere but his own.

“What was that, baby?” Dabi presses a finger to your chin, lifting it so that you’re peering up at him once again. “Didn’t quite catch that.” The look he gives you should be illegal, all pointed teeth and hungry eyes, an amalgam of pure arrogance and satisfaction that even a hero wouldn’t dare challenge.

Your hands dart out to grab at his arm, still helplessly writhing against his heated skin, “P-please daddy, need you.”

Within seconds, you’re lifted, then placed with your knees on either side of his bare leg. Dabi doesn’t bother with flipping you around, seemingly content with watching you fall apart completely on display. One hand remains fastened behind his head, but the other finally moves towards you. His fingers ghost across your thighs, coating themselves in your juices while he inches to where you need him most.

“Poor little baby,” he hums, swiftly sinking two knuckles into your wet cunt, “can’t get yourself off without daddy’s help, yeah?”

The sudden stretch makes you keen into him, hands scrambling for purchase on his biceps. Dabi curls his fingers upwards, pressing against gummy walls at the spot that makes your stomach heavy and your eyes clench shut. In just a few seconds, you feel yourself far closer to paradise than your own ministrations ever got you.

Soon, time is lost on you. You’re unsure of when you reached your first peak, or how many times you’ve cum since, though Dabi’s lithe digits never let up. You’re still meeting his thrusts, rubbing your clit against his palm with every pump and whining incoherently.

The only thing you know, the only thing that truly matters in this moment, is the God in front of you—his touch, his smug grin, his incessant urging that ‘you can take it, princess,’—but your nerves are on fire. You’re unable to voice your concern, too stimulated to offer anything but pathetic squeals and cries of ‘daddy, daddy, daddy,’ over and over again.

“T-Too much– ah, s’ too much,” you sob between gasps, upper body dropping against his chest when you can no longer support yourself. Instead of stopping, it only makes Dabi press harder—but he allows you the simple reprieve of curling into him, moving his free arm to caress your sweat-soaked head.

“Been saying that for a while now,” he grunts, wincing when your fingernails dig into his pecks, “but your sloppy cunt’s still gushing all over me, yeah?”

“I- fuck, I-” You can’t help but stutter, babbling through fuzzy thoughts. Every single part of you begs for release—muscles aching, skin sheen with sweat and tight walls clenching on their own—but he’s right; your body still humps against his every thrust, sorry little movements that achieve nothing but making you beg and blubber louder.

“One more time, princess,” he coos, throbbing cock straining against your ass, “and we can sleep.” Somewhere in your hazy brain, you know he’s lying, know he’ll be wide awake for days to come.

Dabi never gets a good night’s sleep, but it’s fine; he’s always quite content fucking you unconscious.

G-Bots (TM)

Googleplier (x4) x viewer!reader

ty anon for the request!

A/N: Funny story! I am no longer physically capable of writing normally! I tried so hard to be normal and just veered off into SCP/Cryptid viewer territory because I like expanding on the idea that the viewer is Not Human! Anyways, you’re hanging out with the Googles. That is it. Nothing is wrong. You do not recognize the bodies in the water haha anyways I think I like went a little creepypasta-esque at the end there but it’s fine I think probably. It’s fine. Might be a little weird in terms of story, but i think this was more focused on world building to me. Probably seen as more platonic than romantic, but see it however you wish. Enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k

G-Bots (TM)

You wheezed just a bit as you sped through wherever-the-fuck you were. Sure, maybe that was a bad idea. Sure, Dark was a little bit threatening and SURE, you were supposed to be back by now, and the fact that you weren’t back with Mark trying to convince him NOT to split up was the tiniest bit problematic. You weren’t even sure this was a building? Were you in the void? Goddammit, not again…

You stopped, concluding that this was bullshit and you did not want to do it right now. You bent over, hands on your knees and took deep breaths. You stared into the emptiness for a bit, then looked around for a moment, just trying to figure things out. You needed to reassess. It was basically one big, long hallway with random twists and terms every few meters. You’d always end up back at the paintings of… them… and knew you’d gone too far. You did that over, and over, and over again. At this point you thought Dark had just forgotten about you. You took a deep breath in and let it out. You stood up straight and looked up at the paintings. You heard their voices echo through your head a bit. You squeezed your eyes shut and your head twitched.

“You’re alright… you’re ok… cool it…” You whispered to yourself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Meditate. Think.

You looked on either side of the hall and, for the first time, you noticed doors extending down into the void and not stopping. You let out a breath. You felt a slight sense of dread. Something was telling you not to enter the rooms. Some little voice in the back of your head that sounded suspiciously like Mark. But, hey, what else were you gonna do?

“Ok… do i want to enter the door on the left or the door on the right?” You asked yourself. You paused to think about it. After a few seconds you felt yourself jerk forward a bit. Your brain felt staticy and you felt compelled to the left. You turned the knob and opened the door slightly. Immediately you heard music that might be in an SCP game, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like “do you recognize the bodies in the water?”. You were hoping no, and you bailed before you had a chance to look. You ended up almost exactly in your previous position in the hall. Your brain felt fuzzy again, and this time you gravitated to the right. You opened the door just a little, maybe to see what was inside, but again you heard the SCP ambiance.

But this time it was from behind you. So, like any smart person, you swung the door open, slammed it behind you and did your best to lock it. But there was no lock. So you stood. Waiting. Nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened. Why would anything happen? Dark wouldn’t want you to get hurt… probably. This was his domain. Probably. If you were alive, it’s because he wanted you to be. If you were in this room, it’s because he wanted you to be.

Speaking of: Where the hell were you?

You turned around to look behind you. In the blank white room there was a single grey couch with all 4 Google androids sitting on it. Apparently they were recharging, because they hadn’t noticed you standing there and also they were plugged into an outlet in the wall. You hadn’t considered that they had to physically plug into something to charge up, but the thought made you snort.

Bad idea.

All of their eyes snapped open at once, revealing the glow of their assigned colors. They all stood up and began walking towards you in unison. You felt a slight sense of dread. Even so, you tried to grab the doorknob, the one that apparently was no longer there, and cursed under your breath when you could only feel the smooth wall behind you. The androids stopped, staring at you. You cleared your throat.

“Hey…” you laughed nervously, “So, uh, funny story, actually-”

“You are not supposed to be here,” The original Googleplier, Blue, stated.

“Well, see, that’s where this whole thing started, um, see, Mark wanted to split up-”

“No human is allowed inside of this room, and not you, either.”

“Well-” You stopped, processing what he said, “Wait. ‘Either’? I’m human.”

“No, you’re not,” Google Green said. You wanted to be offended, but you were more confused.

“What do you mean? I’m human!” You argued.

“What color’s your hair?” Red asked with a mean smirk on his face. You opened your mouth to respond, and an amalgamate of voices saying “BROWNBLACKBLONDEWHITERED” came out. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

“... what the hell was that?” Your muffled voice whispered. Well, you thought it was probably yours.

“What’s your eye color?” BROWNGREENBLUEAMBERYELLOW exited your being before you could even try to answer.

“Do you have any pets?” That one just ended with a computer error sound from you.

“... huh.” You dropped your shoulders a little. The revelation probably should’ve upset you more.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… do not recognize the bodies in the water.” You explained.

“Ah, I see. Darkiplier would want you to not die, therefore you may stay.”

“Ha. Wow. Who knew the Googleplier androids-”

“G-Bots.”

“... what?”

“We are legally not allowed to use the name ‘Google’ anymore. We are now G-Bots.”

“... legally.”

“We were discontinued. And sold. And signed a contract.”

“So does that mean I can’t call you Google anymore?”

“No, that is simply my name. The name of us as androids, however, is now G-Bots.”

“Ok. What about them?” You pointed to the other three.

“Yellow is Oliver, Green is Lee, Red is Elliott.”

“And you’re just Google?”

“They’ve been trying to change my name to Gregor. I deeply dislike it.”

“It’s a good name.” Oliver suggested, smiling.

“Means vigilant.” Lee shrugged.

“Don’t be a pussy, Greg.” Elliott adopted a shit-eating grin as he leaned a little closer to Google.

“You can do… whatever you wish. Just do not be like them, DA.” Google instructed through gritted teeth.

The room began to shift color and expand. The couch was still grey in the center, but there were now four sections of each of the colors. The yellow section was filled with flowers, with a laptop on a desk next to a switch and a little Vector robot sitting by on the windowsill that showed a colorful meadow with bees buzzing to and fro. It glitched for a moment, so you knew the window wasn’t real. The green section had large houseplants and looked a bit like a greenhouse, and had an Xbox hooked up to a TV in the corner and seemed to have a view of a lake in the faux-window. The red section had miscellaneous wires and computer parts and lights here and there, looking like a fire hazard, and a PC on a table, while the window showed what appeared to be space. Google’s section was absolutely spotless, not a single thing anywhere, apart from a tiny skateboard next to a PS4 in the corner, and the window showed computer code.

“Wow.” You said. You might be stuck here for a while, so you might as well enjoy it.

Though you wondered who DA was. -- You hate to say it, but you had a favorite G Bot. It was kind of like having a favorite child, in your mind. You felt like they somehow knew that you had a favorite, but you didn’t know why.

Oliver was the sweetest by far, immediately going to make you as comfortable or entertained as possible while you were with him. He asked you if you wanted to watch something, if you wanted to play a game, if you were hungry, etc. It was kind of like going over to a friend’s house for the first time. He was enthusiastic to the point where he was shaking with anxiety over wanting to make you happy. You thought he didn’t get many visitors and maybe that was why. He showed you his flowers, and the bees, and a small painting in the corner, hoping for  validation. His glowing eyes seemed to dull when you moved on to the next section, but said you’d visit him again. That did help, but he turned away sadly and went to water his flowers.

Lee seemed as though he couldn’t care less if you were there. He told you where everything was and that you could do whatever. If you asked for help, he would stop what he was doing and help you. Once you understood, he immediately resumed his previous task. He was a bit cold, like Google, but in a “I am very busy but I am still here if you need me” sort of way. He played a game or two with you, having a preference for the puzzle games more than anything else. Puzzle horror, more specifically. If there was a shooting part, he immediately shoved the controller into your hands, saying he didn’t want to do that part. When you left, he simply continued with his work without a goodbye.

Elliott tried so hard to ignore you for the longest time. You could hear him scoff and growl anytime you made any sort of noise. You were self conscious at first, but you came to understand that he was just an asshole. You started on a game, playing for a few minutes, and felt the red couch sink next to you because he had sat down next to you. If he thought you sucked (which he did) he would snatch the controller from you and finish whatever you were doing before giving it back. He refused to say anything or help you, either. He’d just make rude noises and walk away occasionally before coming back. When you left, he seemed a lot angrier than he had before, and wouldn’t say goodbye to you. He turned away with a huff and started pressing random buttons on the controller.

Google was by far the least interested in anything you had to do. You sat on the couch next to him, and he didn’t move an inch. You sat there for a bit, waiting, but he did not move. You stood up, walked around, messed with a few things, attempted to play a game or two. Google didn’t move. You pulled up the Gamer ChairTM and sat directly in front of Google, arms crossed. You sighed. Finally, he looked up at you.

“Is there something you need?” He asked in that monotone voice of his.

“I’m bored,” you said.

“Go to one of the others,” He closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” You asked, curious.

“That is not-” He sounded exasperated.

“Hey Google, what are you doing?” You interrupted like the little shit you were

“Currently, this G Bot system is recharging its battery. This G Bot is at: 69%.” He shifted to a purely robotic voice.

“Haha nice.”

“This G Bot’s primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible. Would you like to ask a question?”

“Yes. What do you like to do, Google?”

“I enjoy answering your questions. Do you have any more?”

“What company owns you?”

“G-Bots were recently sold by the Google company to Warfstache Incorporated.”

“Wilford has a company?”

“Warfstache Incorporated is co-owned by Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache and Damien-Dami-Da-Darkiplier.” He glitched while answering.

“Who’s Damie-”

“The Corporation owns shows such as ‘Markiplier TV’, ‘Warfstache Tonight!’, and ‘Hire My Ass’. Do you have any more questions?”

“Do you pass the Turing Test?”

“Wondering if you have to treat me with basic decency?” He shifted back to his less robotic, but still monotone, voice.

“No. Just wondering.”

Neither of you spoke again for a while. He did scold you when you tried to move the couch with him still on it, so… progress. -- You were beginning to suspect that Google didn’t like you very much.

The blue one. Google. The other ones liked you. Oliver ranted to you for a whole half hour about different kinds of bugs and the hierarchy of bees. The queen is assassinated when she is bad for the hive, it would seem. Lee made you play Resident Evil with him because he didn’t like the fighting, but he liked figuring out what to do. You frantically passed controllers back and forth a lot. Elliott basically did speedruns of several games, you watching intently the whole time. He seemed to like the attention and actually smiled at you whenever he finished one.

But Google didn’t like you. He ignored you, and told you not to touch anything, and scowled whenever you asked him personal questions. Not like “what’s your sexuality” type of personal questions. More like… “what’s your favorite color and why is it blue” sort of questions. He didn’t like them either way.

But the others liked you, and that was pretty neat.

You still wanted Google to like you though.

“Hey Google,” he perked up with the little “do-do!” noise, “Can you guys go into your different sections?”

“All G-Bots have the ability to pass into other’s color-coordinated sections,” He answered politely.

“Why don’t you?”

“We don’t want to.”

“Do you get along?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Celine dislikes when colors are mismatched.”

“Who’s-”

“I’m sorry, this G Bot needs to charge.”

“But you haven’t been-”

“This G Bot needs to charge.”

“Come on, if you--”

“This G Bot needs to charge.”

You quieted and plopped into the chair. You stared at Google. His eyes flickered for a moment before they closed. -- The other Bots knew who Celine and Damien were, they just weren’t telling you. Their eyes always flickered when you asked, but they wouldn’t tell you.

You threatened not to play with Lee anymore. He said he could play on his own. You could see that he didn’t want to. You played Alien: Isolation. His eyes seemed duller.

You threatened not to watch Elliott’s speedruns. He said he didn’t care. You could tell that he did. You watched him play Hollow Knight. His eyes seemed duller.

You threatened not to listen to Oliver’s rants. He looked terrified, but he said that was fine. You could tell it wasn’t. You begged him to tell you. He looked sad.

“Who’s Damien?” You asked softly, stepping towards him.

“I can’t tell you,” He shifted back.

“Who’s Celine?” You stepped forward.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who’s DA?”

All of the G-Bots stopped what they were doing. You heard static and felt like you were being watched. -- You looked up at the color on the outside of the museum.

You were doing something. You were doing something.

Were you robbing this place? It felt like you were. What happened to Mark? What happened… to you?

You stared at the doors, feeling a slight sense of dread. Something in the back of your head was telling you this wasn’t right. To go home. To…

--

“Ignorance is Bliss. Try Again?”

dramione fic rec list

absolutely no one asked for this, but i’ve been reading/rereading many dhr fics lately and i thought maybe some of you might be looking for recs. i also just wanted to archive my favorites to easily find them again tbh

Manacled (Explicit) -  Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.

Crimson With A Silver Lining (Mature) -  It is six years since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort. Those other than purebloods are deemed less than human. When Ginny's daughter ends up in grave danger, Hermione sells herself to the Death Eaters to save her life. Draco/Hermione. Not fluffy.

Aurelian (Teen) -  Two years after the war, a young stranger pays a visit to the burrow. His arrival alone is baffling, but the news he brings of an upcoming war turns the world upside down. Hermione's quiet, post-war life will never be the same.

The Fine Line Between Love and Hate (Mature) -  The Silver Marauders are the most popular group in school, consisting of Ron, Harry, Blaise and Draco. Hermione is the most unpopular girl in school. Blaise wants to discover the motivation behind Draco's constant bullying of Hermione. AU. Violence.

Turncoat (Mature) - Switching sides. "I have only one condition, and I trust it won't be hard for you to meet. I want Granger."

Future Adventures (Mature) -  During a joint Potions/Charms lesson, Draco is accidentally given an overdose of a potion that will allow him to experience time in the future. During his time in the future he sees plenty of unexpected things, but will he like how his life is going to turn out?

Letters of the Past (Mature) -  Hermione is sixty and all alone in the world when on a fateful day she wakes to read the news of Draco Malfoy's death. Not long after, his barrister arrives to tell her Draco's left her a bundle of letters and a way to rewrite their past if she wants it. Will these two be able to find love, redemption, and acceptance in their rapidly changing world after the war? Time travel AU.

Sugar and Spice (Explicit) - Contrary to what she claimed, it wasn’t grass and new parchment and spearmint toothpaste she smelled. A mind-boggling amalgamation of confusion followed by a peripheral realization, and then instantaneous fear made her flush so severely that the room went fuzzy around the edges of her vision as she choked out the lie .It was old parchment housed in the restricted section, tart green apples, and something spicy—not cinnamon, cloves?—that lingered inside her nostrils. She was woozy, her lids drooping heavily, even as a small part of her brain screamed at how wrong this was. A larger, louder part of her shoved the shame down in favor of baser instincts. Those instincts dampened and dissipated and the shame crowded in the further removed she was from the delicate, unmistakable scent wafting from the cauldron. note: dhr + theo story!

Take My Hand (Mature) -  Something happens to Hermione leaving her in a horrible predicament. Some Slytherin's aren't exactly what they seem and will one help her through the school year? After OotP. M for language and light sensuality.

special shoutout to my main bitch Cruel and Beautiful World as well! <3

You Know How They Say I Only Have Eyes for You? (Taywhora) - Spiritualcramp33

summary: WOOOO!! this is my first time uploading a fic here, so i hope you like it! I've been super obsessed with Taywhora recently and i have so many ideas, so hopefully you'll hear from me again soon^^

.

A'whora didn't know what the fuck was going on, and she couldn't find it in herself to care, either.

They'd been on a night out, but most of their friends had called cabs and left, leaving her and Tayce alone. They seemed to do that a lot, and perhaps it was intentional - it seemed as much, if Bimini's knowing smirk and snarky comments as they said their goodbyes were anything to go off of.

They'd ended up outside, A'whora being sat on the old, slightly deteriorated wooden bench just next to the pub's door, and her flatmate stood nearby having a smoke. She'd offered A'whora one, too, but she was sure that a combination of nicotine and alcohol would prove unhelpful to the hangover she was going to feel tomorrow morning.

A sound akin to tv static rung in her ears, and she watched as Tayce took a drag from her cigarette, and found herself a little too enticed by the way the smoke dissolved into the cold night as it seeped from her lips. They were slightly parted, and A'whora felt a pang of shame course through her veins at how kissable they looked.

As the smoke curled into the air, she could feel it fogging her brain - crawling into every crevice of her mind, embedding itself in her memory though A'whora tried so hard not to let it phase her. There was something about her friend that just felt so different, so unfamiliar yet so safe.

The sky was painted a deep and lifeless blue with no sign of even a single star, but A'whora took one dive into Tayce's eyes and figured that maybe she'd stolen them. They were glacial galaxies, clouds of emotion swirling around in a way that made it all too easy to read her thoughts, and there was a certain twinkle scattered throughout that looked like accidental flicks of white paint.

She thought, though, that nothing about the way the darker woman was made was accidental - she was absolutely ethereal in a way that made A'whora believe that she'd been hand crafted by the finest, a simple heaven consisting of a faint vanilla scent and strawberry chapstick and everything good in the world.

She knew her adoration was smothered all over her face - in her eyes, her smile, the crimson tint dusted across her usually pale cheeks - but she was tipsy on rum and coke and giddy on dumb romance, and with the way her thumped in her chest, she didn't think she could hide it if she tried.

She had to admit it stung, though - the affection seemed painfully unrequited. Sure, Tayce would laugh at A'whora's jokes, and sometimes on nights out they'd share a kiss or two, and sometimes she'd get all touchy in a way that she didn't with anyone else. But she reckoned those were just platonic, friendly things.

right?

"what're you thinking about, boo?"

Tayce's voice shattered the fragile fantasy she'd (once again) found herself indulging in, and the cold air of reality hit for the first time in forever, though it'd probably been around 7 minutes. She blinked away the remaining fragments of the thoughts that plagued her mind and thought of an appropriate reply that wouldn't be a blatant confession of her feelings.

"it's not like it matters"

Well. If A'whora planned on keeping it cool then she'd just fucked it right up, hadn't she? Smashed a bloody gaping hole into her stoic armour, her own voice so rich in vulnerability that it caused her to repress a shiver.

"'course it matters, rory. what's up?"

She let out a jagged breath at the pure concern in the other girl's voice - the words sounded as if they were coated in golden honey, pronounced in a way that could have her a puddle on the floor within minutes, but they were laced with such unwavering affection that A'whora was sure her blush was visible from a mile away.

If Tayce noticed, though, she didn't say anything. She simply watched, her gentle gaze analysing the blonde infront of her in a way that made A'whora sink back into her coat with insecurity.

"i don't know...I'm just-" her breath hitched. There were thousands of words to choose from, and she wanted to say all of them, yet every one she tried to say seemed to die in her throat. It felt as if her blood had turned to stone.

Her mind trailed as she entertained the notion, and she wondered what it'd look like. An ants nest of veins, perhaps, grey and dull but in an almost poetic way - she thought that it would be the rawest form of vulnerability possible, and she thought that maybe her love for the brunette ran so deep that even just the way the veins connected and branched out like spiderwebs was telling enough.

"you're just..?"

"I'm just tired" the words escaped without a second thought, mingling with the air. She studied the other girl's expression with reluctant curiosity, anticipation dancing in her own eyes as she waited for her friend's response.

"of what?"

Sobriety hit like a brick to a glass house when Tayce's jaw tightened. A malicious dread pricked at her heart and she was rendered silent for a while, her eyelashes fluttering as she opted to look at the cold, wet ground instead.

Neither spoke, yet there seemed to be a mutual understanding that some things were better left unsaid.

"we should go home. will you book a cab?"

.

A'whora's head felt fuzzy as she stepped through the door into her apartment, tayce following suit shortly after. She tossed her bag to the side nonchalantly, the contents rattling as they hit the floor in a way that caused the blonde to flinch.

She had rushed upstairs before Tayce could even comprehend what was happening, quickly removing her makeup and falling onto her bed with a defeated sigh. She felt like shit - it was as if ants were crawling around beneath her skin.

Her brain was putty, no, liquid thoughts, and they swirled around in her head in a way that was deafening but also so, so inexplicably quiet - so much so that they began to lose their sense, an amalgamation of incoherent thoughts that screamed only one thing - Tayce.

It was then that she heard a faint knock at the door. Speak of the devil.

"come in"

The door creaked open gradually, a slither of light from the landing slicing into the dimly lit room, proving to be a stark contrast that A'whora had never really seemed to notice before.

Tayce looked vulnerable, worn down - she had removed her makeup and thrown on an oversized hoodie and some shorts, and the image was so innocuous that the pale girl could feel her heart jump.

she tiptoed towards the bed, her movements so gentle and delicate that they made A'whora feel (and probably look) like a bull in a china shop. She took a seat next to the blonde, their arms brushing against eachother gently, and A'whora's brain short-circuited, shooting sparks throughout her body that made her feel electric.

"what's wrong, babe? you're being all weird on me. i can't have that"

The paler girl's eyes flickered shut as she words left Tayce's lips, lingering the air and clinging to A'whora's lungs as she breathed it in slowly. She shuffled on the bed so that she was facing her friend now and, despite her sobriety (or maybe because of it, she didn't really know), she found herself willing to confess the one thing that'd been eating at her for months, festering under her skin and wearing down her bones until they felt like they were made of glass.

"Tayce" the word came out almost inaudible, barely above a whisper if at all, and Tayce's hands soon found themselves clung to A'whora's, sending a small shiver down her spine at how cold they were.

"rory, you can tell me anything" the words were laced with sincerity - strung together with golden threats of intimacy, one that they shared often but didn't dare to vocalize until now.

It'd always loitered in the atmosphere, sometimes making itself known in form of a needy hug or peck on the cheek or maybe even a drunken kiss, but it never seemed to come up in conversation - well, Lawrence had pointed their - as she'd say - 'seckshul tenshun' out a fistful of times, but it'd always been brushed off as playful.

well, it was now or never. A'whora's breaths were ragged and her brows furrowed together as her mind scrambled frantically to get her words together until-

"Tayce, i think I'm in love with you"

fuck.

Hot tears pricked at her eyes the second it'd been said - it felt like a weight had been lifted, a secret that'd been pushing against her chest for months, slowly but surely asphyxiating her until, on some days, she found it hard to breathe when Tayce was on her mind.

When the brunette didn't reply, A'whora's conscience was immediately obscured by paranoia, completely deactivating her ability to think clearly for just a split second, until she felt a warm hand rest on her jaw, and she slowly blinked away the blurry tears to see Tayce leaning in ever so slowly, lips parted in a way that A'whora couldn't refuse (it's not like she ever would, anyway).

She wasted no time in closing the gap between them, and it was like the world around her had went up in flames. Her head was getting swimmy as she melted into the kiss which, in turn, deepened it.

Tayce tilted her head to the side slightly, opening her lips in a silent plead and A'whora obliged, their tongues finally meeting, dancing to a silent melody only they could hear, and the blonde thought she didn't want to taste anything else for the rest of her life. She tasted like sugar and caramel and all of A'whora's favourite things, excluding the faint traces of alcohol on their breaths.

When they finally broke apart, a dumb smile was plastered on Tayce's face as she pressed her forehead against her housemate's. A'whora couldn't help but return the smile - she'd yearned for so long, wanted and wanted until she finally felt it. Warmth engulfed her body, and her housemate's touch felt like fire as the brunette's fingers held a firm grip on her arm.

A'whora thought she might've burned her, but she wouldnt have minded - the feeling lingered seconds after Tayce's fingers had departed, but when the blonde looked down, she saw no trace of the contact on her arm, and a content sigh escaped her kiss-swollen lips.

Tayce thought it was obvious, that vocalizing such a thing was painfully unnecessary, but she couldn't stop herself when she spoke, the words breathy and quiet and brimming with affection;

"i think I'm in love with you, too"

It's in a Book 10

All right. Book 10 with two more to go.

So I may or may not have mentioned that in book 8 or 9, there are these cool graphic, comic book-esque pages that begin to emerge. If I ever get the courage to start coloring in these bad boys, I’m going to post them. But reason being is that these last few books of the series then become the foundation for the comics / graphic novel story that came after it. And yes, you should get those, too.

That’s right folks, it’s the end of the world and Damali and her crew is feeling…well everything.

So by this point, you should know everybody. And in case it wasn’t clear, by the end you know for sure, The End is really in full swing now. Don’t worry, it feels like a spoiler but it isn’t. The fun part is that there are 2 new female vampires and one of our council level faves gets an upgrade of a different sort. But it is so interesting to see how L.A. Banks incorporates bits of history into these stories. Ever hear of Lucrezia Borgia or Elizabeth Bathory? I’ve said too much.

The other things to talk about though is how funny it is to read these books in 2021, all old and what not, and reflect on the times. This particular book gets year stamped in 2008. So I can’t find the chapter and page as I am writing this but there is a point where good sis (the author) describes something as “like a QuickTime movie” and if that doesn’t give you the warm an fuzzies of yesteryear…well…then you’re mad young and God bless, boo.

And I could go into a few editing brained issues that I come across, like the constant use of the phrase, in some form or another depending on context, “to the bone” (is that a Philly thing?) and the seemingly illogical (to me!) interchangeable-ness of Arc and Ark when referring to the Ark of the Covenant (I mean, it’s in the Bible; that first one was good sis Joan’s thing right?). But I will not go there either.

Ooops.

I will say that if you are into action, supernatural things, don’t mind a lesson or two, vampires, the idea of ancestors you can see, hug, and talk to, and the whole good conquering evil thing (in a realistic way because you know by this book, an ass kicking is possible on both sides), then read on. If you aren’t a big fan of seeing obvious pairings, then this series probably got annoying around book 6 or 7 and well, 10 ain’t goin’ help, beloved.

I’ll end on this – L.A. Banks, for me, is a master of descriptions. If you can’t imagine the places and how folks look, but definitely the places, I don’t know what to tell you. They go to Greece at one point, and let me just say, I feel like I went, too (also shout out to Pinterest and my travel obsession to add HD to the mental picture for me). And she is also really good at integrating lessons on what positivity really is, what good thoughts really can do, and acknowledging the Light in all of us who choose to seek out that part of our spirits in our lives. I was going to quote something but younger me wants to hold on to that as her own little lesson. So I’ll give you this from the back cover but first…

THIS IS FROM THE DARKNESS BY L.A. Banks which I PURCHASED when it came out, and ISBN 10: 0-312-36874-7 in case you want to look that up for yourself to see the cover and whatever AND TO LET ANYONE READING KNOW THIS IS MY CITING MY SOURCE:

“This ‘end of days’ scenario is a wild amalgam of Christianity, vampire lore, world myth, functional morality, street philosophy, and hot sex. Three double-page line drawings…perfectly illustrate Banks’s over-the-top supernatural characters and scenes. As long as neither the world nor the series is ending, fans couldn’t as for more.” –Publishers Weekly

I couldn’t have said it better mydamnself.

Peace.

D. Ondria

07212021

Soulbound Part Seven

First | Previous | Part 7 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 2,788

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, background Remile

Warnings: Uncensored swearing, nightmares, mention of implied self harm (skip from “It had been another nightmare” to the end of the paragraph.), slight self deprecation, if I missed anything at all please please tell me, and if there’s anything you’d like me to tag, don’t hesitate to ask!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 7

  Logan Rose woke up with a bit of a start. He glanced around his room wildly, everything appearing fuzzy without his glasses. He calmed himself down before pulling the cord on his bedside lamp and examining his arm.

  It was bare and pale as always, save for his tattoo that depicted Patton's name.

  Despite everything, Logan let out a shaky breath. He knew it was illogical. And that only bothered him more.

  It's just a dream, Logan. Nothing is wrong. Logan picked up a book on the ground in spite of himself and began reading. However he found- as he always did- that he was unable to read much further than a few pages.

  "It's just a dream...It was nothing but amalgamated memories and images…It wasn't...It can't have been…" Logan took another deep breath to steady himself.

  And once again resorted to the only method that ever seemed to work.

  He flipped open a small journal and began writing down his dream with as much detail as possible.

  It had been another nightmare. He had been sobbing on the floor of a foreign room before dragging himself over to an all too familiar box under the bed where he fished out a pencil sharpener blade and had-

  Logan paused for a moment in his writing. He always hated writing about his nightmares. It was necessary for him to fall back asleep, but it was so hard sometimes.

  Every once in a while Logan Rose had acutely vivid dreams about ordinarily mundane things that didn't seem to make sense. 

  Seeing people he'd never seen before at a birthday party he'd never attended. 

  A dark room that slowly got edgier as time wore on filled with a multitude of different events. Most of them less than savory and quite traumatic. 

  A kid, taller than Logan, pushing him to the ground and pulling him back up by his hair only to have someone else spit in his face.

  These dreams made no sense to Logan. Dreams were supposed to be concoctions of memories, images, ideas, and emotions. Logan's brain should not be able to create such a vivid image of a house he'd never seen before. And yet Logan would have remembered if he'd ever seen the odd house with the strange yellow door that his mind so often brought up.

  Logan finished writing down his nightmare in his dream journal and set it down once again, rubbing his tired eyes. He glanced over at one of his many bookcases, sighing at the vast amount of dream journals he had filled up over the years.

  He had started cataloging his dreams back in fourth grade when his mother had suggested that writing about his dreams would help him remember them and even sleep better. So now Logan had nearly 6 years worth of journals filled to the brim with dream after dream after dream. Even if he could never remember what he had dreamed that night, he always wrote down that he was unable to recall any details.

  Logan lay himself back down to sleep as he quietly pondered his vivid dreams and what they could possibly mean, if anything at all.

  That's absolutely ludicrous. Dreams don't mean anything. They're just dreams. As he drifted off once again, Logan found himself with a ghost of doubt cast across his mind.

  Just dreams…

  Logan Rose fell asleep, his mind conjuring up recipes that called for memories, images, sounds, ideas, and emotions.

~~•~~

  Roman woke up to his alarm which he lazily slapped, sending it snoozing. Five minutes later it started yelling again, and this time Roman reluctantly rolled himself out of bed. Quite literally in fact. He had found it always helped him wake up.

  He hit the floor dramatically and lay down on the floor for a few minutes staring at his ceiling.

  Roman suddenly was struck by a brilliant idea and he sat up straight and got ready for the day as quick as possible.

  "Heya Ro-Bro! Sleep like a corpse?" Remus asked as Roman came down the stairs.

  "Why would you phrase it like that? Like actually why??"

  "Because it's interesting and you're boring so i have to be interesting for the both of us!!"

  Roman watched his twin brother sprinkle poptart crumbs into the omelet he was cooking and grimaced. "Well you sure do a good job of that one…"

  "Hey, Ro, have you seen the dandelions?"

  Roman paused for a brief moment. "Why the fuck are you eating dandelions?"

  "You absolute shitheaded moron it's for Brigit."

  Roman flushed. "Oh." He had been thinking of Virgil again and his head was still mushy from sleep. "In the fridge…"

  Remus turned and pulled out a small bag of dandelions before hopping over to a glass tank which contained a small tortoise. "Roman's an idiot, isn't he Brigit? Isn't he?" Remus cooed at his tortoise, dropping three of the four flowers in along with a small pile of lettuce before looking at the fourth flower and asking out loud. "Hey, dandelions are edible, right??"

  And before Roman had time to violently judge his brother, Remus shoved the entire fucking flower in his mouth like the absolute heathen he was.

  "Hey, not too bad." Roman's trash-man of a brother said, walking over to his slowly burning food.

  "I swear to god I don't know how we're related…" Roman muttered, returning his mind to a much more savory person.

~~•~~

  Roman got to school and met up with his friends. He debated skipping a few steps in his plan and looking for him right then, but decided against it. He didn't want to come off seeming like a creep.

  So he waited until his third period rolled around and felt his eyes light up as they fell to the emo boy scrunched up in the back corner of the classroom. Something was definitely brighter about Virgil today. Maybe it was the new hoodie he was wearing or the fresh makeup on his face, or perhaps it was the way he looked rested or the fact that he was nodding along to his music and silently mouthing the words, but Roman was unreasonably happy to see Virgil in a good mood.

  “Good morning, Hot Topic! You’re looking splendid today!” Roman bubbled, winking at the mass of emo that sat at the table.

  Virgil snorted and looked up at him. “Aw, you think I’m hot!”

  “On the contrary! I was talking to my reflection!”

  “Ah, that makes more sense. I put too much faith in you to think you’d ever stop being self-absorbed!”

  “Hey! You’ve only known me for what, two days?”

  Virgil shifted in his seat, having taken out his earbuds already. “I tend to be a pretty good judge of character.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep.”

  Roman took his chance to strike. “Well I bet you wouldn’t be able to judge my friend’s characters off of one glance!” Roman smiled at Virgil, missing the way the other’s shoulders relaxed when he spoke. “Want to join me with my friends at lunch?”

  Roman patiently awaited the inevitable decline. It was part of his plan. He would laugh it off and be charming as ever and continue to pester him until he-

  “Sure.” Virgil said casually, a hint of a smile on his face. 

  What.

  “You seem like a cool guy, I guess. Should I meet you by the cafeteria?”

  Roman’s head was a jumbled mess and where he had been planning on being charming, he had fallen end over end down the stairs of grace and was drowning in his own pool of poor planning.

  “Uh, uhm, n-no I’ll just meet you outside your class!” Roman had just barely been able to save the end of that sentence. He had not expected the emo boy to accept his offer so quickly. He thought the boy was shy and reserved, didn’t like talking to people. Curiosity to know what made the emo boy trust him overtook Roman. “Would it be terribly rude of me to ask why you’d want to come and eat with a bunch of people you hardly know?”

  Virgil shrugged. “I dunno. I just kinda…” He turned and pulled up his hood. “Feel like I can trust you. I also don’t really have anyone else, so I mean I don’t have many options.” he lowered his voice to the point where Roman wouldn’t have been able to hear the emo. “And if I at least look like I have friends maybe people will leave me alone this time around…”

  It worked and Roman hadn’t heard his breathless whisper. “Oh! Well I’m touched! In fact I think-”

  Ding!! Ding!! Ding!!

  Damn that bell.

  Class began and Roman didn’t get the chance to mention that he and Patton shared a class. A minor detail, but he was irrationally disappointed that he couldn’t keep talking to his newfound...Friend.

  Roman thought. Friend? Am I not jumping the gun by considering us friends this early on? What would Virgil think? Would he be okay with it? Would he be disgusted? Roman’s mind filled with the image of Roman calling the boy his friend and Virgil smiling widely, happy to be his friend. Roman let himself smile too.

  The period ended and Roman said his farewells to Virgil. Roman pulled out his phone between classes and brought up the group chat.

  Hey I’m bringing a friend of mine to come and sit with us at lunch kk

  It was just a few moments before his phone buzzed quietly in his hands.

  Pat-man: OOOooooOOOooOOoo~~!!

  Pat-man: A *friend* you say? *nudge nudge wink wink*

  Each of his texts were signed with a series of emojis, ranging from hearts to faces.

  Roman typed out a text, leaning against the wall outside his classroom.

  Yes Padre, a FRIEND

  Nothing more than that! I swear you rwad into things way to much

  His Phone buzzed again and Roman looked at the new text.

  Pocket-protector: First off, you misspelled 'Read' and second, you used the wrong 'Too'. Third, if you're speaking of the boy you have gone on about for the past two days, then-

  The bell rang and Roman silently thanked it for saving him the time to read Logan's perfectly composed letter of a text filled with perfect grammar.

  The hours ebbed by anguishingly slow, it seemed the more he wanted to see the pale boy the more the weights the universe attached to time's ankles.

  Finally- finally- the hour struck three minutes till the bell and Roman silently excused himself knowing that the abandoned hall pass in his pocket that would free him of suspicion.

  He got to Virgil’s classroom just in time for the bell to ring and for Roman to quickly lean himself up against the lockers casually.

  Virgil walked out and seemed almost surprised to see Roman standing there before a ghost of a smile adorned his pale face.

  “Honestly, you don’t have to skip out of class early just to wait for me.” Virgil said as he walked up to the taller boy.

  “I know, but it wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to leave my new friend wandering through the halls with no guide!” Roman smiled and the pair started walking towards the cafeteria.

  “And so that would make you my knight in shining armor?” Virgil teased.

  “No, I like to think of myself as more of a prince.”

  Virgil snorted back his laughter. “But I thought they gave princes education! They’re doing a miserable job rearing you.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny, Jerky Mcjerk-face.”

  “Ouch! Is that the best comeback you have for me, Princey?” Before, Virgil had called Roman by the theatrical nickname in a friendly manner, now his tone was mocking him, a soundless giggle twinkling in his blue eyes.

  Roman hrumphed and crossed his arms. “Sometimes I’m not entirely on point with my words! I’m human! Even someone as flawless as me can make mistakes!”

  Virgil barked out a short laugh. “Ha!! Flawless! I should bring you up on charges for false advertising!”

  “Then maybe I should do the same with you, Surly-Temple! You’re not as shy as you seem, are you?”

  “Who ever said I was shy? I just don’t like people.”

  “Oh…” Roman internally cursed at his lack of words. He had jumped to conclusions. It was a simple mistake, but it reminded Roman of another thing he should try and fix. He shook it off easily. “Well in that case I’m sure you’ll have no problem introducing yourself to my friends!” He led Virgil through the thick of the now bustling and ever so loud cafeteria to a table in the back near one of the backdoors leading outside. It was a small circular table, like all the others in the room, perfect for a friend group to claim and have no one else intrude.

  Patton and Logan were already sitting down and chatting about what sounded like the emotional and psychological repercussions of being torn from your dimension and being thrown into another. A very fascinating topic to say the least.

  “Hey, Padre! Pocket protector!” Roman announced as they neared the table. Roman noticed out of the corner of his eye Virgil throwing up his hood. “I must introduce to you all, a one Virgil Sanders!” Roman theatrically bowed and gestured toward the purple haired boy next to him.

  Patton stood up immediately and flounced over to the boy. “Hi!! My name’s Patton, but you can just call me Dad!!” He said with a wink as he held out his hand for Virgil to shake. Virgil seemed to relax as he took the sorter boy’s hand in his.

  “Virgil. It’s nice to meet you, Patton.” He smiled lightly.

  Logan had stood as well, letting Virgil come to him. “Logan Rose. A pleasure.” He said politely, extending his own hand. Vigil accepted it and the group started to settle in.

  “You know, Virgil, I think I have the same second period as you!” Patton slipped in as they started taking their seats.

  Virgil seemed to think for a brief second. “Oh, I guess so. I guess nice to re-meet you, then.” He slowly took off his hood and faced Patton who was seated across from him. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you, I tend to not pay attention to stuff like that.”

  “It’s fine! I think it’s great we have a class together! It means less boring moments in the day!”

  Logan was staring at Virgil and he started speaking. “You know, You look familiar to me as well...Do we not share a fifth class together? Ap English in Mr. Evan’s class, if I am correct?”

  Virgil blinked. “Uh...Yeah...So I guess I have a class with each of you then...What are the odds?” Virgil gave a small laugh.

  “Infinitesimal.” Logan replied before biting into his sandwich.

  “Oh speaking of which, do you remember what was taught yesterday? I was trying to do my homework and sort of forgot what he’d said…”

  “I remember absolutely nothing but I do remember he was wearing a pink shirt with a green belt and was disgusted, I mean I may not be one for fashion, but even I know that was a horrific choice.”

  The table erupted into several different kinds of laughter. A loud booming one from Patton, a softer but clear one provided by Roman, and a light chuckle emitted by Virgil.

  Lunch wore on and It seemed like Virgil really connected with everyone.

  He was in a brighter mood for the rest of the day as he walked off with Logan, discussing fan theories about doctor who and Sherlock, and then happier still when he met up with Roman in the theater and got to have his older brother teach him for what seemed like the first actual time.

  And as Virgil bid his farewells, Roman called out to him.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Virge!!” He yelled across the courtyard, waving happily at his new friend.

  “Cya!!” Virgil called back, feeling happy and warm inside.

  Virgil had never even had friends before, and for some reason, having only just met them a few hours ago, felt like these friends were ones that were going to last. He felt so right when he was with them. It felt so right when he would hear Logan talking about one subject or another, or when Patton made a dad joke or pun, or when Roman did something charmingly stupid or funny. It felt right being with them.

  And for someone who’s never felt right in their life, Virgil felt as though it was all too much to actually be real.

  But for once, He didn't worry about that.

Author’s note:

Oh wow! Would you look at that! I’m way early!! I legit thought I wasn’t going to get this done in time because I stopped writing for like two days cause one: I wanted to write a special valentines day mini fic (Link here!) and then two: I was away from my computer and had very tiny motivation. Anyway I hope you guys appreciate my earliness, and note that this probably won’t happen too often. Stay fresh and minty my lovelies!!

Tag list

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How Remus Started Working For Patton: Part 5

Masterpost

Tw: Remus being Remus/Swearing/Drug Mention/Drinking Coffee

While it took some getting used to, Remus was immensely pleased at his newfound membership to the Anacondas.

Not ONLY did he have another person to annoy the shit out of daily (this position was held by Dee and Virgil exclusively, as well as his brother), but he also was able to pop by and bring Pat on his adventures so he could feel that fuzzy sensation in his chest.

Ree still couldn't determine why he felt that way, but he supposed it was because Pat would listen to him ramble without telling him that it was stupid.

Or maybe it was because he was pretty? He was remarkably attractive, whether in a skirt or in a pair of jeans, and his hair seemed softer than even that dead rabbit Virgil dared him to touch once. Whether that was because the rabbit was dead or because Patton was Patton, it didn't matter. But even then, Remus had met plenty of attractive people! And he didn't usually have this reaction, at least, not one this soft.

Maybe it was the danger? Pat was part of a crime organization. Remus always did like the danger of doing things most people saw as dangerous or scandalous, but it didn't feel particularly high stakes yet. The most risky encounter they had was that damned seagull chasing after them. (Remus was going to kill that bird one of these days...)

He supposed he'd have to ask his brother. Grosssssss. Remus hated asking his brother for advice, it always was some fairytale crap or something similar. But, as Virgil wasn't home, and he was NOT going to ask Patton (that would be embarrassing), Dee (they're brothers) or Logan (he's not too good at emotions), he had no other choice.

So that's why he was standing on the balcony of Roman's apartment, hair full of leaves, sighing for what seemed like the twentieth time as Roman continued to not notice him.

"Oh brother dorkest!~ It is me, your evil twin! Get your gay ass out here!"

That seemed to do the trick, well, to some degree. It at least made Roman jump, turning his head to look through the window at him.

Not too long after, it also caused him to finally open the window! Spectacular.

"Remus you know I have a front door."

"Oh but it's just so much more fun to see your reaction when I use unconventional means! Remember when I used your vent system?"

"Yeah, and you nearly fell through it. To what do I owe the displeasure of a meeting with you?" Despite his words, Roman was clearly biting back a smile.

Hopping through the open frame, Remus began to pace around the apartment, leaving a trail of leaves in his wake. It had been windy outside, he couldn't help it!

"I am facing an emotional dilemma!"

"Dilemma? Who taught you these fancy words? Where is my real brother???" Roman crossed his arms where he stood, leaning up against the wall in amusement.

"Oh shut your butt. Seriously though, I am facing problems and all my other friends are unable to help at this time."

"That's a first."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, wishing he had put a braid in it or something. Normally he'd be fine with it full of leaves, he'd had worse, but right now he was on edge and he'd prefer if there wasn't the crinkly sound every time he moved. "Its with this guy dipshit! This guy that for whatever reason I cannot understand why he enjoys my presence."

With that statement, Roman's demeanor changed drastically. Making his way over to his brother, he sat him down on the couch. "This seems like a problem in which we'll need some coffee. You still like yours the same?"

Ree simply nodded, still stewing over his emotions.

His brother came back holding two mugs, one that was coffee only in name, and the other that was some amalgamation of cream cheese, sriracha sauce, and hot fudge.

He handed the abomination to Remus, sipping his own. "Ok spill."

"So a few weeks back, I met this guy. And I thought it would be like all my other flings ya know? Chill, not much expectations, and ending after about a week. But this guy is just, pure sunshine. He and I flirt a bit, and he's pretty cuddly but as far as I can tell he sees me as a friend. But I don't know how I see him, because whenever I'm around him I get this dizzy feeling and it's like being drunk and taking hallucinogenics at the same time??"

"Ah so you're in love with him!!!"

Remus nearly spit out his drink at how sudden it was. "Excuse me??"

"You're in love!!!"

"That's ridiculous! I don't do that! The most I have is a one night stand! A fling if I'm particularly bored! I don't do 'in love' my dearest bother." Making air quotes with his free hand, he continued sipping his drink, if you could call it that.

Seriously. What was even in it??? It looked disgusting! But for some reason Remus kept drinking it??? What a madman.

"Well, tell me about this guy then."

"What???"

"For curiosity's sake! It's been so long since I've had a relationship so I'm projecting to yours."

"Haven't gotten laid recently?" Remus wiggled his eyebrows, knocking elbows with him to see if he'd spill his drink.

"Ugh!! Vulgar, he'd at least have to buy me dinner first." Ro swiped his mug away before the mountain of whipped cream was disturbed, frowning. "But seriously! What's this guy like?"

"If you want the basic description, he's cute as fuck. If you want the less basic description, he's quite possibly the only guy who I would want to slow dance with since...collage at least."

"Wow, slow dancing??"

"I KNOW right??? He's got these pretty-ass eyes and whenever I look into them I just melt and he's so soft that when he hugs me I'm just a puddle of blood and guts on the floor and I'd let him tear the heart from my chest if he asked."

"Wow. That's...that is a crush. That my dear brother, is a crush!"

"Ugh shut up. So what's up with your life right now? Make any new musicals?"

Roman's face lit up, and then dimmed almost immediately after. He didn't meet Ree's eyes as he spoke, slowly stirring his drink. "Well..."

"Well what?"

"I did, but it was rejected again."

"That's bullshit! Your scripts are amazing! Even if they lack the blood and gore, they're some of the best pieces I've ever read! That cock of a publishing company should be begging for your works!"

"It's really not that big of a deal...they were unpolished anyways."

"I'm going to commit arson soon enough."

"Remus no! I'll just try some of the other publishers. I'll have to work twice as hard, but maybe one of them will like it..."

As Remus looked at his brother, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes and how his body curled into itself, as if it was barely staying together.

"Dipshit...you haven't been sleeping well huh?"

A shake of his head was all Remus needed to set both of their mugs down on the coffee table, lifting up his brother. "You need a break. I don't trust you not to work yourself to death."

"Remus no, I have to get working on the next-"

"Nope! I'm taking you to my pal's place. He'll watch after you. I'm going to work soon, so I'd do it myself, but he's second best."

"Please tell me you aren't leaving me at a bar."

"Nope! Logan doesn't drink. Says it messes with his brain's 'structural integrity' or something."

Roman, used to his antics, simply wrapped his arms around Remus, leaning into him as he grumbled something he couldn't hear.

"Don't worry, I'll grab your keys so you can get back in. He's nice I swear!"

"If I end up dead in an alley I'm haunting you."

"Virgil would hate that. He already thinks we have ghosts in our apartment, you'd be the final straw before he buys an ouija board."

They talked quietly as Remus grabbed some of Roman's important stuff, then heading out. Thankfully, no one bothered them on the walk over, and Remus didn't have much problem knocking on the stained door of Logan's place, which, in his words, 'serves as my workplace as well as my domicile so Remus kindly stop bothering my cat.'

"Hey Locoooooooooo!"

There was banging from inside as his only answer unfortunately, so Remus assumed that he was in his lab.

Time to let himself in! Roman had fallen asleep on his shoulder by now, so he couldn't set him down to crawl through a window. Crap. Might as well use the keys then.

Maneuvering his grip, he managed to grab them from his pocket, stepping in. Entropy, who was sitting on her cat tower, merely blinked at him before hopping off, most likely to go find Logan.

"Lo-comotive!"

"Remus I swear if your roommate threw you out again because you messed with a skunk-"

Ah! There he was. He must have been working with one of his machines again, when he came out to greet him, he was wearing his metal-working mask. "Hi Logie!~"

"Hello Remus. Why does it appear as if you're carrying a dead body?"

"This is my brother! I told you about him before. He needs someone to watch after him so he actually rests for once in his goddamned life."

Roman, who had awoken by now from all the noise, struggled to get out of Remus's arms. "I'm not a child-"

"I can't watch him right now since I have to go work at Hell Incorporated-" He made a face, disgusted at even the mention of his office job, "-so I thought you could?"

Logan turned up his mask, looking closer at Roman, his face...red? Wait what? It was probably because the machine tended to get hot. Or...

"Remus, you want me to nanny your twin brother?"

"Yep! He's an incorrigible little menace that won't sleep unless you force him to or he passes out from exhaustion."

"This is a grown man we are discussing?"

Piping up from his struggle to get down, Roman turned to look at Logan. "Exactl-"

His intended speech cut off as he locked eyes, exhaling a little bit at the sight. "oh."

Glancing between the two of them, Remus noticed the redness on both of their cheeks, and wanting to see none of whatever stirred up his brother, simply pushed him into Logan's twig arms. "I'll be back soon!"

Both turned to look at him, startled looks on both their faces.

"Remus!"

He was already out the door, snickering.

Of Woe and Envy

anonymous said: Could you do a roger imagine based off Queens song Jealousy possibly?

There were a lot of things that someone could say to tick off Roger. An excessively dramatic man at times, Roger seemed as if he was always finding a way to piss himself off about the smallest things that someone would say. One time, he’d even flipped a lid on Brian for remarking that the off-brand of Roger’s favorite crisps were better than the name brand.

You thought this was an amusing trait of his – he was passionate about what he was arguing, and you found that intensity hard to find in other men. It was one of the things that had attracted you to Roger in the first place – he was a fiery personality bundled up in a beautiful, slim but toned frame. He would argue his points, possibly to a fault – Roger never thought he was wrong.

But you never imagined that you’d be the person to find the one thing that could absolutely piss off Roger beyond repair. It wasn’t even that terrible of a question, honestly. And you’d meant nothing ill by it, you supposed, but it really set him off so much that here you were, standing on some unfamiliar street in London with your high heels in your hand, completely and utterly alone.

It had started with you two arguing in the dark backseat of a limo about the most moronic, asinine concept you had ever seen Roger conjure up – and he had written a song about metaphorically fucking cars.

“Could you stop flirting with him for literally one minute?” Roger yelled, throwing up a single index finger that shook violently as he glared at you, the drunken fires of hell raging in his usually good-natured blue eyes.  You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared out the limo’s tinted window, in disbelief that Roger could even accuse you of what he was suggesting. “Don’t fucking ignore me! I asked you a question.”

“You’re fucking mental, Roger, truly. John? You really think I’m trying to get into John’s pants?” you replied angrily, turning back towards him pressing a finger into his chest. “You’re my boyfriend, not Deacy. He is my friend, our friend, nothing more than that. His coat was twisted up, I was helping him.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly why you practically had your hands all over him not even 10 bloody minutes ago!” Roger sneered, pushing your hand away and instead pressing his hand to the top of his head as he sunk back into the plush velvety seat, facing forward instead of looking at you. “I’m going to be fucking sick. My girlfriend trying to wank off one of my best friends in the back of a sleazy club.”

“Fuck you, Roger! I can’t believe you!” you practically spit at him, tears running out of the corner of your eyes as you stared at him incredulously. “Are you happy with yourself, yeah? Making your girlfriend cry in the middle of a club and yelling at your best friend, real macho shit!” You sunk back into the seat as well, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes as you gave up all hope on your makeup not smearing anymore. With a shaky inhale, you dropped your hands and tried to compose yourself. After a moment, you spoke quietly. “I was literally just trying to help Deacy into his jacket-“

“I don’t want to hear about it, I’m sure you have all kinds of excuses,” Roger cut off quickly, waving his hand in your general direction and silencing you. Staring at him in complete distress, your mind blanked for a second before you threw your purse down on the seat between you and leaned forward, picking up the phone that connected to the driver’s part of the limo. “What are you fucking doing? Put that phone down, for fuck’s sake, stop being a cunt.“

“Driver, just go ahead and stop right here. I’m getting out,” you choked out as normally as you could manage, sniffling as you sat the phone back down and grabbing your purse. Throwing it over your shoulder and gathering your jacket, you climbed out onto the sidewalk when the limo pulled over at the first chance it got.

“Oh, you’re the one calling me mental,” Roger remarked scornfully, and you gave him the nastiest stink eye you could manage with your hair and makeup mussed beyond belief. You were a mess, and it was all Roger’s fault, but how could you force a blind man to see?

“Why do you always have to win?”

That was it. That was the simple question that had put the nail in the coffin. Roger turned a violent shade of red as he stared straight through you, his pride blinding any rational thought to be had, and he finally snapped. “Don’t come home, Y/N. Go stay at Deacon’s, for all I care. We’re done.”

With that, the door was slammed, and the limo took off after a few seconds, leaving you behind and out of Roger’s life for the indefinite future. And so you walked to the nearest motel and spent the night in and out of a horrifying sleep, the nightmares almost as bad as the waking moments.

Life went on without him, as much as you didn’t want it to. Upon finding out your new address a week later, Roger had all of your items sent to you, no note, no call. You came to accept the thought that Roger really did hate you for this, for something you didn’t even do, and that numbed you inside. At desperate times, you tried to talk it out with Brian, with Freddie – hell, even with Deacon – but nothing seemed to register. You were dead to Roger Taylor, it seemed. There was no redemption this time, not a single bit.

But things weren’t as they seemed on Roger’s side. In fact, the emptiness of your shared home haunted him day to day. He would come home to a quiet lounge, a quiet kitchen, a quiet bedroom, devoid of life, devoid of you. Although he deeply regretted accusing you, his pride stood between himself and you. He was too proud to admit his faults, too proud to call you and apologize. He’d taken it too far, and now you were both suffering for his mistakes.

What had went wrong? Roger tormented himself with this question, day after day. Things weren’t always so bad – you were happy, he was happy. You two made each other happy, probably excessively so. The shared enthusiasm between you two was contagious, and it honestly tired the boys out quite a bit in the beginning. Where had it all went awry?

- oh, to fall in love was my very first mistake

“I think you both need some water. Possibly some muzzles?” Deacon had suggested, making Roger laugh and sloppily throw his arm around you to pull you closer. Unlocking the door to Freddie’s, who was currently leaning against Brian for dear life, Deacon swung the door open, and the amalgamation of you and Roger stumbled in, laughing the whole way.

“Don’t let the cats out!” Freddie almost shrieked. Even when plastered, his cats were the primary concern, and he sunk to his hands and knees as he started crawling around, looking for his fuzzy friends.

You had all gone out together as usual, everyone but Deacy and Brian getting smashed. However, Freddie had the biggest place, so everyone had fumbled and stumbled back to his. Deacon had gotten tired of the two of you around block 3, when he’d heard what seemed like the 15th ‘I love you’ in minutes.

“Say it again, and I’m calling my wife to decide on a different phrase to express admiration for the rest of our lives,” he’d warned, and of course, that had spurred Roger to use ‘I love you’ in every following slurred sentence that came from him.

Now, Deacy was headed for the kitchen as you and Roger tumbled onto the couch, Roger sprawled out on his back as you rested on top of him, laying between his legs and resting your head on his chest, which was rising and falling heavily. “M’out of breath. Fuck those stairs!” Roger yelled, Brian trying to shush him before he left to try and find where Freddie had crawled off to.

“Yeah, shut it, Roggie!” you whisper-yelled, teasingly poking his side and making him jolt a bit, a giggle escaping his lips. “You’re so cute,” you laughed giddily, closing your eyes and snuggling closer.

“You’re cuter!” he quickly countered, lazily petting your hair as he closed his eyes as well. “IIIII love you.”

“God, there it is again,” Deacon groaned, and you giggled before chosing to ignore his comment.

“I love you too, blondie. In fact, I love you more than you love me!”

“False!” Roger called out loudly, and Brian shushed him again, reappearing in the doorway with one of the cats. “I love you more, and that’s a fact, Jack!”

“Well, I love you the most!” you replied, and that quieted Roger as he realized you’d hit the highest point of love already.

“Um….” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as he wracked his brain for a comeback. “I love you the most-est!”

“Not a word,” Deacon reminded him, walking over with two glasses of water and setting them down on the coffee table before sitting on the chair across the rug.

“You’re not a word, you wanker. Ought to give you a haymaker. Those are fighting words, they are,” Roger grumbled, thinking you were the only one to hear it, but Deacon’s replies were rapid-fire tonight as he caught all of Roger’s mini-rant.

“It’s like you’re arguing with yourself at this point, do I even need to speak?”

Roger made patronizing crying noises, but stopped when he realized you were laughing pretty hard at Deacy’s comment. Although he smiled lovingly at the pure look of joy on your face, he glanced between the two of you warily, innocently wondering.

You noticed him staring at you, unaware of the suspicion nagging at the back of his brain, and smiled wider at the look on his face. His eyelids were drooping low, hooding his alluring blue eyes and making him look somewhere between tired and ready to take you right there. Crawling up so you were at an even playing level with him, you gazed down at him, your eyes just as hooded and bloodshot as your boyfriend’s.

“I really love you,” you murmured, brushing noses with him as you struggled to keep yourself propped up above him. But you didn’t need to anyways, because Roger’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you to him as he turned you both to the side, your back to Deacon as Roger smashed his lips against yours sloppily.

You obliged willingly, moving your lips against his eagerly and his hand went to rest just above your hip, his strong fingers digging firmly into the soft flesh exposed between your shirt’s hem and the waistband of your skirt. He was proving a point to Deacon, who was actually completely oblivious to what Roger was trying to do considering he really wasn’t interested in anyone but his wife. But jealous Roger didn’t see that. All he saw was red, and all he was focused on currently was showcasing that you were his.

“I love you too,” Roger mumbled against your lips as he slowed down the kiss for a moment, and your eyes fluttered open as you pulled away from his lips, smiling widely and giggling at the giddiness his affection gave you. “So much,” Roger added, and you nuzzled his neck fondly as he squeezed your hip, peeking over your shoulder directly at Deacon, who raised an eyebrow. He was baffled as to why Roger was staring directly at him with such a testy look on his face, but he dismissed it quickly as Roger being piss drunk and moved on, making preparations to go home. Roger, however, didn’t move on from that notion.

- how was I to know i was far too much in love to see?

He figured after all that it was pure, unadulterated jealousy that had torn you two apart, ruining the intemperate love shared between you. It was only that much more stinging when Freddie’s next song to record in the studio was aptly named Jealousy, and Roger had refused to record it for a straight week out of pure indignation that he’d even suggest a song like that. What took too long for him to realize was that Freddie had written it long before the breakup between you two, and it wasn’t even about him anyways. When he finally recorded it, it had taken all of the energy out of him. He found himself wasting away his time in the club later, chain-smoking and binge drinking until he could hardly breathe and wishing he would just stop breathing anyways, when the lyrics started running through his head again.

- oh, how strong can you be with matters of the heart? - life is much too short to while away with tears - if only you could see just what you do to me

Sniffling, Roger refused to let himself cry as he stared blankly off into the crowd that was packed into the club, not seeing, barely hearing, and hardly feeling. The only thing he could feel was the smoke of his cigarette as he inhaled, filling his lungs, mildly stinging the lining of his throat, and escaping in one fluid motion as he exhaled. The room was a haze, his vision spinning slowly from the alcohol seeping throughout his whole body, so Roger thought he was dreaming when he saw your face in the crowd, weaving your way through to the bar.

But it was real, and he coughed when he inhaled too quickly, smoke coming out of his mouth in small bursts as he saw you emerge into a sort of clear space not even 20 feet away. You were alone (or so he thought), clutching that same damned purse, and you looked as beautiful as you did weeks ago. God, was it a month? He couldn’t tell. Time had been pointless to him since you’d left.

His heart shriveled up as he watched you wait patiently to take an open spot, pulling your hair back over your shoulder and sighing. You had no idea he was here at this moment, having come here with some girlfriends and some of your mutual friends that had been in Deep Purple. There was a blissful ignorance to the way you carried yourself.

However, the bliss was short-lived as you spotted Brian, who approached almost timidly. By extension, if he was showing his face here, that meant Roger was close by, and that thought loomed over your head as much as Brian did as you put a smile on, giving him a warm hug.

“I’m sorry, I had to say hello,” he said as you pulled out of the hug, and you nodded as you patted his arm quickly before dropping both of your hands to your side. “How are you? Here, let’s get you a drink back here. You’ll be waiting forever if you don’t.” He rested a gentle hand on your upper back and led you back farther into the VIP section, carefully skirting around the table where Roger was seated on his way to the bar in the back.

Roger’s stare never wavered, his eyes following you until you had completely disappeared out of his line of sight. When you finally disappeared, it was like a heavy weight began pressing down on his shoulders, and his eyes began to water as he looked down at the table, tracing his fingers along the grain in the wood but not truly paying attention. The cigarette burned out slowly between his fingers as he did so, his mind replaying that night over and over again until it made him sick.

He'd been looking for you for what seemed like ages once you’d disappeared from the bar, and when he’d finally found you, you were near the back exit, standing behind Deacon and laughing with your head thrown back. Deacon was laughing as well, and in a passing glance, your hand appeared to be up the back of his coat, dangerously friendly. Deacon was reaching back, trying to assist in your attempt to untangle his coat from itself.

Roger was never one to sit back and think about his actions, so before he knew what he was doing, he was on you two like stink on shit. “Are you joking?!”

You were still laughing, which means you hadn’t heard him, and you tugged the back of Deacon’s jacket down to where it should be before patting his back and turning to Roger, blissfully unaware of the rage boiling inside of him. “Oh, hey, babe, I was just sending John off! I was about to come find you so you could say goodbye.”

“Sending him off? That’s rich, looks like you were elbow deep in each other’s arseholes!” Roger fumed, a look of mild confusion passing over Deacon’s face as you laughed nervously, reaching out for Roger’s arm. He retracted it quickly, staring at you like you were an alien, and you quickly realized that he wasn’t joking. Roger was dead serious right now.

“Oh, come off it, Rog, you can’t be saying this right now, can you?” you asked, Deacon looking between the two of you uncomfortably as he attempted to make his exit before this blew up. But Roger caught his arm, glaring at him with a vicious scowl on his face.

“Keep your hands off my girlfriend, what’s wrong with you?” Roger almost growled, and John shrugged off his hand as he struggled with what to say that wouldn’t piss Roger off more.

“I wasn’t touching her, and she wasn’t touching me. I’ll be going now.” With that, John glanced back at you and gave a nod before leaving, ignoring Roger’s screams after him. You tried to step in front of him and block him as he slowly advanced after John, but he was quick to brush you off, an enraged look in his eyes.

“Get off me, you fucking cheater!” It felt like he’d slapped you across the face with that word, cheater, and your jaw went slack as you gave Roger a look of pure humiliation, tears silently falling down your cheeks. He rolled his eyes, unmoved by your sadness for the most part, and encircled your upper arm with his hand as he led you out of the club and into the waiting limo. You were so shocked by what happened that you hadn’t registered your anger at moment until the limo pulled away from the curb, and that’s where your real fight started.

The words – they were cycling in Roger’s head again.

- jealousy, when will you let go? - got a hold of my possessive mind - turned me into a jealous kind

He had to apologize. Sober Roger would never do this, but drunk Roger was ready to beg for forgiveness on his hands and knees, his pride already gone down the drain with the liquor long ago. After all, it had been drunk Roger both times that had acted rashly. That damned night, he’d let his jealousy get the best of him, but he needed to reconcile with you now. Possessive by nature, the thought that you were here alone, or even worse – with someone else – was haunting him.

Slowly rising to his feet, Roger ashed his cigarette in the ashtray and took a step away from the table, immediately wavering in balance and causing Peter to reach out and steady him. “You alright, mate? Sit down,” he chuckled, fully aware of how much Roger had thrown back in the last few hours.

“Y/N,” was all Roger could mumble out as he shoved Peter’s hand off of him. That was familiar, an ache setting into Roger’s heart as he replayed the moment he’d directly called you a cheater in his mind. Wincing, Roger shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the room to stop spinning before he made a stumbling attempt at a beeline to the bar in the back, where he knew you’d be.

Brian was leaning down to listen to something you were saying when he saw Roger’s bumbling self making his way straight at the two of you, and the sore look on Brian’s face was enough to confirm exactly what you’d suspected. Turning to the right, you locked eyes with Roger just as Brian stepped between the two of you to practically catch Roger, pressing a steadying but restricting arm against Roger’s chest. The blonde was basically clutching onto the taller man’s shirt at this point, his equilibrium completely fucked as he gave you the sweetest smile he could manage. But it was off-putting at best – he was all askew, hair messed up, eyes bloodshot, and he positively reeked of cigarette smoke.

“Let’s get you back to the table, Rog,” Brian muttered, trying to turn him around, but he was not to be deterred.

“Y/N, I love you,” he declared loudly, and all you could do was give him a sad, pitying look as he desperately held on to Brian for support but simultaneously fought his attempts to drag him off. “M’sorry, I love you! I need-”

No words were coming to mind as you watched Brian drag him out of earshot, sitting him down in the first chair he could find. Roger’s eyes were locked on you, and you couldn’t bear to look at the sad sight any longer, turning back towards the bar with a heavy heart. But you didn’t have time to sit and think about giving him a chance to explain himself, for two familiar faces greeted you. One of your girlfriends and the bassist from Deep Purple, Roger Glover, coincidentally, were at the bar now. Your girlfriend waved before she started to order, Glover rambling off his order to her before strolling over to you, having witnessed the mini-ordeal that had just taken place.

“What was all that about?” he asked, ducking down a bit to speak directly into your ear over the music of the club. You sighed, shaking your head as you turned to face Glover, who was glancing over at Roger sprawling out in his chair, hardly in control of his limbs. “Is that Roger Taylor? He looks like shit.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed bitterly, pursing your lips as you looked at Roger as well. “Long story. But that’s all history now. Let’s do some shots.”

Glover chuckled at the abrupt subject change, choosing not to acknowledge it, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder in a friendly manner as you both turned away from Roger, heading back to meet the girlfriend at the bar.

Roger had went so limp and emotionless all of a sudden, Brian had to look, and what he saw made him hold back a chuckle with a grimace. Roger Glover with his arm around you had probably just killed this Roger, but he had to laugh once – a two-Roger conundrum was certainly not how he saw this night panning out. “That��s fucking funny, not gonna lie. Sorry mate,” Brian admitted, looking down at Roger, who was staring at his empty left hand and pressing his lips together.

“Hilarious,” he deadpanned, closing his eyes as he let his head fall back against the chair, Freddie’s voice ringing louder in his head than ever before during the night. It was deafening, and blocked out everything else. He could hear nothing but his taunting words, the words more personal than ever.

- but now it matters not if I should live or die - ‘cause I’m only left with my own jealousy

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MHA - In for The Long Haul pt3

Toshinori walked through the hospital hallways, a nervousness festering as he made his way to the hospital room that his good friend had been admitted to.

He had rushed over to the hospital immediately last night after he had gotten the phone call from the hospital. They informed him that Naomasa had been admitted with several third degree burns on his legs, arms, and back. Naomasa hadn't been awake yet, so he decided to stop by first thing in the morning. He still hadn't gotten a chance to actually talk to his friend.

He had felt bad for leaving the Midoriyas' in such a rush, especially after his conversation with Izuku, but when he first got the call from the hospital his brain had stopped. The only thing he could process was that his friend was in the hospital, receiving treatment for burns.

He knew he should've advised Naomasa to leave it be, to not go looking for trouble, but he had let him go. Now, it seemed he was paying for his lapse in judgement

He knew now that Naomasa would be fine. Someone had contacted the authorities, who arrived shortly thereafter, extinguished the fire, and rescued him before any permanent damage could be done. Even knowing that, he was still worried. Naomasa was his friend, a close friend, and to think that now the villains were targeting the police force was rather disconcerting.

It meant that the villains weren't afraid of them, which only meant that their attacks would become bolder. They had to be more vigilante now.

Before he knew it, he was standing before Naomasa's room. He knocked, waiting anxiously for a reply. Once he heard a reply, he entered hesitantly.

The room itself was bright, the windows having been drawn, and Naomasa was sitting up in bed.

Naomasa looked to be in rather high spirits, given the circumstances. He was awake and sitting up, bandages wrapped around his forearms, disappearing beneath his hospital gown, but overall, nothing about his demeanor spoke of disheartenment.

"Toshinori, you came. I didn't expect you until later." His tone may have been jovial in nature, but there was an underlying seriousness that told Toshinori that he had important information to share.

Toshinori nodded his head, happy to see his friend alive and well, "Yes, of course. I came as soon as I got the call from the hospital last night…" His tone grew more somber, "Naomasa—"

"I know, I know." he held up his hand in a stop gesture, and nodded his head, already knowing what he was going to say, "It was rather reckless of me to go back to the crime scene like that, although, in my defense, I didn't think one of the villains would actually be there—"

"Wait," Toshinori interrupted, "You mean to tell me that one of the villains who held Izuku was there?" He hadn't gotten any specifics over what had happened, only that Naomasa had been injured—burned—and was at the hospital. The news that Naomasa had come face to face with one of the villains that had hurt Izuku put him on edge.

Thoughts raced before his mind. He needed to get as much information as he could on the villains. "Did you get a good look at them? Could you identify them? Did you catch what their quirk was? Maybe we could run that through the quirk database and—"

"Toshinori," Naomasa cut him off, "calm down." His voice was calmer, calmer than any of Toshinori's thoughts. How could he be so calm in a situation like this? Didn't he understand that this person, this villain, had hurt Izuku, had… tortured him. Still, he did force himself to calm down and rationalize his thoughts.

He had come here to make sure his friend was okay, that was his first priority, everything else could wait. "I'm sorry, I got a little ahead of myself." He backtracked, bringing himself back to why he had initially visited, "How are you doing?"

Naomasa chuckled slightly at his antics before responding, "Honestly, not too bad. One of the nurses on staff had a pain alleviating quirk, so the pain isn't too bad right now. I'm more mad at the fact that that villain stole my damn trench coat…"

He gave Naomasa a pointed look. Now wasn't the time for jokes.

"Right, sorry. I shouldn't be making jokes, but she did, in fact steal my coat, and I am mad about it," he defended himself. "Although, that's not my main concern right now." He sighed before continuing, turning to face him, his expression grave. "She did manage to snag the files I had on me… the files on Midoriya. It had everything on them: his medical information, psych evaluation, medication, everything. With it… there's no telling what her next move will be, but it doesn't look good." There was bitterness and self loathing in his voice as he said this, balling his hands into fists.

The villain was female, Toshinori noted. That would narrow down the search results drastically. Female villains weren't uncommon, but they certainly weren't as common as male villains.

"That," Toshinori started, "that's not good." He sighed, "The villain… did you get a good look at her? If we knew who we were looking for, it might make things easier."

"I know," Naomasa nodded, but there was a strain in his eyes, "I did see her…but" an uneasiness tinged his face, "her quirk… it was some kind of sensory manipulation. It messed with my head. I couldn't feel anything and… my memories of the event are fuzzy. I'm sorry, but I don't think I remember enough for a sketch artist to come in…" He looked down, frustration washing over his features.

Stiffly, Toshinori nodded, "I see… that does put a damper on things. However, a sensory manipulation quirk isn't common… we can search the databases for anyone with a quirk matching that description, and work from there." His tone may have been light, but he felt anything but confident.

"Golden eyes," Naomasa said unexpectedly, "She had golden eyes… that's all I remember, two golden eyes that pierced through everything."

Toshinori nodded. It was something. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Yawning, Izuku blearily tried to blink away the sleep from his eyes. It didn't work, he was still immensely tired, but that was only to be expected. He hadn't slept well last night. He had gone to bed fairly early, around eight, according to his mom, but he had woken up sometime during the night due to a nightmare.

He didn't remember what it was about. He didn't care what it was about. The only thing he could remember was how he felt afterwards, when he had woken up in a panic. It had left him feeling vulnerable, and out of place, left in complete darkness with no way out; a blurry amalgamation of images and sensations that boiled down to one tangible thing: fear. He had spent a long time just huddled in the darkness, clinging to the blankets, to anything that could be used as a tether to the present. It had taken some time, but eventually he had brought himself out of his nightmare induced trance.

It had been daunting, and left him feeling incredibly vulnerable. He wanted to just forget about it, but he couldn't. The nightmare never ended, it only dulled. He could never escape. The reality of his situation was slowly, but surely, crashing down upon him. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

He was blind, that was something he hadn't been able to admit to himself before, because the reasoning had been so… so dumb, but the fact remained that he couldn't see. He couldn't, and he would have to learn to live with that… in case… in case it never healed.

His eyesight would heal, it had to. They said it could heal. He tried to remain positive, he really did, but it was hard. How could he be positive when he was so… so defeated?

He was a mess, a jumpy, jittery, scared mess; he hated it. He hated himself for it. It was all slowly consuming him. He could do nothing to stop it—he could do absolutely nothing as he was slowly suffocated by his own misery.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. He was getting better, it was just going to take a while. He knew that, he really did. It was just going to take a while for him to be okay with that.

He didn't know what time it had been when he had been jolted awake by his nightmare, panic and terror being the only things he could process at the time. He had spent the next however long just trying to keep himself grounded in reality. He had no clue what time it was, or if he should even be awake right now, but he was. He had been awake for a long time now, and he thought he should probably get up soon.

After he had calmed himself down, it occurred to him that he didn't actually know what time it was, and consequently, he didn't know if his mom was up yet. There wasn't anything he could really do without her now, as much as that bothered him. He despised the fact that he was like a child, lost without his mother's guidance, but it was true. He was lost without her now.

Hesitantly, he moved to get out of bed. His right foot, the one that was still in a boot—which annoyed him, but he couldn't take it off yet—hit the side of the bed oddly. He paid it no mind as he went to stand up. As soon as his foot made contact with the floor, he felt a fresh, stabbing pain sear through his ankle. He fell back on the bed, but he was no longer in his room.

His mind had taken him back to that place…

An incessant throb pulsated up his ankle and into his shin, a splintering crack in his bones that tore at his nerves. The strain on his legs had slowly built up over the hours until it had become an unbearable pressure that bore into his bones—it hurt… it really, really hurt.

His shins were raw by now, the straps having dug into the bone a long time ago—now they frayed on open nerves, throwing bouts of pure agony running up his leg. He dared not look at it. He knew his ankles—his legs—were never meant to look like that—bones should never twist at that angle, it wasn't natural.

He couldn't move from his uncomfortable position; he was trapped, strapped down, and immobile. He couldn't use his quirk either. Not only was he too physically exhausted—he hadn't been allowed to sleep for days now—but they had done something, messed with his senses, and he couldn't summon the power of One for All.

He was immobilized.

Trapped. There was no way out.

Nowayoutnowayout…

He couldn't stop the thoughts from invading his mind. He was trapped, fear settling in like a second skin.

Every movement caused his nerves to explode in agony, he tried to stay as still as possible.

His bones had been broken bit by bit, hour by hour the pressure had grown until each second dragged on in an eternal wave of torment. He had watched in slow terror as the bone gave way to the pressure and snapped—his scream had echoed throughout the room in harrowing clarity, a cry, raw and primal, that tore his throat to ribbons as it clawed its way out.

He hadn't given in though. No matter how much pain he had endured, he would never give in to what they wanted.

Sometimes, he wished he had.

The pain never ceased, only dulling minutely, before a shift in the air would cause it to flare up again. He gritted his teeth, trying to ride out the pain—pain that never ended.

The chilling air stabbed at the open wounds…

The could feel it, the dampness of the air, numbing him… but then, he couldn't. It was gone, replaced with warmth.

He was in that place… but, wasn't he home?

He was home. He was home… right?

If he was safe… at home then… he shouldn't feel this kind of pain anymore, because he was safe—safe from that place, from those people. He was safe now… right?

He was… safe. Not there… Right?

Yes.

No.

He had to be.

The coldness returned.

You're still there. Can't you feel the numbing air? Smell the mold and iron in the air? You're not safe. It was a trick, and you were foolish enough to believe it.

He could feel it. He wasn't safe. He hadn't been rescued. It had all just been a lie.

A light buzzing droned in his skull, reminding him of where he was, and what was soon to come.

He whimpered—he wanted it to stop.

The droning buzz drowned out his thoughts, the pain flared up again. He needed it to just… stop. Just stop. Stop. Stopstopstop.

Please… just… end it already.

He couldn't help the cry that escaped his lips. It hurts so much, and it's only going to get worse.

Pathetic. You're pathetic.

His breathing quickened, and fear overcame all his other senses. A fog descended on his mind, clouding everything with a misguided terror. He could feel the cold shackles around his wrists, but everything was dark. He couldn't see anything. He was there, and it was black, everything was dark.

What's going on? It hurts, but I don't know what's going on…

He remained like that for awhile, sitting in a fear induced haze, wondering when the next onslaught of pain would rack his body. It was random, but continuous. The pain never halted, but it did falter.

After a particularly distressful jolt, in which he yelped at the pain, he came to the realization that pain was never going to get better—it was never going to end.

He just wanted it to end.

His hand fumbled for something, anything to grab onto, it didn't matter if it was the chains or dirt or anything, he just needed something to distract him. His hand snatched something warm, something soft. That wasn't… right. There shouldn't be anything like that here… unless.

His hold on the soft material tightened, until he held it in a vice grip. It had to be real… it had to be, but if it was, that meant…

He was safe.

He was home.

He wasn't there.

He took a shaky breath, the buzzing finally receding from his head, the cold air became warm, and the smell of mold and iron morphed into a sweet scent of apples and cinnamon. This was home.

His nerves were still on fire. They demanded his attention. They weren't content with being on the backburner; this time the initial throb lasted longer, the jolts that ran up his leg continued for a longer period of time before thinning out into the dull pulsating flare of pain they had been.

Deep breaths. He needed to take deep breaths, and just ride it out. It wouldn't last forever—it couldn't—he just needed to grit and bear it for a few moments longer. He bit his lip as a fresh wave of agony split his leg in two. It was prying his bones apart, digging into the muscles and ripping them at the seams—just like it had the first time.

Blood. He tasted blood. He didn't care.

Another wave thrummed through his leg—it hurt so much. He could feel the tears that pricked at his eyes, but he didn't care about anything other than riding out the pain.

Deep breaths, he told himself. He needed to breathe. Focusing his attention on his breathing instead of the pain was a method he had used multiple times during his captivity. It was a distraction, and while it didn't take away all the pain, it did make it more manageable.

It took awhile, a long while actually, but he was able to cope, he was able to lessen the pain. He had had to use this method so often that it had almost become second nature for him. He hated that. He hated that pain had become such a commonality that his coping methods were second nature.

Laying back down, he curled in on his side. He didn't want to get up now, not when his blanket was keeping him warm, tethered to the here and now. He just wanted to relish in its warmth and comfort for a bit longer before getting up. It wasn't as though he would miss anything—his days had become rather dull. He would wake up to see nothing, calm himself down enough to stumble around the house until he found somewhere to sit, and then waste the day away doing nothing. It was boring, and it reminded him how different things were now—how different he was. He didn't like it.

A knock at his door set him on edge, the noise had been unexpected, and he was still trying to keep himself from panicking.

It took him a moment to realize it was his mom—it had to be. He muttered out a meek, "Come in," before sitting up on his bed, hand still clasped around the blanket like a lifeline.

"Izuku, are you alright?" worry was etched into her voice. Izuku wondered if it would ever leave. He seemed to cause her constant worry, and now, it was only worse, because he really wasn't okay. He couldn't quell her fears as he once had, because her fears were his too.

"I-I…" He was at a loss for words. He could lie… but she didn't deserve that, but he couldn't just push all his insecurities on her either. She shouldn't have to deal with his demons.

He heard her walk up to him. He stiffened automatically, a reflex that he tried to stifle once he realized he had done it. He could feel the pressure shift as she sat down beside him on the bed.

"You can tell me when something's wrong. You know that, right?" Her voice was so warm, so comforting.

He wouldn't cry; he couldn't. Not again. He forced himself to calm down, reign in his emotions, and take a deep breath before speaking.

"I…" he sighed, "I'm tired." He settled on telling her a half-truth. They were the only words he could say—he couldn't lie to her, but he couldn't tell her everything either, that would mean reliving it, and he… wasn't ready for that.

He was tired. He was tired of living in constant fear, of being in constant pain, of not knowing what would happen next. His life had become a constant state of not knowing anything, not even where he was. His mind trapped him with tricks and memories, while his body kept him incapacitated and in pain.

His mom seemed to understand the underlying distress in his voice, as she always did, because she just sighed and bought him into a hug, "I know, honey. I know you are, but you have to keep trying, okay? It'll get better—"

"It might not." He said it so calmly, as if he had no doubt, or was resigned to his fate—it scared him. He was supposed to be optimistic… but the defeatist resignation in his words and tone said otherwise.

It might not get better, he knew that, and some part of him had accepted to that.

"It will," his mom's voice held nothing but conviction, there was no trace of doubt, "It will get better, honey, don't give up on that, okay." It gave him hope—that hurt worse than the resignation.

He curled into his mom, and in turn, she hugged him tighter.

"It hurts." he whispered out brokenly.

"I know," she whispered back, "I know it does, but you're strong."

Part of him wanted to tell her everything. Tell her that he wasn't okay, that his own mind was against him, and he couldn't keep fighting it. He wanted to just cry into her and have her take all the pain away, like she did when he was a kid and had a nightmare. She had always saved him then… now though, now the nightmares were real. They weren't scary things his mind had concocted. They were memories of things that had happened.

The other, more dominant part him knew she wouldn't be able to help. She couldn't fight his demons for him. He couldn't confide in her, and that scared him more than anything. She had always been the one person he could tell anything… but now… he couldn't. He couldn't, and it hurt because he wanted to. He wanted to be able to confide in her, but he couldn't—not when the memories were too fresh.

A dull throb went through his leg, reminding him of earlier. His breathing hitched, and he tensed as the pain flared. The pain wasn't bad, not in comparison to earlier that morning—was it still morning?

His mom noticed his change in expression, "Are you okay? Izuku… are you in any pain?" Worry had seeded itself permanently in her voice now.

He could just as easily lie about this, but he was, in fact, in pain. "I… yeah, a little. It's not-It's not that bad," his words slurred slightly as another bout of pain flashed through him.

"Izuku…" she drew out, "if your injuries are bothering, you need to tell me."

"It's not that-I just-it's not a big deal is all."

He could feel her running a soothing hand up and down his forearm. It felt nice, comforting. "Izuku, honey," the sorrow was drawn out in her tone, "You shouldn't have to be in any pain."

He just turned his head in response.

"Izuku, I need to know when you're in pain. There could be an infection or something wrong," the warning was clear in her tone.

He looked up at her—her general direction, "I-yeah… my foot," he gestured to his boot cladded foot, "it kind of…" he gulped, "started to hurt earlier…" he trailed off, not willing to give her more information. He could feel her shift on the bed, "But, it's not bad anymore…" He didn't want her to leave.

"I can go get you your pain—"

"No," he whined, and he hated that too, but he didn't want her to leave. He needed her to stay—he couldn't be alone right now. "Don't go," he whispered, it was so hushed even he could barely hear it.

"Oh, Izuku," she sounded heartbroken as she hugged him closer.

"What time is it?" he asked suddenly. He needed a change in topic, not wanting to think about the past any longer.

His mom seemed to understand that he needed this distraction right now. "It's almost noon."

That meant he had been up… for a while then… right? Or maybe not, he didn't know when he had initially woken up. He didn't like not knowing… how close to noon was it anyway? A few minutes? A few seconds? He didn't know… he never knew.

"Izuku, are you alright?" He hadn't even realized that panic had started setting in. He was pathetic… panicking over not knowing the exact time?

"Y-yeah," he squeaked out, voice breaking in several places, "I just…" he didn't want to admit it, because it was so stupid, so pathetic. "I just… tired is all. I didn't sleep well…" He ended up changing the conversation topic.

"Nightmares?" It may have been a question, but there was a knowing tone in her voice.

He just nodded silently, not willing to say more.

"It'll get better, honey," her voice soothed him, it was warm, and held all the confidence that he had lost, "I know it will, because you're strong."

Izuku had heard his mom say those words to him a lot. They used to fill him hope, now though, they just felt like lies.

He wasn't strong—he was broken.

It broke Inko's heart to see Izuku like this. She could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, it was tangible. She absolutely hated that he was put in a position like this.

He wasn't okay, she knew that; he knew it too, he was just unwilling to admit it. It made her heart hurt physically to see him struggling like this. She knew he was trying, she could see the war that was constantly raging in his eyes, the never-ending battle between reality and his own mind.

It wasn't something he could fight alone though.

She shook her head as he clung to her. She wanted to help him, but she couldn't help what she didn't know, and Izuku was clearly reluctant to share anything regarding his time spent… captured.

She sighed, "Izuku, honey," she waited for him to give her an indication that he had heard her before continuing, "I think it's time we got up and ate something." She kept her tone light.

"I'm not hungry." Izuku murmured.

"You should still try to eat something… is there anything you feel like eating?" She knew that at this point, her only chance at getting him to eat was to let him decide what he ate, but he had to eat something. He couldn't afford to not eat.

There was an intake of breath, and Inko worried she had upset him. She knew he was in a rather fragile state of mind at the moment—even more so than usual—and any misstep could cause that fragality to shatter.

"I-um…" there was resistance in his voice, "cold… it has to be cold…" the rigid finality caught here off guard. He had eaten something along those lines yesterday when they had ice cream for dinner. Still, it was something, something she could work with.

"I think I can find something for you," she put on a mask of confidence. She would make this work. She needed to make things work.

They both got up from their positions on the bed, Inko much more confidently than Izuku. He seemed to be very conscious of his right foot, and Inko worried that it hurt more than he let on, but remained quiet on the subject.

Izuku had already made it clear that he wasn't going to talk about it.

When they had made it to the couch Izuku sat down. She could tell that he was exhausted, the bags under his eyes told her of the sleepless nights he refused to admit to, and his body was still weak from malnourishment.

She was about to go to the kitchen when there was a knock at the door.

She casted a sidelong glance at Izuku, who had jumped at the sudden noise, but had quickly regained himself.

They were all nervous, not sure if now was a good time to visit Midoriya; Shouto, however, was nervous for a different reason. He knew Midoriya wouldn't object to being in the others' company—except maybe Bakugo, who he was still surprised had even showed up—but his company might not be so welcomed.

He hadn't forgotten Midoriya's reaction to him; it had been on his mind ever since it happened.

He stood anxiously, behind Uraraka and Iida, with Kirishima and Bakugou beside him. They had all agreed to meet at eleven thirty. Now, it was twelve-sixteen, and they were outside of the Midoriyas' apartment.

Iida knocked on the door, and they all waited.

A moment passed, and no one opened the door.

"Do you think now is a bad time?" Kirishima asked, unsure as he fidgeted with his hands.

Uraraka's tone conveyed the worry she must have felt, "Maybe we should come back—" She was cut off by the door opening. Midoriya's mother stood at the threshold, looking rather haggard. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes shined with exhaustion and weariness.

"Midoriya-san," Iida started, talking for all of them, "All of us wanted to check up on Midoriya, and were wondering if he was willing to have some visitors?"

"Yeah, we wanted to cheer Deku up!" Uraraka said gleefully. Kirishima and himself nodded in agreeance, while Bakugo just grunted in annoyance.

"Oh," Midoriya's mom chanced a glance behind her, presumably at Midoriya before returning her gaze to them, "I don't know if now is a good time. Izuku, he's had—"

A meek voice cut her off, "Mom? Who's-who's at the door?" It was timid and shy, as if unsure of itself.

Midoriya's mother turned away from them, "It's your friends… from school. If you're not up to it, I can—"

Again, Midoriya cut his mom off, but this time his voice sounded a little stronger, "No. No, it's fine. They can stay…" something else was said, but Shouto didn't catch it.

Midoriya's mother smiled at them, "Well, come in then." They all shuffled in awkwardly. "I'll be in the kitchen if you guys need anything." She left them to stand in the middle of the living room.

Midoriya was sitting on the couch, staring in their direction, but his eyes weren't focused on anything.

No one said anything, creating a palpable tension in the room.

Iida took a step forward, "Midoriya—" he stopped when Midoriya flinched at the name.

Midoriya's eyes widened in realization at his response, "Sorry, I just… it's just that…" he was scrambling for words.

"It's alright," Iida assouaged, though his calm demeanor was betrayed by the worry encased in his eyes as he looked at Midoriya.

"Why don't… you guys can—" a war seemed to be waging in his mind as he thought, "You can just call me by my name, I guess…" He sounded a little disheartened, and Shouto thought about the implications of his gesture. No one called him by his name, even though they were all pretty close friends… and Shouto could understand his hesitance, because he wasn't giving them permission to call him by his name because he trusted them—Shouto knew he did trust them—he was giving them permission because he didn't have a choice. That would make anyone uncomfortable.

"Alright, Izuku." Iida said as confidently as he could, though the tension was thick.

"Izuku," Uraraka tried to break the tension, but her loud voice only offset Midoriya—Izuku—even more, and he flinched, albeit much less than he had to his own name, at her voice. "How are you doing? We're all worried about you, but I'm sure things are going better now that you're home." Her voice exuded nothing but confidence in it, a resilient declaration that Izuku was fine, and that things would go back to normal.

Izuku nodded, "I-uh…yeah, things are… better." He didn't sound better, if anything he sounded like it was taking all his willpower to remain calm. "Who's all here?" He looked around the room, but his eyes never stopped moving to focus on anyone or anything.

Shouto was reluctant to announce his presence, afraid of Midoriya's reaction.

"There's only five of us here," Kirishima started, and Izuku snapped his head in his direction, "Me, Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki," Shouto noticed that he drew back slightly, barely noticeable, at the mention of his name, "and Bakugo."

"Bakugo is here?" He didn't sound angry or mad, just… confused, perplexed at the notion that Bakugo would be here. He didn't even call him by his childhood nickname, which was odd.

"Don't go thinking I care or anything, Deku. I'm only here because this dumbass," he gestured to Kirishima, but made no attempt at a verbal cue, leaving Izuku to speculate, "dragged me along."

Kirishima gave Bakugo a sidelong glance, clearly not buying his reasoning. However, no one said anything for a beat, and Shouto hated how Izuku grew uncomfortable with the silence. It occurred to Shouto that they're being a little inconsiderate to Izuku—not just because there's an awkward silence, but because they forgot that he's blind now. He can't see them.

Iida seemed to also notice, and spoke up, "Izuku, are you sure it's alright for us to stay. We would understand if we were intruding—"

Hurt crossed over Izuku's eyes, "No," there was something close to desperation in his tone, "It's fine, really, I've just… I could really use the company, actually. Today has been…" He didn't need to say anything for them to understand.

"Izuku… we're all here for you. You know that, right?" Uraraka's voice was filled with pity. That almost made Shouto angry. Izuku didn't need pity, he wasn't a frail piece of glass that would shatter at the slightest touch—he was their friend, but then… Why was he so afraid to talk to Izuku, if not because he was afraid of Izuku's reaction?

It was hypocritical of him to be angry with Uraraka when he was essentially doing the same thing.

"Yeah, bro, we're here for you. Anytime you need it," Kirishima joined in, his voice confident.

Bakugo huffed in response, "Dumbass Deku." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he turned away from them, annoyance written on his face.

"I know that… and you guys are amazing friends…" Izuku's voice lingered, unable to finish the sentence.

"But… there are some things you're just not ready to talk about. Some things need a little more time to process, right?" Shouto finished for him, because he could understand the feeling. Sometimes people just needed time to come to terms with something by themselves, not with friends or family.

There was a shaky intake of breath, and Shouto looked at Izuku, where he saw fear in those green orbs. They were directed in his direction, but not focused on anything. Shouto could tell he was trying to quell his emotions, and so far, he was doing a pretty good job, but it was still noticeable.

"I-I… yeah, I just…" his voice was shaky and rough, "I need a little more time," his voice cracked. He turned his head away from them then.

Shouto faltered, along with everyone else… the fear had been prominent… and it had been directed at him. He was causing Izuku to be uneasy… just by being there and talking.

It had been a mistake to come here.

Before anyone could say anything, Izuku started to cough. It was ragged and hoarse, but only lasted a few moments before it stopped.

"Izuku, are you alright?" Iida asked with concern, "I could grab you a glass of water if you need one…"

Izuku perked up at that, "Uh, yeah, sure… Thanks Iida."

Shouto watched as Iida left the room.

The atmosphere had been filled with tension. It only got worse when Todoroki started to speak—Midoriya didn't take to his voice well. Tenya found it odd that he was reacting in a such a way to the voice of a friend, but then again, he also didn't know the specifics of what had happened to Midoriya while he was… captured.

When Midoriya had started to cough, he offered to get a glass of water for him—if anything, he wanted to get out of the room for a moment to gather himself. Seeing Midoriya like this… was difficult. It reminded him of his brother, and he didn't need those thoughts. It wrought open old wounds—ones he wasn't quite ready to deal with again.

He went to the kitchen, where he found Midoriya's mother going through the cabinets.

"Midoriya-san, are you looking for something specific?" He knew this must be trying for her, and he wanted to help her however he could.

"Oh," she startled, turning to look at him, "Iida, right? You're one of Izuku's friends…"

He nodded, "Yes, I am. I visited him at the hospital."

"Oh, yes I remember," she sighed, "Thank you for that. I know it is hard to see him like this, but he really needed that normalcy."

"Of course." Tenya nodded, "It has been… trying, I must admit. Izuku has…" He paused, struggling to find the right words, "He's different now."

Her eyes were downcast as she nodded, "Yes, he is."

Tenya felt out of place here, with Midoriya's mother reminding him of his own family after Stain had hurt his brother. He could understand her feelings very well, but it still didn't feel like this was his place to bud in and offer advice.

"Do you need any help?" He asked instead, seeing as she had been looking around the pantry, as if in search of something.

Midoriya-san looked startled before a shadow fell over her eyes, "No, that's-that's okay. I was just going through the food we had, trying to find something Izuku will eat…"

"Is he not eating?" He asked the question before really thinking about it.

Midoriya-san shook her head, "He's not…" She sighed, looking towards the living room, where Izuku and everyone else currently were, "I know he's trying, he really is, but if he doesn't eat something…"

"You'd have to readmit him to the hospital, right?" Tenya finished her thought. It was rather obvious that Midoriya hadn't had a decent meal in a long time, his frame was skeletal, and his muscles were all but gone, atrophied from disuse and malnutrition. He couldn't afford to be skipping meals.

She nodded in affirmation, "Yes, I would, and I can't do that… Izuku, he needs this," she gestured around vaguely, "He needs stability…"

"This must be hard on you as well." Tenya commented.

Again, Midoriya-san sighed, pain flooded her eyes, and Tenya worried she might cry, "It's… Izuku has it worse so I shouldn't—"

"Don't sell your emotions short. Midoriya may be struggling right now, but so are you." He knew what she was going through—the feelings of ineptness and regret, then worry and anger at himself for feeling bad when his brother was in worse condition—he had felt them all too much when Tensei had almost died. "You can't let them pile up. It won't help anyone if you run yourself into the ground… Look, our situations aren't the same, so I can't promise that this will help, but when my brother… when Tensei got injured, we—my family—found support groups for it. To help us cope with the change, and it really helped."

Midoriya-san gave him a warm, but tired smile, "Iida…thank you."

Before she could say more, they were cut off by the sound of an explosion. It was mild, and not very loud, but it startled them all the same.

"What was that?" Tenya asked, knowing that Midoriya-san was just as unsure as he was.

His question was answered when Uraraka came from the living room to the kitchen, her eyes wild with fright. "Midoriya-san, you better come quickly… It's Izuku. He's not-I don't know what happened, but…you should come see. We don't know what to do." She didn't wait for a response, she turned heel and went back to the living room, her whole demeanor screaming worry and fear.

They wasted no time in leaving the kitchen to go see what was wrong.

"So, umm…" Izuku was at a loss for words it seemed, since Iida had left an awkward tension filled the space, "You guys can… make yourself at home. You don't have stand around… if you haven't sat down already. Though, I haven't heard you guys move much, so I doubt you've sat down, then again…" he was back to his usual mumbling, Shouto noted.

"Nah, it's all good man, you don't have to overthink it so much." Kirishima easily pulled Izuku from his mumbling. He sat down on the couch on the opposite side of Izuku, with Bakugo following in toe, sitting on the edge of the couch. Uraraka sat on the chair adjacent to the couch, but Shouto remained standing.

He had to ask… it would weigh on his mind too much otherwise.

"Izuku," he called out firmly, but gentle. He waited for Izuku to turn to him, his eyes glazed over with a slight fear that only solidified Shouto's reasoning for asking. "Are you… why are you afraid of me?"

He waited for Izuku's response, a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach.

Uraraka was quick to defend Izuku, not knowing why he was asking him such a question. "Todoroki, how could you ask something like that?"

Kirishima aided in her inquiry, "Yeah, bro, not cool. Izuku's not afraid of ya—"

He was cut off by Bakugo elbowing him in the side, "Shut up." Bakugo sent a glare in his direction, but it wasn't hate filled—well, there was hate, as always with Bakugo, but there was more to it than just anger—his eyes held an understanding in their heated gaze.

"I-I… Todoroki, I'm not afraid of you." His voice was urgent, but there was doubt in it. That doubt confirmed his unease, because it meant that some part of Midoriya did fear him.

He needed to know, if only for his own guilty conscious. "You're nervous right now… more so ever since I engaged in the conversation."

The fear was evident on his face, but it wasn't all fear directed at him, some of it was just general anxiousness, still it only served to further prove his point.

His voice cracked, "I'm not-I'm not—"

"Stop lying, Deku," Bakugo grit out, turning his head away.

Both Uraraka and Kirishima stayed quiet.

"I'm not lying… it's not like that…"

"But you do fear me, I can see it. It's written all over you face." He kept his voice calm, but it broke with his next line, "Why?"

"No!" Izuku was frantic now, "It's not like that… it's just…"

"Just?" he questioned.

Izuku turned away, "Nothing."

The tension in the room grew.

"Izuku… are you okay?" Uraraka ventured, even though it was quite obvious that Izuku was, in fact, anything but okay.

"I'm fine," he said it a little too quickly, and Shouto could see his breathing was more spastic than it should be. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

He wasn't fine, that much was certain. He looked to be on the cusps of a panic attack. His eyes looked vacantly ahead, a dull haze filtering them.

"Bro… Izuku, are you sure you're okay?" Kirishima gave him a worried glance, but hesitated to move in case it only further upset Izuku.

It took Izuku a moment to gather himself, and calm his breathing down, "I'm-I'm fine… just," He turned to face Shouto's direction, "I'm not afraid of you. I'm not." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

"Stop fucking lying, Deku," Bakugo stood up, his hands twitching in frustration, "It's obvious you're scared of frickin Icyhot, You flinch whenever he speaks, and even now, as you were talking to him, you were fucking scared. It's pathetic." Irritation, and the barest amount of concern, flitted through Bakugo's voice.

"I'm not-I-I… I'm not afraid of Todoroki—" he shook his head violently, but his voice betrayed him when he said Shouto's name. It was weak… and terrified.

Shouto tried to think of a reason why Izuku would be afraid of him… did he do something? No… that was impossible; the last time he had been with Izuku they had been on good terms. If it wasn't him… then maybe it was something about him, something unique to him… The more he thought about it, the clearer the answer became, or perhaps it was his own bias, but either way, the one thought that struck with him was his quirk—the fire half of his quirk. He had never liked it before and… Fire had the power to hurt a lot of people. What if… they had used fire to hurt Izuku… then his fear would be…

"Are you afraid of my quirk? My fire?"

Izuku's eyes went wide, and he swallowed, "I-I…"

Shouto's eyes went wide, worry and fear flitting through the heterochromatic eyes. It was true… Izuku was afraid of him "You are, aren't you?"

Izuku said nothing, but there was something else in his eyes, a hidden fear. The fire might be part of it, but there was more to it than that…

"Well, say something, Deku." Bakugo seemed to be more annoyed by Izuku's lack of response than Shouto was.

"Guys," Uraraka chimed in, "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now. We came here to cheer Izuku up, not interrogate him."

"Yeah, let's save all this for another time." Kirishima agreed.

As much as Shouto wanted to know why Midoriya feared him, they were right. Now wasn't the appropriate time—they hadn't come here with the intention of making Midoriya more nervous.

Bakugo said nothing. Anger and irritation still fleshed out across his face, but he eventually did relent. Sighing he turned away.

His hands sparked. He was obviously frustrated, and igniting small explosions from his hands seemed to ease his tension. Usually, it was fine. He had enough control over his quirk to not hurt anyone, however, this time Midoriya wasn't prepared for the sound of the blast as he ignited his quirk.

Compared to the explosions Bakugo could emit, this one was tame, but the sound still rattled them and echoed through the apartment. Everyone was fine, besides being a little shaken from the explosion. They were able to just shake it off—they were used to it.

However…

They turned to look at Izuku, who had gone stalk still, eyes wide with undiluted terror.

Izuku wasn't as fine as them.

Shouta needed a break. This week had been harrowing, and he just needed to take a step back from it all. Spending a weekend cooped up in his apartment, with a mug of coffee, and a book was the perfect remedy.

He sat on the couch with his cat, Mittles, resting easily on his lap, her black fur blending in with the blanket he had draped over him. Her tail flicked about restlessly as she yawned, it appeared as though she had missed him. She was a more social and needy cat than most, always sleeping on his lap or be nearby. Shouta didn't mind it. He found it comforting.

He was in the middle of his book, a mystery novel, with supernatural elements. It was a classic, and he was rather enjoying it. He was on page 276 when his phone rang.

It was his work cell, which confused him.

He had the day off. No one should be calling him.

It rang again. Mittles flicked her ears in irritation. When Shouta made a motion to get up, and grab his phone, she pounced off his lap, meowing in protest as she stalked away.

Checking the caller I.D. only served to further his confusion. Very few people had this number, and all of them were known and trusted colleagues, so for the caller to be unknown sparked immediate concern. This couldn't be good.

On the fourth ring, he answered, "Hello? Who is this?" He got straight to the point, this wasn't an open number. It wasn't a number that could be dialed accidently—whoever was calling him wasn't calling a wrong number. They were calling him specifically.

He was startled by the feminine voice that greeted him. It was light and cheery, for a moment he thought that maybe they had gotten a wrong number, until the voice addressed him by his name.

"Hello, Eraserhead, or do you prefer to go by Aizawa when you're not working?" the voice asked, her voice a sickly sweet tone, masking a deviancy her words alluded to.

"What do you want?" Shouta demanded, his voice straining a bit as tension filled the room.

"It's not what I want, Aizawa-kun," her voice was candy coated misery, and she let his name roll off her tongue in mock companionship, "I'm in no position to be making demands after all… not when you hold all the cards… however, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Shouta gritted his teeth as he listened to her babble on, trepidation ghosting its way through him.

The explosion had caught them all off guard, but Eijiro thought it might have caught Bakugo off guard the most. It wasn't unusual for Bakugo to let off steam by igniting small explosions in his hands, Eijiro thought it might be some kind of coping method for him, but this time, though the explosion had been small, the noise emitted by it had been rather loud. A firecracker like sound, sharp and precise, that went on for a mere five seconds before dissipating into the air.

It had startled them all, but they were able to get over it. It was only when Eijiro's gaze moved to Izuku that he realized how bad the situation had become. It probably didn't help that they had been making Izuku uncomfortable before with their incessant questioning, but this was on a different level.

Izuku had just… stopped.

He wasn't moving, save for a slight tremble that ran through his body, and his eyes were lost, a glassy film covered them.

"Izuku?" Uraraka was the first to address him.

He didn't even flinch, but terror started to overcome his features.

Todoroki took a hesitant step towards Izuku, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" His voice was steady, but the fear was clear.

Izuku didn't react to the question, his demeanor remained frightened.

"Izuku, bro? You alright?" Eijiro didn't know what to do in this situation. Something like this had never happened. He turned to Bakugo, to see if he had any insight, but he was frozen in place. His eyes were wide at the sight of Izuku. "Bakugo… it's not—"

"Shut your goddamn mouth." Bakugo growled at him, causing him to relent. They were all clearly shaken by this new development, and Eijiro didn't want to accidentally make things worse.

It was quiet. No one dared to do anything for a beat, in case they only made the situation worse. They looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do.

Their attention was turned back to Izuku when he let out a shaky whimper, "No…" it was quiet, but the only emotion it had held was fear.

"Izuku… it's okay. You're okay…" Uraraka tried to soothe, but she was at a loss. She turned her head towards the kitchen, "I'm going to go get Midoriya-san… I don't think this is something we can handle by ourselves." She got up, and quickly made her way to the kitchen.

Eijiro silently agreed, none of them knew what to do in this situation; it was best to let Izuku's mom handle this.

When one of Izuku's friends came to the kitchen, asking for help, she wasn't sure what to expect. She feared the worst had happened, that Izuku had had some kind of panic attack while she was in the kitchen.

The truth wasn't too far off.

Both her and Iida hastily left the kitchen, following Izuku's friend, to see everyone standing in mute horror as Izuku sat, unmoving, on the couch. His eyes were glassy, and his fingers—on his left hand—trembled slightly. He was paralyzed by fear, unable to do anything, as memories flashed through his mind.

"What happened?" Her voice broke in several places, panic etching its way into her tone as she looked between Izuku's friends, searching for an answer.

Her eyes landed on Katsuki, and she froze. He was standing there, his own eyes wide with uncertainty. He looked confused and pained. His hands were shaking, and he stayed mute.

"We were just talking…" Izuku's friend, Inko knew her to be Uraraka, spoke hesitantly, "Everything was fine, but then…" she gazed at Katsuki worriedly.

"Bakugo got angry. He didn't mean it," another friend of Izuku's piped up, he had red hair, but Inko didn't quite remember his name. "But, he accidently set off a small explosion…" he casted a worried glance at Katsuki, who still had yet to move, "and I think that-I think that may have set Izuku off."

Inko looked over the group to see that they all wore guilty expressions. "It's not-this isn't the first time this has happened," she sighed out tiredly. She hated to see Izuku like this, and her heart hurt for him—these episodes, flashbacks or whatever they were called, always left him emotionally and physically drained afterwards.

"We," this time it was Todoroki that spoke up, his voice thick with regret, "probably didn't help the situation… we were making him uncomfortable before this," he gestured to the situation, "happened… We should-we should probably leave…" His voice was morose and somber, a melancholic lament.

Inko wanted to dismiss his suggestion—they couldn't have known this would happen. Izuku's triggers were still mostly unknown, however them being here wouldn't help anyone either.

She walked over to the couch, where Izuku was sitting, and knelt down to his level. "Izuku, honey? Are you alright?" she asked in the softest voice she could.

He didn't react, it was as though he were somewhere else all together.

"I—" she sighed, "It may be best if you leave… when he's-when Izuku gets like this… I don't know how long it'll take for him to come back…" She could see them all visibly deflate at that, a mixture of resignation and despair clinging to their features as they nodded their heads in understanding.

She turned her attention back to Izuku, who was still unresponsive. Hesitantly, she put her hand on his shoulder; the reaction was immediate.

He flinched violently, and shook his head, his eyes scrunching up. She released her grip from him—obviously physical contact was a no-go right now.

"No…" he whimpered out, his voice pained and tired, "Please… no." His voice broke, and her heart broke with it.

He was shaking now, fear having overridden his senses.

She didn't even notice when all of Izuku's friends had left, giving meek goodbyes. Her focus was solely on Izuku.

"Izuku," she started, but stopped when he whimpered again.

"No… stop." His voice was becoming more urgent, now desperation clawing at the edges.

She wasn't trained for this—she didn't know what to do in this situation. All she had to go on was what little knowledge she knew off the top of her head. She needed to keep a level head, acting rash or hysterical wasn't going to help her in this situation. Izuku needed her right now, and she wasn't going to let him down… not again, never again.

She took a deep breath and took the time to evaluate the situation. Izuku wasn't responding to her calling out his name, and physical contact of any kind only sent him into a spiral so she had to find a way to ground him to reality.

"Izuku, honey, you're safe," she cooed. One thing she did know was that she needed him to know he was safe, that he was in a safe place and not wherever his mind was bringing him. "You're at home. Your friends were just here, and I was in the kitchen, do you remember?"

He turned his head in her direction, but gave no indication that he had heard anything she said. Fear plastered itself on his face. His green eyes were fogged over and glassy, unseeing orbs diluted with pain and dread.

"No… stop. Stop it."

Her heart ached for him; there wasn't anything she could do but be here for him.

Izuku whimpered again, but this time it sounded pained, a strained, pitiful sound that was pulled from his throat unbidden, "I-I don't know… please, I don't-I don't know!"

He was shaking violently now, scrambling to get away from whatever horrors his mind was showing him. She wanted desperately to reach out and wrap him in a hug, hide him from all his fears, but she couldn't—right now that would only make things worse.

She didn't know what he was talking about, but the anguish in his voice spoke volumes for the context she didn't know.

"Izuku, you're safe. You're at home." She continued to talk to him calmly, trying to get him to calm down, and come back to reality.

The entire time she tried to get through to him, he was trembling, his eyes filled with trepidation and uncertainty. Anytime her voice became too high pitched he would react by backing away, further into the couch, so she kept her voice as low and soothing as possible.

She kept up a constant stream of dialogue, even if he wasn't responding, she could tell that the constant noise was helping.

It took a long time, maybe half an hour or so of Inko constantly talking to him, asking him questions for him to finally give a coherent response.

"M-mom? Where-where am I?" He looked around cautiously, but the anxiety never faltered. "I can't-where am I?"

"Shh, honey, it's okay. You're safe. I'm right here. We're in the living room at home. You're safe," she cooed repeatedly.

He was still unsure of his surroundings. "I-I'm home?" His hand reached out, searching for something the verify her claim. She intertwined her hand with his.

"You're safe now, sweetie. You're at home and you're safe," she said reassuringly.

Izuku blinked slowly, comprehension overtaking the glassy orbs. "I-I am home, aren't I?" His voice cracked, but this time it wasn't out of dread, but relief.

She pulled him into a firm hug; he graciously accepted the comfort.

"Oh, baby, you're safe. You're here now, and I won't let anything hurt you now," she whispered as she held him. She knew she couldn't keep him safe from all the horrors of the world, but if she could at least be there for him, be someone he could lean on for support, then things would be okay.

"Mom…" For once, there were no tears. Inko wasn't sure that was a good thing or not, but for the moment it didn't matter.

"Honey… do you want to talk about it?" She knew the answer, but she asked anyway.

"No-no… I just… can I go to my room? I don't-I need… I just want to be alone for a little bit." Izuku asked her. He sounded resigned and tired—very tired.

She wanted to know what had happened. She wanted to understand his pain, but she decided not to push the subject any further. He needed time, she knew that. He had to come to terms with it himself before he would let her help—she hated that he was like that, but there wasn't anything she could do to change it.

She helped him up and brought him to his room, where he found his bed and curled up in it. She offered to stay with him, but he refused, saying he was tired, and wanted to be alone. She agreed reluctantly, before heading back to the living room.

Today had been a disaster, and it wasn't even four in the afternoon.

Iida had been right, this wasn't something she should be trying to deal with alone. She just wasn't enough for Izuku right now. He needed more than she could offer. He needed professional help, someone who could help him deal with his trauma.

She couldn't do that—today had been proof enough that she had no idea what she was dealing with. It hurt to come to terms with that, but it was a realisation she had needed to come to. Izuku needed help, and she couldn't do this alone.

With a resolve set in, she went to the computer to start researching. After she had done some more research, she would talk to Izuku about it. She knew he would be against it, but he needed it, and she wouldn't force him to go if he absolutely didn't want to. She didn't know what she'd do if he didn't agree to see a therapist, or some other kind of professional, but she decided not to dwell on that right now.

Shouta listened to the caller's words with disdain. Her voice juxtaposed what she was saying, and he found it thoroughly disturbing. How could someone sound so peppy when making a threat?

She prattled on and on about how even though they had taken Midoriya back, he wasn't safe—he never would be again. "You may have taken Midoriya-kun," he hated the way she said his student's name, "back, but that doesn't mean he's safe. In fact…" her voiced changed pitch, raising an octave, "I would say he's in more danger now than ever."

"Why do you say that?" he asked, a lingering threat lying in wait on his tongue. He wanted to hang up, but this could be a lead.

Through the phone he could hear her giggling, "My, my, Aizawa-kun… eager to hear all the answers are we? But that's not how this game is played. No, no, no… you mustn't ruin the surprise by cheating—"

"Listen here," he couldn't condone this. He inadvertently activated his quirk, his hair raising along with his temper and eyes tinting red. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but if you even so much as harm one hair on my student's head, I swear, no matter where you hide, I will find you, and I will end you."

From the corner of his peripherals he saw Mittles tense at his threatening air, a hiss forming as her tail puffed up.

"Aizawa," her voice was monotonous now, a serious note having replaced the chipper tone, "It's a little late to be playing that card… I mean, just look at the state Midoriya-kun is in now. He was your student then, and look what happened." He tensed at her words, flinching slightly as the truth of the statement hit him. He had already failed Midoriya once, he wouldn't stand to do so again.

At his lack of response, she continued, "Look, I just wanted to call to let you know that this isn't over. Now that your detective has given me some valuable information, my job has become so much easier," her deadpan voice was somehow more ominous than her dreadful cheeriness had been. It gave off a sense rigid finality. "Make sure to give that detective, granted he's alive, my thanks. I look forward to how this game progresses, Eraserhead," her tone changed into that sickly sweet tone as they said their farewell, "Ciao."

Shouta was left listening to the dial tone after she had hung up.

In his frustration he threw his phone across the room. "Goddammit!" he yelled, vexed at the situation. He felt powerless right now. The villain who had taken Midoriya and held him for six weeks had just called him and mocked him, toyed with him, and it was unnerving.

She had said something about getting information from a detective. When had that happened… there hadn't been any attacks on any of the detectives besides…

What information had she gotten from Tsukauchi? He hadn't know that she had gotten any information from that exploit—all he knew was that Tsukauchi had gone to investigate the crime scene and had been attacked by the villain, but he hadn't heard of any information being stolen.

This villain was determined to see this 'game' through until the end, but if Shouta had anything to say about it, he was going to put an end to the game before the villain could make her next move.

He meant what he had said: if that villain even made one move to hurt any of his students, he wouldn't hesitate to put an end to them—rules be damned. The well being of his students' was more important.

***

Inko left Izuku alone for the rest of the day. He never came back out of his room, and while Inko was worried, she let him be. She knew he needed time to process everything that had happened. She was going to let him have time to recuperate and just be alone, she knew he needed it. After she made herself dinner—she had asked if Izuku was hungry, but she hadn't gotten a response—she decided to turn in early, and get some much needed sleep.

However, sleep evaded her; she felt even worse for wear than yesterday. She sighed, dragging a hand down her face as she got out of bed, and pulled herself into the living room where she took a seat on the couch.

Yesterday had been a disaster, but now, she needed to figure out what their next step was.

What was she going to do? Things couldn't continue this way. Izuku wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping enough, and now, she had to question his mental stability. It hurt. It really hurt to think about it, but she didn't have a choice. Izuku needed help, and she couldn't offer it…

She couldn't.

That was a difficult pill to swallow, but it was the truth. Izuku needed professional help, help that she alone couldn't provide. She had searched online for a therapist, and when she had exhausted her options online, she called the doctor that had treated Izuku. He had been kind and helpful, but ultimately, the conversation hadn't been pleasant, and it left her with nothing but a feeling of misery that settled deep in her bones.

There weren't many options that she was left with. She couldn't force Izuku to go to therapy—she couldn't. He had been at the mercy of others for too long for her to take away his control over this. However, if he didn't get some kind of help, and his conditioned worsened… she would have no other choice but to admit him to the hospital. She was caught in between a rock and a hard place. However, she would have to talk to him about it, discuss their options, and go from there.

She rubbed her eyes, still exhausted from her lack of sleep that night.

This wasn't something she should be dwelling on right now, there were other more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

She did need to have a conversation with Izuku about this, today even, but there was something else she needed to do… something she had dreaded over for the past few days.

Izuku had bandages that went around most of his torso, and while they covered older, scarred over wounds—from what the doctor had told her—the bandages still needed changing, and she would be the one that would have to change them.

She didn't know the damage that lay hidden beneath the white linen cloth, but she feared to see it nonetheless. She didn't know what—if anything—Izuku had to say about it. He didn't like talking about his time spent in captivity, let alone his injuries received there.

Inko sighed heavily at the thought.

Yesterday might have been a disaster, but Inko couldn't help but think that this was only just the beginning. Things were going to get worse, they always did, before they could even start to get better.

Katsuki avoided everyone in the dorms the next day, opting to stay in his room. He knew he had fucked up, he didn't need everyone else yelling at him for it. Shitty Hair had come by his room yesterday when they had first arrived back, trying to talk to him, but Katsuki wasn't having it.

He didn't need anyone telling him that he had screwed up, nor did he need someone to console him and tell him it wasn't his fault, because he knew damn well that it was his fault. He had been an idiot… why couldn't he have just controlled his goddamn quirk?

It was just a small explosion, not even noteworthy—Deku had taken the brunt force of worse before, so why? Why did he react so much worse this time around? He knew the answer, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew why Deku had reacted so harshly, he just didn't want to admit it. Admitting it would mean he would have to face the fact that Deku wasn't alright, that his time spent taken by those villains did change him.

He couldn't do that—Deku was fine… but he wasn't. He wasn't alright, and Katsuki couldn't stand that. Deku was always fine, he always got back up, blow after blow, as if nothing could hurt him, as though it was nothing, but this time… this time he stayed down. He tried to brush it off, but he couldn't. What was Katsuki supposed to make of that?

How could he… He had finally accepted the fact that stupid, crybaby Deku was a rival—he was making his borrowed power his own. Katsuki wouldn't admit it, but he liked their rivalry. Deku had always pushed him to be better, even more so since school had started, but he couldn't do that anymore…

Katsuki hated admitting he was wrong, and he rarely was, but right now, he knew he had been wrong. He had thought that nothing could break Deku, he was simply too stubborn to give in, but after seeing him yesterday, he knew that to be wrong. Everyone had a breaking point, he just hadn't expected to ever see Deku reach his.

It had shocked them all, and nobody, especially Katsuki, had been prepared for the aftermath when Deku finally reached his breaking point.

There was a knock at his door, causing him to startle.

"Go the fuck away, Shitty Hair," he called out, not even bothering to check who was at the door.

The door opened regardless, "Ah, man, hate to break it to ya, but Kirishima left like an hour ago, something about asking a teacher for help or something…"

Katsuki hadn't expected Kaminari to come to his dorm. He had thought—hoped—that nobody would bother him today. He didn't need their comfort—he didn't want it.

"Go away," he growled, turning away on his bed, "or I'll break your goddamn face in."

Either Kaminari hadn't heard him, or he didn't have any self preservation, because he completely ignored Katsuki's threat, and walked into the room.

"Hey man," he started, his voice light and cautious, "I just came to invite you to lunch with me and the squad…" he paused, a pensive look crossing his eyes, "and, like, you haven't left your room since you got back yesterday… You alright?"

"Of course I'm fine," he barked out, but even as it left his mouth, he knew it was lie. He really wasn't fine, he wasn't sure what he was right now.

"Okay, okay," Kaminari relented. "Whatever you say man." He didn't sound convinced, and that angered Katsuki even more.

He turned to face him, sending a glare, eyes glowing red, at Kaminari, "I said I'm fine." His words spit like venom.

"And I never said you weren't," he refuted.

"It was implied," Katsuki scoffed, turning away from Kaminari. He sat up, crossing his arms in an attempt to control his quirk—it wasn't as though he didn't have control over it. More so, it was the fact that he was unreasonably angry right now, and just wanted to be left alone.

"Well, we're gonna go to lunch, just text us if you decide you want to join," Kaminari turned to leave, an awkward air filling the room.

Katsuki took a breath, before he could stop himself he spoke, "That damned nerd isn't supposed to be broken. He's a stubborn ass, he's not supposed to break."

Kaminari stopped. "Wha-what do you mean?" he startled. Katsuki was not a talkative person, but right now the words wouldn't stop.

"Deku," Katsuki bit out, "It's not right. It's wrong." He didn't turn to look at Kaminari—he couldn`t. He was in too much turmoil; he needed to be alone right now.

"Midoriya?" He asked, though it wasn't a question, more of a confirmation, "Look, man," his voice wavered, "what happened to Midoriya was awful, but he's here now. We have him back, and soon enough, he'll be back—"

"No," Katsuki cut him off, "he won't. He's not coming back any time soon… if ever," he silently added the last part. The words sounded bitter coming off his tongue. He didn't understand why. He hated Deku—he couldn't care less what happened to that weakling, but then, it caused him distress to admit that he wasn't okay.

Kaminari cut off his conflicting thought, "How could you say that? Midoriya is tough, and he was fine back at the hospital—"

Katsuki's anger rose again, "He wasn't okay, you fucking idiot. Or are you fucking blind?" he turned to glare at him, not caring about the fear that sparked in Kaminari's eyes, "That bastard is lying. He's lying through his fucking teeth, saying he's fine, saying that he's fucking okay when he's not," his voice broke on the last word.

He could feel the burning sensation behind his eyes, his anger was boiling over now. He was so goddamn frustrated right now, and he needed to let out his frustration—usually that meant fighting, namely picking a fight with Deku, but that just wasn't an option at the moment, and Katsuki wasn't okay with that.

"Bakugo," Kaminari started, caution and hesitance reigning dominant in his voice, "are you—"

"Go away." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really didn't want to deal with people right now. He wasn't in the mood nor the mindset to be around anyone, especially if all they could offer were candy coated words that held no merit. "Just," he got up, not taking his eyes off the ground, "get out." He opened the door, and gestured for Kaminari to leave.

Kaminari stood there for a moment, shocked by the strong reaction Katsuki had given to his inquires, but eventually did reign in his shock enough to silently head over to the door. As he was passing he gave Katsuki a wary glance, "You have friends you can talk to, you know. If you need us, just text us…" he let the offer linger before leaving.

In his frustration, Katsuki slammed his door closed. He knew he was unreasonably angry—he had no reason to be upset like this. There was no rhyme nor reason to his anger—or, maybe there was, but he wasn't going to admit to it.

He sighed again, running a distressed hand through his hair, the entire situation weighing down on him. He wasn't okay with it.

He had never liked Deku, had never thought anything notable of him until recently… but now, it seemed as though everything that idiot had worked for was just… gone, erased like it didn't matter. It upset him. It wasn't right—how could he be the number one hero if his competition had been forced to forfeit?

This wasn't how he wanted to beat Deku. It wasn't meant to end like this. Those damned villains had ruined everything. He couldn't—wouldn't—stand for it.

There had to be something he could do. Here had to be something someone could do. He couldn't let things end here. Not like this.

Toshinori sat in the teachers lounge, going over the case for Izuku. There really wasn't much to go off of. They only had circumstantial evidence, and whatever Naomasa could recount, which left them with a file that was much too small to work with.

He wasn't officially a part of the investigation, seeing as he was retired. He may be a teacher at U.A. but even if that gave him a closer relationship to the students, it wasn't enough to warrant him access to the investigation. If anything, it made this case a conflict of interest for him; he would be biased. Of course, this investigation was on a need to know basis, and the public had no idea about Izuku's kidnapping and subsequent rescue—a fact that Toshinori feared would blow up in their face. He knew it would have been bad publicity, but if it were to get out now, after six almost seven weeks, the backlash would ruin them. Still, he wasn't apart of the investigation, and thus, his intel was limited.

Naomasa had promised to keep him in the loop, and Toshinori was grateful for that, but he needed more. Seeing Izuku, seeing him so distraught and in pain was unbearable. He had to do something.

Something else Naomasa had told him was bugging him right now, though. Naomasa had told him that they still needed Izuku's account on what had happened… and Toshinori wasn't sure if Izuku was in the right mind to give it. He had said that it could wait, but not for much longer. They needed it on the record, meaning they would have to interview Izuku, and get all the details.

He wasn't sure if any of them were ready to hear it.

He was drawn from his musing when the door opened. Quickly, he shut the case files—in hindsight, it probably hadn't been the best idea to bring these files here in such a public place.

He turned to see who had opened the door, thinking it was another teacher trying to get some papers graded over the weekend, and was surprised to see the distraught face of young Kirishima. He was glancing around the room expectantly.

"Are you looking for someone in particular, young Kirishima?" he asked, gaining Kirishima's attention.

His eyes looked frantic for a second before he regained himself, "Oh, All Might," he sheepishly scratched his neck, "I was just… looking for Aizawa, but I guess he's not here…" he sounded upset, and Toshinori worriedly wondered why.

"No, he has the weekend off. I believe he was going to spend the weekend just relaxing at home." Kirishima's expression grew crestfallen; Toshinori was pained to see one of his students so obviously distressed, prompting him to ask, "Why? Was there a question you had?"

Kirishima looked at him, shock predominant on his face, "No, not really just…" he lingered, "Nevermind, it's not really important."

It was a lie, Toshinori could see that clearly by the way Kirishima held himself. He couldn't be sure what was causing Kirishima to act so timid—he was usually so confident and boisterous—but he had an idea. He didn't want to make Kirishima uncomfortable, but he also did want to help him. Even if he was relatively useless in terms of being a hero now, he was still a teacher, and had a duty to help students however he could.

"Are you sure?" he started, his voice conveying more confidence than he felt at the moment. "I'm still learning how to be a proper teacher, but I would like to help you if I can."

He noted the way Kirishima shifted on his feet, a discontentedness rolling through his eyes, before he sighed. There was something very heavy laden in Kirishima, which worried Toshinori to no end.

He was already constantly worried about Izuku, now, it was becoming even more clear that he should be concerned about the other students in class 1-A as well. Izuku wasn't the only one suffering right now.

Kirishima sat down at the table, sitting across from Toshinori. Kirishima wouldn't look him in the eyes though, instead his gaze was downcast.

"Me and a few friends… we went to see Midoriya— Izuku yesterday and…" His voice trailed off, an ominous note hanging in the air.

Even if Toshinori had speculated over what was causing Kirishima such distress, it still hurt to know that he was right in his assumptions. Izuku… he was still coming to grips with things. He was a little less than okay at the moment, and he should have expected for it to be especially hard on the students. They were kids—this wasn't something they should have to deal with, no one should.

"I'm guessing it didn't go as well as planned," he suggested, keeping his voice calm and collected.

"No… it didn't." Kirishima's voice was thicker with emotion now, "Maybe it was a bad idea to have brought Bakugo… I just thought, ya know," he gestured vaguely, looking up at Toshinori. "I didn't think… it was supposed to be a friendly visit… not…"

Oh. This didn't sound good. He had heard of the students plan to visit Izuku, and had thought it would be a good thing. It didn't sound as though things had gone as they had expected however.

He wondered though, why Bakugo would have gone. Weren't he and Izuku not friends? He thought they didn't get along… though maybe that was why he had gone to visit. In the six weeks that Izuku had been gone, he had noticed how much more secluded Bakugo had become. Bakugo had always been easy to anger, but in those six weeks, he had become less volatile, and become more of a recluse. He did his work, trained hard—with even more vigor than usual—and just stayed out of everyone's way.

For the most part it had appeared as though Bakugo had been apathetic towards Izuku's capture. However, maybe that had been a front, a way for him to control his emotions. He and Izuku clearly didn't get along, but they also have a long history with each other—even if they truly did hold great antipathy towards one another—their shared history made things much more complicated. Clearly, this had affected Bakugo more than anyone had given him credit for.

He ventured to ask what, exactly went wrong, "Young Kirishima, what exactly happened?" He feared the answer.

Kirishima looked at him and his eyes were so, so sad as he spoke, "We just wanted to make him feel better, ya know? Cheer him up, but… we did the exact opposite."

Toshinori didn't ask for the details, he needn't know them to understand, "Kirishima, you know it's not your fault, right? Izuku, he's not in a good place right now—"

"I know that," Kirishima defended, "What he went through… I can't even imagine how hard that must have been, and Midoriya, he's super strong, both physically and mentally, and I think," he cut himself off briefly, "I think that it surprised us, to see him like this— to see him so… so unsure of himself. Like, he's the same age as all of us, but now… he's so much different." Kirishima was rambling now, the act reminded Toshinori a bit of Izuku.

"Young Kirishima," he paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I know this is difficult for you, and it's not something you should have to deal with—"

"But that's just the thing. This," he gestured around, "this kind of thing is the exact type of thing we'll have to get used to. As heroes, this is something that happens… and I don't know if I can… it's just really, really hard. There should have been— we should have been able to do something." His voice faltered at the end, giving way to the concern, and overall unsureness he was no doubt feeling.

Toshinori stopped, because Kirishima was right. This was something that happened—it didn't happen often, but it was a general concern for people who pursue this career. However, even if it was something that went along with the job, it didn't apply to high schoolers like Kirishima… and Izuku. This wasn't something they should have to worry about—but they did. Izuku had been captured, and they were all dealing with the after effects. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, but it was the cold, hard truth.

"Kirishima, I understand your feelings, I really do, this is hard, and I won't lie, age and experience doesn't make it easier to deal with, but you can't beat yourself up over it." He needed Kirishima to understand this. He was just a kid—a kid who didn't deserve to have to deal with this, "You can't focus on what you could have or should have done. You can't change the past, all you can do is think about what you're going to do, how you're going to make things better. Your friend is hurt right now, and you're hurting as well because of it, but you can't focus on what you didn't do. That's not going to help anyone. Focus on being there for your friend, for helping him get better."

Kirishima looked at him, something akin to thankfulness flitting in his eyes.

Toshinori sighed, before saying his last piece of advice, "Young Kirishima, things may be bad right now, but don't lose hope that things will get better, because they will. And, don't forget," he paused to show the significance this statement would have, "you're a kid too. You have to give yourself a break too. You may be worried about your friend because he's hurt, but that doesn't mean you should disregard your own health. You can't help if you burn yourself out."

Kirishima stared at him for a moment before nodding, something resolute in his eyes. "I… All Might, thanks, I really think I needed that." There was an awkward pause, in which Toshinori didn't know what to say, and Kirishima said nothing. After a beat, Kirishima gave a thankful nod as he got up, and made his way to the door without a word, his expression much more relieved than it had been when he first arrived.

Sighing, Toshinori went back to the files he had been looking through, opening them to look them over again. He stared at them for about five minutes, not taking in anything, before shutting it again, and pushing it aside.

He sighed. Kirishima made him realize that in his concern over Izuku's health, he'd neglected to take into account that the rest of the class had been affected by this as well. They needed support too, just like Izuku—they just didn't need it in the same way Izuku needed it.

He would have to bring this concern up with Nedzu, see if there was anything they could do. It wasn't fair to expect these kids—who were only fifteen—to be able to take this kind of blow in stride. They were all struggling and needed help, and as a hero, retired or not, it was his job to help them.

Izuku wasn't okay, that much he knew. He thought he could handle it, he really did, but… he couldn't. He couldn't keep it together, no matter how hard he tried to just act… normal, it all fell apart when he heard that explosion.

Loud sounds only ever meant pain; always, every time he heard a sudden loud noise, it was always followed by pain. He knew he was safe, that he wouldn't be hurt anymore, but that sound… it had been so similar to… he had thought he was back there. All his rationality had left him, and he was back in that place.

He hated this, he absolutely hated this. His inability to keep it together had ruined everything. Everything was crumbling around him. His sanity was in shambles and… he was tired of fighting it.

He was so, so tired.

Was it even worth it to try and piece back his life? He knew there were people still waiting for him, willing to support him, but how long until they realized that this was a lost cause? He was a lost cause..

He had screwed everything up with his friends—Todoroki had to hate him now. Now that he had admitted to being afraid of him… Todoroki probably thought he was weak and pathetic. He sure felt pathetic.

Izuku knew this couldn't continue, this tightrope he was walking was bound to break soon. Hell, it was already fraying at the ends. Soon enough, they would give up… they would realize that he wasn't worth all this trouble, that he wasn't going to get better, that he was too lost within his own mind to recover. It had taken him forever to come back to reality this time… it was different from the other times.

The other times he could usually bring himself back, but this time, he was gone. He had been back there, and he could feel it: the pain, the chillness that made its home in his bones, the questions that he didn't know the answers to—or worse, the questions he did know the answers to—the agony, the hunger, the isolation from everything, even his own senses… everything had come back full force. He had been back. His friends had vanished, their comforting, albeit a little awkward, presence had been replaced by the her cold, threatening one.

It had been too real; he couldn't bring himself out of it, he had been trapped there… again, but this time it had been his mind that had kept him prisoner the entire time. He had been held prisoner by his own mind, and that thought scared him. It scared him a lot.

How was he supposed to be a hero if he jumped at every unexpected noise? If he was held captive by his own mind, and had to be coaxed out of it by his mom?

Izuku knew he needed more than what his mom could offer—he loved her, and he knew this was tough on her, he really did, which was why he felt so guilty about his current condition, but this wasn't working. Her constant presence helped, it helped a lot, but he needed more. He didn't know what he needed exactly, but he needed more than what she was able to give.

That knowledge killed him. His mom had always been able to quell his fears, for her to suddenly just… not be enough, it scared him. If she couldn't help him, then maybe he really was a lost cause. Maybe they were trying to fix something that was irreparable.

Maybe he would have been better off if he had…

His thoughts trailed back, and he forcibly stopped them. He wasn't going to think about that—he was never going to think about that. He couldn't—he wouldn't.

He shifted on his bed, not quite ready to leave its comfort, but still needing to change his position. He could hear footsteps from outside his door. It had to be his mom, she had been hovering over his room since yesterday—he guessed it was since yesterday at least. He knew she was worried about him, but he didn't want to talk about it, he couldn't. He just… he wanted to be left alone.

Still, it wasn't fair of him to keep her worried over him. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve any of this.

There was a knock at his door, and while he had been expecting it, he still tensed at the sound.

"Izuku? Are you up?" He heard the timid voice of his mom calling out to him.

Despite not wanting to talk, he responded, albeit meekly, "Yeah?"

He could hear the door open; he turned away from her. "Oh, Izuku," he hated the pity in her voice. He didn't need pity—he didn't want it. He remained quiet as she walked up towards him. He didn't have anything to say.

He was just… tired.

He felt the bed cave in under his mom's weight, and he tried to move away from her even more. Even if he couldn't see, he knew he must look pathetic right now.

"Are you feeling any better, honey?" Her voice was soothing, comforting.

He still didn't say anything. He couldn't. He felt her put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles. It was comforting, but he still couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"Izuku," she continued, taking his silence as a cue to continue, "about yesterday…"

His breath stilled. He knew they would have to talk about this—he knew this was coming, but he wasn't ready for it. He tried to make himself as small as possible, wilting in on himself.

"Izuku," the sorrow was etched so deeply into her tone that he thought it might never leave, "I know things are hard. I know you're struggling, but I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

He knew that. He knew he was struggling, but he couldn't tell her why. He wanted to, he really did—she was his mom, and he could tell her anything—but this… this wasn't something she needed to know. The things they'd done… the things he'd done to survive… the pain he endured, it wasn't something he could share with her; it wasn't something he was able to tell, he just couldn't.

She sighed at his silence, and he felt guilty. Why was this so hard for him? Why couldn't he just tell her he needed more time? That he couldn't be strong right now?

"If you won't talk to me, will you talk to someone else? A professional?" He hated how resigned her voice sounded.

At this, he did respond, "I-I can't," he choked out. In a painstakingly slow gesture, he sat up.

"Honey," her voice was pained, "you can't continue like this… you know that. It's not healthy, and I won't allow it."

He gulped. He knew this was an inevitability. He couldn't continue like this—he would drive himself insane, but the alternative—talking about it—wasn't ideal either. How could he talk to a stranger about things he couldn't even admit to himself? "I-I know, I just," he took a shuddering breath, "I can't."

His mom waited a moment before speaking. When she did, her voice was calm, betraying the anxiety that Izuku knew lay just beneath her sin, "Izuku, I can't do nothing. You need help, help that I can't provide." She took a controlling breath. "You have to talk to someone."

"I know," he broke out, his voice no more than a whisper. "I know that. I know, but… I just…" he couldn't finish his sentence, frustrated with his own ineptness.

She brought him into a hug, it was sideways, and crushed him against her shoulder, but it was comforting nonetheless.

"I know, honey, I know, but can you…" she took a breath, "Can you try? For me?"

His eyes went wide at that. He didn't want to, he really didn't… but, he had promised himself he would do better hadn't he? But he was actively hiding from the things that could help him… He could try couldn't he. He could give it a shot… it couldn't get worse. Besides… he had been making life so difficult for his mom, it wasn't fair. She didn't deserve that. He couldn't do that to her, so… he still really didn't want to. He really, really didn't want to, but if it was for his mom… then… he could try.

He nodded silently, not able to voice his answer.

He felt her tighten her grip around him, "Thank you, Izuku," relief flooded her voice. "I know this is difficult for you, you don't like having to rely on people, but it's not always a bad thing to have to rely on people. Especially when all those people want to do is help you."

"I…" He didn't know how to respond to that—he knew it was true, that he would only get better if he allowed himself to get the help he needed, but knowing something and acting on it were different things. It was easy to say something like that, it was something else entirely to act on it.

They stayed like that for a while, neither one saying anything, until eventually his mom did move.

"She shifted from her position, jarring Izuku, who had fallen into a light sleep against her, "Izuku, I think it's time we both got up and made something to eat."

He yawned, he was still tired, but much more relaxed now that he had been in the comfort of his mom for a while—maybe cooping himself in his room to deal with his issues alone hadn't been the best idea.

"I'm not—"

"You're not hungry, I know, but Izuku… you need to eat." Her voice was firm, and he knew she wouldn't back down this time.

"I… okay," he wasn't hungry, but maybe he could try to eat something… He needed to eat, he knew that, food was just… not something he craved nowadays. He had his reasons… reasons he would rather not think about, but it wasn't like he could just forgo eating for the rest of his life. The sooner he was able to eat food easily again the better.

They both got up, Izuku following his mom's lead, and they made their way to the living room.

Izuku tensed when they entered the living room, even if he couldn't see anything, this room brought him back to yesterday, when his friends had been here… and then there had been that sound… it had been so similar to—

"Izuku?" His mom's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh… sorry, I just kinda spaced out I guess," he said very unconvincingly

His mom didn't make any verbal cue, but he could guess that she was wearing a sad expression on her face, the kind she used to wear when he was a kid and would come home with bruises, saying he tripped or fell on the way home.

Instead, she told him to wait in the living room—he could find his way to the couch easy enough now—until she finished making food. She didn't ask him for any suggestions, probably because she knew he wouldn't have any. Eventually, he did hear her come back into the living room.

"I made smoothies," she started as she gave him a glass, he held it, unsure of himself, "I didn't have much to work with, but I hope it's something you can handle."

He nodded wordlessly. A smoothie… he hadn't really thought of that… maybe something like that… it might be fine. He took a sip. It wasn't bad. It was… nice? He took another sip, keeping in mind to not take too big of a drink at once.

"How is it?" his mom's voice was timid and unsure. He immediately felt bad; he knew she was running out of options for him.

"I… it's not bad, I think I can manage." He could feel the tension leave her as he spoke.

She sat down next to him. They drank their smoothies in silence.

It was nice. Things were going good, and Izuku thought today was going to be a much better day than yesterday had been.

"Izuku," he heard her set her cup down on the table, and he turned to face her general direction, unsure what this seriousness was for, "this may not be the best time… but there is something else we need to do today."

He stop drinking, and gave her a wary expression—he didn't like this. What could they possibly need to do now?

"You've been home for a few days now… and we need to change your bandages."

Izuku stopped. No. He shook his head, without saying anything. He didn't—she couldn't… he couldn't let her see the scars. She would see—she would know what they had done to him, the damage they caused, and he couldn't let her know that.

He wanted to protect her from that if at all possible… but he knew, by her tone, that she wasn't going to let him run away from this. Not this time. He wasn't ready… he wouldn't ever be, but it didn't look like he had a choice in the matter.

***

Fear settled deeply into Izuku's unseeing eyes. He couldn't do this. He couldn't—he really, really couldn't.

"No… please, you-you can't…" Desperation clawed at his voice. Panic was itching its way through him, preparing to launch itself full force at him.

The wounds he had, the scars… she didn't need to see them. They were scars that he had to bear alone—no one needed to know of them, or the horrors that accompanied them. His eyes shut tight at the memories. He couldn't relive them… once had been enough, if he had to do it again… he couldn't.

He wasn't that strong.

"Honey," his mom sounded worried now—he hated that, "we have to… they could get infected."

He shook his head. He didn't care. It couldn't be worse than her knowing what had been done to him… what he had… no, she didn't need to know.

"I don't care," he pleaded. He didn't care, either. Keeping this from her, keeping his mom safe, that was more important than his overall health.

His mom had a different viewpoint, "Izuku," he could feel the pain in her voice as she spoke, "this isn't something you can avoid."

He knew that of course, he knew that, but it still stung to not have a say in the matter. They were his injuries… shouldn't he have some say in what happened to them? Of course not, he thought bitterly, he hadn't had control over anything for however long now.

It hurt… it shouldn't hurt like this. He was back, but it still… it wasn't okay.

He didn't have control anymore—he knew that, and it hurt.

Bracing himself, he quietly nodded and gave up his defense; there wasn't a point to fight it anymore… there wasn't any point in fighting at all.

He was frustrated, and the defeatist in him won out in the end. He couldn't keep fighting this… He just… He hadn't wanted her to see his scars because that made it real. If his mom saw those scars… there was no going back, there was no denying it anymore.

He didn't think his mom was strong enough to handle it, he knew he wasn't. If she saw the damage, if she knew, he would break. Even though he knew that… he just didn't have the strength to fight anymore. She was going to find out, and it was going to hurt. It was going to kill him, but there was no way to stop it.

"Izuku…?" His mom's questioning voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he realized he was trembling, and tears had found their way down his cheeks.

"I-I," he struggled to form any words.

A knot twisted in his gut, and he leaned forward. Air struggled to make it to his lungs, causing him to choke. Everything felt heavy, it weighed down on him, a dark feeling swelled up within him until pressure was put on his back, and slowly, very slowly the darkness went away.

"Izuku, honey, it's okay. Just breathe. Take a deep breath…" His mom's calm voice helped ground him.

He heeded her advice and took slow, deep breaths, trying to quell the fear drilled within him.

Her voice was steady, though he could tell she was terrified, "Honey, I know it's scary, and I know you don't want to do this, but please." He hated the anguish that drowned her voice. "Please, for me… I'll change them as quickly as I can," she pleaded, begged him even to listen to her.

It hurt—it was agonizing, "I can't."

She sighed, and his defenses crumbled. His breath hitched as hot, angry tears cascaded down his face. "If you see them… I can't... You can't—" he choked out before breaking off into a sob.

It was too much for him.

There was an intake of breath from behind him, and he felt the pressure on his back deepen, though it never lost its comforting presence. "Oh, Izuku," sorrow dripped from her tone like honey, "I know it's difficult—"

He stopped her, "No… it's not that… I know you don't have a choice," his voice hitched, "but if you see them… that's it. It's over, but I can't… I can't-I can't—" he couldn't finish the thought.

She said nothing but took him into a hug. He winced slightly at the touch, which only caused him to let out a frustrated sob.

She remained quiet, which somehow made everything worse.

"M-mom," he choked out, "I— why can't I just be okay?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. That terrified Izuku; he needed his mom to comfort him, but he knew she couldn't. It killed him.

"Izuku," her voice was firm, "I know you're trying to be strong." He could feel her take a deep, steadying breath as if to prepare herself.

He needed to be strong… he needed to protect her. She didn't deserve to see his pain or suffer with him, but being strong was going to break him. He couldn't do it… but he had to. Something told him that if he didn't do it now he would never be able to. He couldn't have that. He wasn't allowed to be broken forever; he needed—he desperately wanted—to get better, to heal, to not… to not be what he currently was: broken. If he couldn't do this, then how would he ever get better? Even if it hurt, he would just have to suffer through it—this is what it took to heal, to be alright.

"But you don't have to be. Please, Izuku, don't push yourself. You don't have to be okay, you don't have to pretend."

He didn't need to be strong? Could he really just… not be okay? Was that acceptable?

Everyone had told him how strong or brave he had been. They made it seem like his time in captivity had been valiant, like he had beat those villains by surviving, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

They had all said he should take his time healing, but they made it seem like it would be easy. It wasn't. They said he could take his time; they wanted him to just get over it. He knew that wasn't what they really meant… but sometimes it felt that way. He couldn't just get over it. He had tried, but he couldn't. His mind wouldn't let him.

He took in a shuddering breath. "I can't do this right now," he managed to say it clearly, though the anguish had woven its way into his voice permanently by now.

His mom shifted positions, "Oh Izuku," her voice broke along with his composure.

"I promise, I'm trying," he was sobbing now, angry sobs that bubbled up his throat in harsh, unrelenting torrents, "but I just can't do this right now." He leaned into her further, trying to hide his face. It didn't matter that he couldn't physically see her, he couldn't face her. He was too ashamed of his weakness.

It shouldn't be this difficult. Izuku knew he should be able to function like a normal human, but he couldn't. It was as though his demons were forcibly dragging him down, further and further away from his sanity.

He let out another harsh sob.

His mom soothed him as he cried, "It's okay, baby, just let it out." She rubbed soothing circles in his back as he clung to her. "I know it hurts, just let it hurt. You can't feel better until it hurts."

It did hurt. It hurt him in every sense of the word. Izuku's body ached from old wounds, his heart throbbed for comfort while his mind screamed for peace. It was a cacophony of sensations that scraped and clawed at him, but for the first time, he stopped fighting it. He just let it hurt, let the pain wash over him and embraced it.

For just a little bit, he was letting himself not be okay.

She looked at the file in her hands, leisurely going through the pages. It was amazing all that detective had on record on his person. It must have been a stroke of luck that they had the fortune to run into each other, or rather, that he had the misfortune to be at the scene at the same time as her

She wondered if he had managed to make it out alive… She hoped he did, that would make things even more interesting. It was no fun if they didn't fight back after all. Midoriya had been the prime example of a good prisoner in her eyes—he had fought back. In the end, his resilience had been his downfall, which was the fact that she was all too gleeful to be privy to.

Chancing a glance at her watch, she wondered where they were. They had agreed to meet here, at these coordinates in the forest at this time.

She hoped her employer hadn't been lying; she didn't take well to liars.

She had done her job, all she wanted was her payment, or well, the rest of it. They had paid half up front eight weeks ago when they first come to her for help, and now, since Midoriya was back with the heroes, she wanted the rest. Of course, her job wasn't done yet, but she had lived up to her end of the deal: incapacitate the U.A. brat whom always interfered with their plans. When they had come to her, they had been looking for an assassin, but she didn't kill children.

Her morals may be skewed, but she didn't want that blood on her hands. Besides, it was so much more fun to torment and torture than it was to slit a throat.

She had done more than enough to completely break Midoriya—she had fun conditioning him to fear his name—out of the game, as her employer liked to refer to it as.

She waited a few more minutes, eyes scanning over the file for the second time when she heard them arrive. Silently, she rose from her spot, ready to meet her employers for the second time in her life.

She looked over to see the purple warping gate of Kurogiri. "You're late," she remarked coldly.

Shigaraki took his time walking out of the gate, Kurogiri returning to his former humanoid form once Shigaraki had stepped out, "Yes, well, I was busy."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course you were…" She sent an intense glare his way, her eyes flaring. "Down to business." Golden irises lit up, a small ring of yellow orbiting the pupils. "I completed what you asked of me, now for my payment."

Shigaraki gave her a pensive look, "Don't think I'll allow you to use your quirk on me, Kuraka…"

She felt the familiar pull of Kurogiri warp gate, and she blinked once, washing away the ring around her iris, and deactivating her quirk.

"I would never," Kuraka returned playfully. "You know I hold my employers in the highest esteem… now…"

"Yes, well about that—" Shigaraki started, but stopped when Kurogiri interrupted.

"You said you had more information?" he inclined professionally.

Kuraka nodded, a smile playing on her features, "That I do, but I'm much more interested in what Shigaraki had to say… mhm?" She tilted her head, intrigued at what he had been about to disclose.

Shigaraki didn't hide the frustration that crossed his demeanor, but Kuraka noticed that Kurogiri looked poised, ready to intervene, and her smile fell a bit. "Kuraka, I hired you to get rid of that U.A. brat… to kill him." he seethed aggressively.

"You hired me to take him out of the picture," she rebutted. "I did that... He won't be able to interrupt your plans anymore, so I don't see the problem."

Shigaraki looked hesitant for a second, before anger won over rationality, "I don't care about that… You didn't do what I paid you to do. You cheated," he accused, and she faltered for a step. "I ordered you to kill that brat, to send a message to those damn heroes…"

This time, Kuraka hesitated before calming herself down enough to respond. Her voice was that same cheeriness she used when taunting someone, but it felt forced, "I don't kill children, Shigaraki."

"But you'll torture them?" Kurogiri interjected.

She nodded, "If I had killed him it would have been the end of it. People die by villains all the time… killing a child would be a tough blow, but it wouldn't break the hero society as it is now. There would be a backlash, and there would be chaos, but ultimately, society would get over it."

Shigaraki was listening to her now, "And torturing him helps us how?"

"Easy," she remarked, "Now the heroes know exactly what they're dealing with. They won't take you lightly; they'll fear you… but more importantly… that brat, keeping him alive gives us leverage."

Kurogiri, who had remained silent during her speech, spoke up, "You say that keeping that boy alive is the surefire way to destroy the hero society… but I haven't heard about his capture or torture in any news outlet… Seems no one knows about it."

A wicked smile spread across her features, "Exactly." She took the folder and handed it to them. "Look at his file and tell me what you see."

Kurogiri snatched the folder from her outstretched arm, distrust evident in his eyes and wariness leaking from his posture. He slowly handed the folder to Shigaraki who plucked it out of his hand enthusiastically. She waited eagerly for them to read over the file.

Shigaraki was the first to comment, "You blinded him?"

She shook her head, "I did not. Well," she looked thoughtful, "at least not in the physical sense. I never touched his eyes… and yet, he's still blind, just…read the description." She indicated to the folder, a cold annoyance flaring to life in her wild eyes.

Her smile turned to a devious grin as she saw the gears turning in Kurogiri's mind. "I see. Interesting…" His voice was meticulous, articulating each word with precision.

She smirked. His eyes scanned the papers diligently, pausing for brief moments before crinkling with confusion on several occasions.

At one interval, he glanced up at her, curiosity in his eyes, "Some of these comments from the practitioner… they are quite intriguing."

Kuraka beamed, she had an inkling as to which parts Kurogiri was reading and she was rather proud of herself for eliciting such a fear in the kid; even if he had been rescued, his mind was in tatters. There were certain remarks made by the doctor that she found to be… very interesting.

Shigaraki looked at her, growing frustration in his eyes as he glared at her, "Why is this information still unknown to the public." He turned his accusations on her, "Why didn't you leak it to the press the moment you had him?"

Her eyes turned feral. "Because," the words dripped like bitter honey, "now it becomes a coverup. The media—the public—won't be looking at the villains, all their eyes will be pointed at U.A. for covering this up. Their selfish need to keep everything quiet will be their demise."

She stopped, remembering something else. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the device she had found at the now burned down building. It was a phone—Midoriya's phone. She had kept it when they had first taken him, making sure to disable any tracking abilities the phone may have had on it.

"Here," she tossed it to Kurogiri, who caught it easily, "this is Midoriya's phone. I've had it since I captured him… it has, quite a bit of information on it." She grinned devilishly, then turned heel, flipping her hair out of her face as she started to walk away—she had a few more errands to do today. "Just look at his text messages and some of the notes he stored there… I'm sure you'll find something you can use against them in there," she paused before adding flippantly, "I know I sure did."

Kurogiri glanced at her hand—the one she had tossed the phone from, regarding the bandages that were wrapped around it, "What happened to your hand? You seem to be missing a finger."

She waved him off, "It's not a big deal, just part of the job, besides," there was a glint in her eyes, "I can assure you, the other guy is way worse." With that, she turned and started to walk away.

"What about your payment?" she heard Shigaraki call after her.

Sighing, she stopped and turned, "Oh, I'm sure I'll hear from you again. When that happens, we'll discuss it more in depth." She turned and waved her hand, "Well, ciao."

Kuraka knew they would ask for her help again real soon. She hadn't given them everything she knew, only what they needed to know for her plan to kickstart. In the meantime, there was a particular hero she wanted to pay a visit to.

This wasn't how Inko planned this day to go. She knew it wasn't going to be easy, nor was it going to be fun, but this was too much. Izuku was hurting. He was in pain, and there wasn't anything she could do about it except be there for him. She could try and comfort him, but ultimately, there wasn't much else she could do. She wanted to do more; she longed to be able to help more… but all she felt was useless as she watched her baby suffer.

There were some things that not even a mother could fix, and this was one of them.

She couldn't in good conscious bring herself to disturb Izuku right now. He was sleeping—probably for the first time in a while—against her side. He had fallen asleep some time ago, after sobbing into her for a solid hour.

It hurt her to see him like this. He wasn't okay, and they both knew it… but Izuku wasn't ready to accept that. He wanted to be okay, and who could blame him? The thing was though…he just wasn't. He tried to just pretend nothing had happened, and she admired his strength—her baby boy was so strong—but he needed to know that he didn't need to be okay right now.

He was allowed to be broken and be hurt. His body, his mind—they needed more time to heal. He just needed a break. If she knew Izuku though, he wouldn't cut himself any slack. He would blame himself for any faults, even if they were out of his control.

She looked down at him, he was the most peaceful she had ever seen him in the last few days. She hated how the only way for him to rest was to exhaust himself to the point where his body couldn't stay awake.

Gently, she let her hands sift through his hair. It was thinner than before and lighter in color, barely noticeable really, but she could tell. She would always be able to tell, and sometimes she despised that.

They remained like that for a while, with Inko running her hands through Izuku's hair while he finally got some rest, but eventually, it did end. Izuku started to stir; something between a flinch and a shiver wracked his body, causing Inko's heart to twinge.

As softly as she could, she nudged him, "Izuku, honey?"

It hadn't taken much to for him to wake up completely, because as soon as she spoke, his eyes shot open wide, dull green eyes looked around in a daze. It took a moment before clarity filled his eyes, and when it did, a resigned shadow fell over the usually bright green orbs.

He blinked sluggishly. "Mom?" he asked groggily, with a hint of trepidation lingering in its wake. He tensed up, waiting for an answer.

She quickly responded, "I'm right here Izuku."

She could feel the tension leave him as he fell back on her, "Did I fall asleep?"

Inko nodded, before realizing her mistake and giving a verbal answer, "Yeah, you did, honey. How do you feel?"

Izuku mumbled something, turning his face away from her.

"I didn't quite catch that," she prompted softly.

Slowly, Izuku sat up, and turned in her general direction, "We still need to change my bandages… don't we?" There was a fearful lilt in his voice as he spoke softly.

She sighed, "Yeah… we do honey."

"Okay," his voice shook, "I-I… let's just get it over with." Slight tremors coursed through his body as he spoke, voice breaking in several places, and fear rose the tone an octave.

"Izuku…" She knew this needed to happen, but she didn't want to rush him into anything he wasn't ready for.

He stopped her though, "No, it's… it's fine," his voice shook but was otherwise vacant of any emotion other than slight fear. "We should… it's better to just get it over with."

She nodded, "Alright." She helped Izuku up off the couch and guided him to the bathroom. She felt like an executioner as she did so, leading her only son to his doom—it was not something she was happy about.

Izuku remained quiet the entire time, a slight tremor racking his body the whole way, but he appeared set in his resolve.

The tiled floor having indicated they had made it to the bathroom and Izuku's breath hitched. "Are you sure you're okay…?" she asked worriedly.

"Yeah," he nodded, but it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than anything, "just… just do it fast."

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, before helping him pull his take the sling off his right arm. Once she did, his arm fell slack, limp and unmoving; she sighed as she took his shirt off, exposing the bandages that wrapped around his torso.

There was an intake of breath, and it took Inko a moment to realize it as her own.

"It's not…" Izuku started, trying to alleviate her worry, "it's not that bad… just, it looks worse than it is. I promise." She knew he was just trying to calm her down, but it didn't help much. He was her only son, she was always going to worry about him, and now even more so.

She calmed herself as she started to remove the bandages. It was easy, they come off with little resistance… then there was a slight tug, and Izuku's breathing halted.

"It's fine. It's fine." Izuku's voice squeaked out. She couldn't tell if he was trying to calm her down or himself. She suspected it was both.

She continued unwrapping them, careful not to irritate his skin as she did so. Everything was fine for a while, the scars at the top of his back aren't nearly as bad as her mind had made them out to be. It hurt all the same though; regardless of their severity, these are marks on her baby's body. People—villains—had beaten him, and she didn't think she would ever get over that fact.

It was not until she hit his shoulder blades that an amalgamation of scars—worse than any others he had—presented themselves.

The sight caused her to freeze. She had seen scars before, Izuku had even had some self inflicted ones on his hand from his quirk, but these were… different. These scars hadn't been made by accident. They were angry, a bright red that stuck out from stretched skin and riddled down his spine.

The scars, they looked… painful.

She had to take a step back for a brief moment to collect herself.

She could see Izuku growing uneasy from the bathroom mirror, "Mom? I… it's not that bad." The way he strained the 'that' led her to believe that it just was that bad, but right now she can't worry about that. She had to finish, she can tell the longer she took to do this, the worse off Izuku would be.

Taking off the rest of the bandages wasn't difficult to do, but it was impossible for Inko to do with a straight face. Her heart ached for the bruising that was just beginning to fade, and the welts that still angrily marred Izuku's back. They're far worse than any of the wounds he'd sustained from his quirk… because at least then, it had been by his hand. These, however, were not done by his choice, and she knew most of these marks would never entirely go away.

Without realizing it, she gently traced one of the welts, causing an immediate reaction from Izuku. He whimpered, and she looked in the mirror to see his face reflecting nothing but unbridled fear. His eyes were dull, unfocused, but swelling with anxiety and unsuredness.

She wanted to finish this up quickly but stopped short. Something came to mind, something that she knew won't go over well, but needs to be addressed, and if she changed the bandages now, it'll be too late.

She gently prompts him, "Izuku…?"

He startled, "Huh? Oh… yeah, mom? What's… what's wrong?" Fear settled in like a blanket.

"Nothing," she quickly assuaged him, "but Izuku… I know this is already difficult for you, but… you've been home for a few days now and well…"

He gulped and nodded instead of giving a verbal prompt for her to continue.

"Well…" She found it more difficult to ask than she thought. The topic, she knew, would make Izuku uncomfortable. "Honey… you haven't been able to have a proper bath in months…" she stopped when Izuku tensed.

"I...I…" he couldn't seem to get any words out, and his posture was tense.

She continued, albeit with more caution in her tone, "I know you wanted to get this over with but—"

"I know," he barked out rather harshly. It was only then that she looked up and in the mirror's reflection noticed the battle raging in his eyes, "I know that… and I'm-I'm honestly surprised I've lasted this long without one… but I don't know," he stopped, clenching his hand into a fist, "I don't think I can."

She sighed, "Izuku—"

"I know, I know," he interjected, "I don't have a choice."

He mumbleed something bitterly, and though she wasn't sure she thought it was something like, "I never get a choice anymore." The thought broke her heart into pieces. At this point, Inko wasn't sure she'd ever be able to repair her damaged heart.

"Fine. Let's just get it over with." Izuku's voice was bitter; it was harsh, but it's also determined.

Izuku didn't think he had any pride left. He loathed that feeling—the helplessness; the hopelessness.

It had been bad enough that he needed to have his bandages changed—it had caused him more than one break down, but then… his mom had mentioned his hygiene, or rather, lack thereof, and it took all of his composure to remain sane at the mention of it.

He should have been relieved, he hadn't appropriately showered since before he had been taken. Once he had been a… prisoner, he hadn't even been treated as a human most of the time. Any time they did 'bathe' him it was hosing him down with frozen water—it had been painful and degrading.

He hadn't been happy at the prospect of water being thrown at his person again, in fact, the thought sent a frill of fear through him, but he had resigned himself to his fate by now. He just wasn't going to get a choice in these things anymore.

So, with a heavy heart, he had let his mom guide him and help him bathe. He despised the fact that he needed her help, but he did. He couldn't see—which, if he was honest, only served to terrify him—and his right arm was dead weight. He couldn't feel it let alone move it. He was petrified at the thought that he might never be able to use it again. It might be dead weight to him for the rest of his life… and he didn't know how well he'd be able to deal with it if that was the case.

He had felt like a child, needing his mom's help, and he felt incredibly vulnerable throughout the entire ordeal, but he forced himself to suck it up. He didn't have the right to complain about this. He had complained enough for today—he just didn't have it in him to fight anymore.

Everything was too exhausting.

For awhile, it had seemed like everything would be fine, he had been able to not think about unpleasant things until soap got into one of his more significant injuries. The stinging pain had been immediate, and all too similar to back there… when they put salt in his wounds.

He panicked.

His arms were beyond sore, his wrists having been chaffed almost to the bone now, with blood streaming down his arms freely. He tried not to move as the shifting of his weight only caused his arms to hurt even more. They were strung up with chains behind his back and raised until his arms had dislocated from the position.

His screams had only lasted a few minutes before he forced himself to breathe and bare with the pain.

He squinted as she came into view, her golden eyes piercing into him. He tried to look away, but the slight eye contact was enough for her to entrance him under her quirk.

She blinked almost lazily; he screamed.

Her quirk, he couldn't be sure what it was, but from what he had experienced, it was some sort of sensory manipulation. With one look she could put him in agony for hours, though she did like to use physical force as well.

He had seen her weapons of choice, crude instruments that she caressed with care before striking him.

They had been at this game for hours now, it seemed. She would ask him a question. He would refuse to answer it, which was always followed by pain. He couldn't answer her though—he didn't know the answers to what she was asking.

He didn't know the schematics for U.A. and he sure as hell wouldn't tell her if he did. So, he endured her onslaught.

Then she had asked him a question… and he did know the answer. He knew she knew it too, but she wanted him to answer. She tried to break him; he wouldn't break, but his arm would.

"I don't like liars, Midoriya," she purred, and he flinched instinctively.

It was only after he had relaxed that he felt the sharp, stinging pain in his back. He yelped.

It hurt, but he could deal with it. It wasn't that bad.

When she repeated the action four more times, he felt less confident but managed to hold in his cries of pain. This he could deal with, the pain was something he had built up a tolerance for.

She had walked up right in front of him now and forcibly grabbed his chin, "Midoriya," he hated the way his name rolled off her tongue, "it would be better for everyone if you just gave me an answer."

It was a stupid thing to do, and he knew it, but he couldn't hold it back; he spat in her face, "I will never tell you anything. I'd rather die." He had meant it too. He refused to sell out his friends.

She gritted her teeth, frustration pooling into her entire visage as she fixed her gaze on him, her golden eyes whirling to life, and his vision faded, morphing into something else entirely.

Flames.

Fire, it surrounded him, engulfing him in an eternal heat that never ended. He felt the fire raking his legs, clawing their way up to his torso. It burned.

He knew it wasn't real, but it felt real. His nerves were torched, fraying, and spastically shooting pain up and down his limbs in rivulets.

This time he couldn't hold back the screams.

He was jolted from his memory by someone calling his name.

He hadn't even realized he had been thrashing around, crying out that he didn't know, that he wouldn't answer.

"Izuku. Izuku, calm down." His mom's voice was frantic but steady, and it pulled him from his memory, held him in the present.

He clung to that semblance of sanity. It was his lifeline.

"I don't… I don't know," he gasped, clinging to her, "I don't know." It was beginning to turn into a sob, and he felt two strong arms wrap around him.

It was comforting, warm… it was home.

He was almost in a trance as his mom helped him dry off and rewrapped his bandages. He hardly noticed any of it. His only concern was clinging to his mom, keeping hold of that tiny thread of sanity his mom provided.

Izuku let his mom lead him to his bed and help him into it. He didn't want to admit it, but he was still a little fearful, the memories were still fresh in his mind.

"Just rest, honey, okay?" His mom's voice was soothing. "You did well today. I know you must be exhausted." She ran a hand through his hair, brushing the tangled mess out of his face.

At this moment, he really, really wished he was able to see. He needed to see his mom right now. He needed to know she was here.

She started to leave and panic set in.

"No." It was said too hastily, and he chastised himself for that.

She stopped though, "Izuku… is something wrong?"

He took a deep, shaky breath, he couldn't do this right now, "Stay," he pleaded, voice breaking, "please." He felt his bed shift, and her comforting weight settled in next to him, "Of course, baby. I will always be here."

With his mom there, by his side, the unease that had crept on him slowly receded until it was nothing more than an unpleasant memory. She was a pillar, someone he could always count on.

Izuku knew how much it hurt his mom to see him like this, but he was grateful she was here. When she was here, his doubts faded, and his anxieties were quelled; he was safe.

***

Shouta paced about his apartment restlessly. His cat, Mittles, jumped out of the way to avoid him. He was beyond pissed, livid even.

How dare that villain… how dare she call him and threaten him, threaten his students. Someone was going to pay. Someone was going to pay dearly for this—she was going to pay. It was bad enough that he already failed his students once, he wasn't going to do it again.

Mittles meowed beside him, but he just shrugged her aside. She was a good cat, but he didn't need her presence right now. He needed to think. He needed to do… something.

What could he do…

How had she gotten his phone number? Where had she called from… was there a way to trace that back? A thought struck him. Maybe he could track her through the phone she had used? It was a long shot, she probably hadn't used a traceable phone, but it was worth a shot.

He walked over to where he had thrown his phone and picked it up. Luckily, it hadn't broken when he had thrown it. He dialed the number of one of his most trusted friends. On the second ring, they picked up, "Hizashi?"

Hizashi tried to start with some small talk, as he always did when Shouta called, but he didn't have time right now. There was a reason he had called, and he didn't want to waste any time. "Hizashi, listen to me… no— well… no—" Hizashi wouldn't let him get a word in, "He had yes, I know— No, look, I need your help… What? No, not for that, I need help tracking a phone."

He went on to explain the situation, how he had gotten a call from the villain and was pissed about it, rightfully so. It didn't help when Hizashi told him that the phone was more than likely a burner phone; it wouldn't be able to be tracked—though he did say he would try, for which, Shouta was grateful. It wasn't much, but at least there was some hope.

Running a hand through his hair, Shouta sighed knowing today was going to be a long day, and he was not ready for it. That goddamn call from the villain had ruined his entire weekend—the one weekend he had had off in almost three months—and now he had to go to U.A. and be wholly reminded of his failure as a teacher.

Ever since Midoriya had been rescued, class 1-A had been… restless. At first, they had all been ecstatic and overjoyed that Midoriya had been found—they thought things would go back to normal, but then they had seen the condition Midoriya was in. The truth of the situation had washed over the entire class, himself included, after seeing Midoriya; they had all realized that things were not okay, not in the slightest.

This wasn't like other times Midoriya had been injured. Midoriya was headstrong and stubborn as they come, but Shouta knew that what Midoriya had endured couldn't be mended overnight. The physical injuries might be able to heal in a week's time, but not the other kind of injuries: the mental scars. It would take time, lots of time, and even then there was no guarantee that Midoriya would ever be the same as before. Still, the class had stayed optimistic, but Shouta could tell, as the days dragged on, that that optimism was waning, giving way to fear and uncertainty.

However, they believed in Midoriya, and if nothing else, they would be there for him for as long as he needed. That thought was comforting. He knew there was something about this class that was different from others… They were closer than most, which was probably due to the fact that they had been through a lot more near-death experiences than other classes, but there was an undeniable kinship between his students this year. Yes, the more Shouta thought about it, the more he realized that this class had something unique, they were special. And, unsurprisingly so, this drive they all had, this passion, while it was all their own, it was guided by the two forerunners in the class.

Bakugo Katsuki was an explosive teen with… violent tendencies, but he was driven, and nothing was going to deter him from his path. The class followed that passion; they followed who they knew would lead them to glory.

And then there was the other leader of the class… Midoriya… his passion and caring nature was second to none. He was eager to learn and always more than willing to jump into the fray to save someone in need. He had the true makings of a hero, albeit the makings were utterly similar to a certain reckless hero… Midoriya was someone they could count on. No matter what happened, Midoriya always seemed to be there, in the thick of it. He was a shining light in the class, someone they could follow.

Now… that light had dimmed and even Bakugo's brashness had halted in its disappearance. Nobody had thought anything could stop Midoriya, he was headstrong, never let any setback keep him down for the count, but this was different.

How could anyone expect Midoriya… expect a kid to bounce back from something like that?

Shouta stifled a groan. Even thinking about it made his blood boil. Shouta didn't want to think about it; he wanted to forget about it, forget it ever happened, but he knew as soon as he got to U.A. the reality would still be there, ready to slam into him like a bus.

He hated it. He wasn't the kind of person who let this type of thing get to him. He'd seen this happen before, with kids even, but this time it was more personal. It hurt more because Midoriya wasn't just some kid he had rescued, Midoriya wasn't a kid who had been in a bad place, gotten in with the wrong crowd or just been unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, Midoriya hadn't been any of that… he had been targeted. The villains had set out to get him specifically.

It hurt more this time because this time, the villains had hurt one of his kids.

Whether Shouta acknowledged it or not, this year's class 1-A was different from past years… they had wormed their way past his exterior, and, albeit reluctantly, he had found himself more invested with them than any other class he'd taught.

It was quiet, and it had been for the past few hours. Inko was grateful for that. Yesterday had been trying, but necessary. She looked down to see Izuku was still sleeping soundly, for once. A small smile wove its way onto her face—she hadn't seen Izuku look this peaceful in a long while.

She hadn't moved from her position all night, not having the will to leave him, not after he had pleaded for her to stay. She couldn't do that to him. He needed her more than ever right now, and she was going to be there for him, no matter what.

Inko absentmindedly ran her fingers through Izuku's unruly hair. It was tranquil, she thought. Right now, she could pretend nothing was wrong. She could pretend that her son wasn't hurting, that he was okay… that she was okay.

The moment ended far too soon.

Izuku shifted positions before murmuring, "Mom…?"

She turned her gaze to him, to see he was still half asleep—just like when he was younger and didn't want to get up.

She ruffled his hair. "Mornin, honey. Did you sleep well?" she asked softly.

Izuku just nudged his head against her hand, "Five more minutes... Mm' tired," he slurred out, sleep worming its way in his voice.

"You can sleep as long as you want, Izuku. We don't have any plans for today," she replied easily.

Instead of answering, Izuku just curled into the sheets and went back to sleep. His breathing evened out, and Inko knew he'd fallen unconscious again.

She was happy that he was finally getting some sleep. These past few days had been difficult for the both of them. She knew, by the look in his tired eyes and the way he lethargically carried himself, that he hadn't been getting the proper amount of sleep. It was concerning. She hated seeing her only son, her baby, in so much agony that he couldn't even sleep properly. He tried to hide it—god did he try to hide it from her—but he wasn't the best actor; he never had been.

She recalled the times when he was in middle school. When he'd come home all bruised up with tears welling in his eyes as he stuttered out a feeble 'I tripped' and went to his room. She had called him out on it many times, worried for his safety, but each time he assured her it was an accident or that it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked.

She had never believed him.

His demeanor back then had always been so solemn and downcast. He had rarely smiled genuinely, there had been many times that he attempted to fool her with a flimsy, facsimile of a smile, but it was few and far between when those smiles reached his eyes… but then, things had changed.

When he got into U.A. Inko had noticed the change almost immediately. Izuku had always been shy and timid, it was part of his personality, but as time went on she could tell he was growing more confident, the shy timidness was giving way to overt determination. He still came home injured—by his own doing more often than not—but his melancholic demeanor had shifted into something more jovial.

Izuku had been happy.

There wasn't anything that could have made Inko more pleased. Her fears with him being in danger by attending the school were all quelled by the fact that finally, her baby boy was smiling. It was difficult, but she could deal with him coming home injured as long as he came home wearing that genuine smile.

Inko blamed herself more than anyone when Izuku went missing. It had been her fault that Izuku was even outside of campus that day… if it weren't for her, then maybe he wouldn't be in this situation right now.

Sighing, she tried to dispel those types of thoughts. It didn't matter how she felt right now, all she was concerned about was her baby boy. Right now, she was perfectly content with sitting here, with him resting soundly. It was nice; it was comforting. Inko wouldn't even mind if they remained like that all day. If it meant Izuku was getting some much-needed rest, then she would happily give up her day.

Unfortunately, she knew it wouldn't last nearly as long as she hoped it would, and the shifting bed told her that the moment was interrupted as Izuku had awakened again.

"Mom… what… uh, what day is it?"

There was curiosity, but also sadness lingering in the question. There was so much pain and resignation in Izuku's demeanor nowadays, just the way he asked questions as if he was afraid none of this was real, or that he was talking to no one. She wondered briefly, how many times he had called out into the darkness, asking for someone to remind him where he was only to be met with silence.

"It's Monday," she answered softly.

"Oh."

Inko couldn't say she liked the way his voice deflated at that. It wasn't necessarily alarming, but it was disheartening.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly, shifting up in bed so that he was sitting.

She adjusted herself so that she was in a more comfortable position while also allowing Izuku to shift himself up.

Izuku sighed. "I don't like this." Before Inko could respond, he continued, "It's Monday, and I should be in school, with my friends, learning about heroes, and how to be one… and—" bitterness overtook his voice "—and everything should just be normal, but it's not, and I'm not there… I'm here… sitting in bed pathetically clinging to a reality I can't even see anymore."

It hurt Inko a lot to see her son like this. It hurt, even more, knowing that she just wasn't capable of helping him in the way that he needed help.

"I know Izuku," she said, "I know you don't, but we'll take it one step at a time. Day by day, okay?"

Shouta didn't like how quiet his class was. Everyone was downtrodden, but a few in particular just looked downright beat. Iida had a reserved hesitance to him, while Uraraka looked like she might cry every time she glanced at Midoriya's vacant seat. Todoroki was stoic, but there was a frigid uncertainty to his demeanor. Kirishima was stealing glances at everyone and just looked miserable, but Bakugo… he was the worst.

It surprised Shouta, but it really shouldn't have. Midoriya and Bakugo had a complicated relationship, and in no way could they be called friends, but they were rivals. Shouta knew it would be a blow to Bakugo to see someone he considered his equal (or as close to an equal as Bakugo could call him) fall like that… it had to be frustrating. But… there was something else, pain and hatred in his red eyes.

Even Kaminari, who had shown nothing but absolute assuredness over Midriya's recovery, looked shaken. He would cast worried glances at Bakugo, before clandestinely (or Kaminari seemed to think it was) texting Mina something. Mina was much better at hiding her phone, but it was still rather obvious to him that they were texting each other.

Under normal circumstances, Shouta would have confiscated their phones, but right now he could barely get himself to teach. His mind was elsewhere, and frankly, there were better things he could be doing right now: namely, finding the villains who did this to Midoriya, to his class.

Those villains had taken so much more from his class than just one student.

And he wouldn't stand for it.

Izuku yawned as he sat down on the couch tentatively. All day he felt as though he had been walking on eggshells, eggshells that he couldn't even see. He was exhausted but mentally more than physically. Shadows were always sneaking up on him now, glimpses of horrors that were no longer a threat to him. He would have his moments where everything was fine, where he didn't feel this all-encompassing void that was swallowing him, but those moments were few and far between.

Even more so than his own woes, he was pushing his brokenness onto his mother. She was tired, he could tell by the way she talked, the way her footsteps sounded heavier.

This entire situation just sucked. It really, really sucked. They hadn't talked much this morning, and Izuku knew words weren't necessary right now. Izuku knew things weren't all right, that steps—steps he didn't necessarily want to take—would need to be taken.

It was obvious that he wasn't okay, that he wouldn't be okay, not on his own. And the help he needed… it wasn't something his mom or friends alone could give him. He knew that, but he still didn't like to think about it. Admitting he was too weak to deal with this by himself left a sour taste in his mouth. He had thought he was done being weak. He had been weak all his life—quirkless and useless—but then he was given a quirk. Given power to not be weak, to be the hero he always dreamed of being. And now that was all gone.

Now, he's back to being useless. Worse than useless even. His sight was gone, his body weak, and mind fractured. He was broken. Plain and simple.

But…

Even if he was broken, he couldn't give up. He couldn't. He wanted to get better, he wanted to be able to be a hero again, talk to his friends without fear,. Just be… be normal again. He wanted that, needed it. Even if it terrified him, even if it hurt his already shattered pride, he would do anything, anything, to get that semblance of normal back. He hated that things were tough right now, that it was draining not only him, but his mom to just… just to live. It was awful. He didn't want it to be like this forever. He couldn't have it be like this forever. He just couldn't.

Distantly, he could hear his mom in the kitchen. She was making lunch, a late lunch he thought, but couldn't be sure. He wasn't hungry, not really, but eating wasn't something he could just skip. He knew that… just the thought of food reminded him of that. Still, tempting as it may be to try and wriggle his way out of eating, that wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all him. It was just… it was an undesirable situation he was in, but he had to make the best of it. He had to… or it wouldn't get better. He wouldn't get better. And Izuku couldn't accept that. Not at all.

It didn't sit right with Ochako.

She was staring at his empty seat in class… and it wasn't right. Deku was… he was strong, stronger than anyone she had ever met, but he wasn't okay. He was hurting right now, and he needed them. Their last attempt to help him had been a bust. But that wouldn't stop her from trying.

They just needed to go about it better. A surprise visit probably wasn't the best idea. It was selfish on their part—the last thing Izuku needed was surprises, even if they were good. He needed normalcy, and more than that, Ochako realized, he might need the consistency.

She had been thinking about it a lot since then. She had thought visiting Deku would help, but it hadn't. Even before Deku had freaked out, something had been missing. It took her awhile to finally realize what it was.

She was trying to treat Deku the same as before. She had thought that if she treated him like normal then he would feel better, but honestly, Ochako knew in her heart that she had thought acting like normal would make things more normal for her. She hadn't really thought about Deku's needs. He didn't need the old normal, he wasn't the same as before.

Deku was the same person, but he was different too. He wasn't unbreakable, acting like he was wasn't going to help him.

Seeing him like that on Saturday… seeing him look so vulnerable really put it into perspective for her. Ochako knew she didn't need to treat him like he was broken, but she couldn't treat him like nothing was wrong either. She needed to adjust herself to him. He was still strong and resilient, just, right now, he needed help.

Help that she couldn't give, but also help that she could. She couldn't do everything, in fact, she knew there was really very little she could do, but even if it was only a little help she could offer, she would offer it. Deku deserved that much.

With that resolve set into her eyes, she turned to look at Iida. His complexion was conflicted. He was thinking about Saturday too, she could tell by his posture. Everyone in the class was tense, even the ones who hadn't seen Deku nearly as much if at all. The air itself was just tense. It would be for a while, at least until Deku was back.

When she turned to see Todoroki, he was glaring at his desk. Just glaring. Ochako knew he wasn't mad. He was upset, but he looked more frustrated than anything. Frustrated with himself maybe? She didn't know.

She sure was frustrated with herself. This entire situation was frustrating. Wanting to help but not knowing how was the worst.

Her frustration wouldn't stop her though. It couldn't. If she could help Deku, then she would. She went over to Iida's desk, grabbing Todoroki's attention and motioning him over as well.

"We need to help Deku," she said.

Iida and Todoroki both nodded, but Todoroki looked more unsure than anything.

"How? You saw him… He's not…" Todoroki lingered, looking down.

Iida filled in for him, "His condition is beyond our abilities, Uraraka, but I feel the same way as you. We cannot simply leave him alone. He needs us right now."

"What can we do? You saw him… I can't— He can't even stand the sound of my voice, how can I help him?"

"We just have to change the way we go about it is all. We tried to treat him normally like nothing happened, but something did happen. He's different, and we can't erase that," Ochako said, voice filled with emotion, "but that's why we have to help. We're his friends so we have to find a way to get through to him."

Iida and Todoroki both nodded. No matter what, they were going to come up with a plan to help Deku. They were his friends, and they weren't going to abandon him.

Mar 27 Hospital Movie Night - Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Good news: Prowl has been repaired—no more farting all his thoughts everywhere. Bad news: the sedative hasn’t worn off and he’s still a little loopy. Words are strange and occasionally fun to repeat. There’s a blep.

NoodlesAtNight: ((where would you like it set, i have no pref)) Shockbox: (( Hello noodle friend, and the law.)) NoodlesAtNight: ((hiya!)) Shockbox: (( Been a while. But I am still alive.)) Shockbox: (( Ah, are we watching this at Dancitron?)) Prowl: ((wherever you prefer)) NoodlesAtNight: ((then i'm gonna be selfish one more time on behalf of muse and say random hospital space)) NoodlesAtNight: *So in that case, Soundwave's fussing over getting things positioned just right. Nobody wants to be unable to hear the audio.* Airachnid: sorry computer is acting up)) NoodlesAtNight: ((no problem)) Shockbox: *Shockwave enters the medical facility once again, and observes Soundwave fiddling with some equipment. He takes the same seat he took last time.* Airachnid: [is going to sneak in quietly and take a seat in the back] NoodlesAtNight: *Small feeler wave at them both.* Shockbox: *A small nod back as he leans back into his chair.* Pipes: ((aight rabbit... let's see how good you'll be oday)) Shockbox: *Work has been physically taxing, as of late. He appreciates the chance to sit.* Chaoit: -is on time for once- NoodlesAtNight: *Nods at Whirl and Blaster and takes his seat. Four minutes.* Chaoit: -waves back- Prowl: *prowl's coming in style today. ... if "riding a hover-wheelchair" counts as "in style." Hook's accompanying him and the patch over his right optic has been replaced with a larger one. he looks slightly out of it. but, he's here!* NoodlesAtNight: *Soundwave nods to both Prowl - oh good, they've got the optic fixed in time for that baseball game - and Hook, who is also welcome to stay.* Pipes: ((if this is in the hospitl there's really no point in my bringin whirl, SO PIPES IT IS)) Pipes: ((...except it won't let me change me name)) Chaoit: -At least Prowl's recovering?- NoodlesAtNight: [[He is told this has humans defying physics, a jade turbofox, and intrigue. We will see.]] Prowl: *hook kicks a chair out of the way to park prowl next to soundwave, then sits on his other side.* Hook: Prowl's just outta surgery, so nobody go stressin' him. NoodlesAtNight: ((Pipes then!)) NoodlesAtNight: *Soundwave nods at Hook again.* [[Understood.]] Chaoit: Got it. Prowl: Hook: ... Physics-defyin' might stress him. *prowl waves a hand vaguely at hook and mumbles about fantasy* Pipes: ((welp if it will ot change just know... this be Pipes)) Prowl: ((o7)) Airachnid: [she's going to watch Prowl for a moment] Shockbox: *So the Autobot returns...and appears to be less verbal this time. Shockbox is quietly thankful for this.* Pipes: *scuttles inn glances at the screen, and then attempts to find a seat discreetly* Pipes: *near Prowl, if it is available, of course* Prowl: *the seats on either side of prowl are taken, but pipes can sit in front. prowl mumbles a greeting* Pipes: *waves* Hey, Prowl! You doing okay? *he will take a seat elsewhere, then* Pipes: ((i'll be a bit back and forth i gotta make my dinner)) Prowl: M'fine. Ish. Head's fuzzy. Prowl: Hook: Jus' the sedative wearin' off. *leans over to pat Prowl's shoulder.* NoodlesAtNight: @Shockwave: [[You seem to value the chance to sit.]] Pipes: Are y--oh! Okay. Thanks for the heads-up. Chaoit: ...straight talking? Pipes: I hope you feel better soon, Prowl. NoodlesAtNight: [[Straight talking. Frank speech. Open honestness.]] Shockbox: @Soundwave: I do. It has admittedly been a while since I have had a moment to relax my joints. Prowl: Mm. Yeah. Same. Chaoit: Yeah, but what did he mean that about those two? Prowl: *slllooowwly leans over onto soundwave. and sllliiides an arm around his.* Shockbox: *Wow Prowl. Quite the smooth operator you are.* NoodlesAtNight: [[They like each other and will not say so. He wishes it to be otherwise.]] Chaoit: Oh. Prowl: *as smoothed as a drugged brain surgery patient can be* Chaoit: Really? NoodlesAtNight: *Soundwave glances at Hook while adjusting to make sure Prowl doesn't overbalance his chair. This is okay?* NoodlesAtNight: @Shockwave: [[May he ask why?]] Prowl: *hook leans over to grab at prowl in case he's falling over—but no. no. he seems okay. all the same, hook's keeping a tight grip on his arm rest.* NoodlesAtNight: [[So the older human says. We will see if he is right.]] Chaoit: -Prowl? Are you...okay?- Prowl: Mmno. M'drugged. Prowl: Hook: Like I said. Sedative. It'll wear off soon enough. NoodlesAtNight: *Soundwave spots an unfamiliar bot. He nods, and lets Buzzsaw off to keep an eye on them.* Pipes: ((okay baxk for real real. which one of y'all wants to be the person who gets Pipesenated. He's gonna sit with one of u clowns)) Chaoit: He...well, okay then Shockbox: @Soundwave: Hm. My liege has made a particularly tall order, and requires this most recent project to be finished within an Earthen 'month'. I have been preoccupied with that as well as ensuring that I complete enough to make room in my schedule for these gatherings. NoodlesAtNight: ((wb snif. may i suggest the newbie?)) Prowl: ... Oh no. Think they—messed up my—trajectory-track... brain... thing. NoodlesAtNight: *Quietly alarmed buzz.* (txt): Why? Chaoit: !! Prowl: Hook: Naw. S'just the movie. Fantasy, remember? Pipes: *also looks over in silent concern* Prowl: ..................... Right. Pipes: Oh, yeah--yeah, if that's throwing you off, it's just because of their cinematography. Chaoit: -phew- Airachnid: Yes yes, it is very interesting. NoodlesAtNight: @Shockwave: [[Interesting. And the purpose of this project?]] Chaoit: in which prowl scares almost the entire room)) Prowl: ((prowl scared HIMSELF)) Chaoit: ((even BETTER)) Chaoit: She lost the sword.... Airachnid: How unfortunate. Shockbox: @Soundwave: Classified. I assure you, these matters are of little concern to the rest of the multiverse. NoodlesAtNight: @Shockwave: [[Of course. He was merely curious.]] Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Comfortably perched on a rafter above, taloned pedes clasped tightly onto the metal beam to help keep his crouched form secure* Shockbox: *As is to be expected, from a Soundwave. Shockbox pings back acknowledgement.* Prowl: ... Tha'swhy I'm bad at punching and handwriting. Xx_Killstreak_xX: -secure.* Pipes: Whatcha mean? Prowl: *gestures at movie* Said it is in the wrist. Got not good wrists. Cold. NoodlesAtNight: *Lifts his free arm.* [[No wrist at all.]] *Amused.* Pipes: Oh! Well. I feel you there. Pipes: ((rabbit is absolutely never gonna let me change this. this horrible pipes and whirl amalgam. Whipes)) NoodlesAtNight: *As long as the Seeker does not start shredding up the rafter like some sort of bird* Prowl: What is your handwriting good? Pipes: *was..... that directed at SW or Pipes or both... or* Prowl: *grammar's not 100% back* Prowl: *It Is A Mystery.mp3* Airachnid: Well, I have wrists that work well, and my handwriting is immaculate. Pipes: *will tentatively answer* No... it's legible. That's the best I can say for it. Chaoit: ...maybe it only applies to humans? NoodlesAtNight: [[You keep that in common with your late alternate, Airachnid.]] Airachnid: At some decent things I share with my alternate. At least I didn't share her demise. Pipes: *he knows your feel Airachnid* Pipes: *though he's just mostly sad about that whole disaster* Prowl: *paps Soundwave's arm* Your handwriting? Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Watches on with quiet interest, long elf like audio receptors perked forward.* NoodlesAtNight: *Looks over. Oh, his?* Airachnid: [she doesn't care about her alternate] NoodlesAtNight: [[He prefers to type. It is more legible when Rumble and Frenzy are docked... but he can keep it neat, if plain, if he is slow. His feelers will hold the instrument in an emergency.]] Chaoit: -snorts- The frozen guy is bad with fighting. Pipes: *Pipes does, but he is... different from you in a lot of ways, Airachnid* Prowl: Yes. I write... *hold on. hold on. he'll find the word.* blockfully, when slow. NoodlesAtNight: *Ah. Perhaps not the best death to show under the circumstances.* Pipes: Oh. Ouch. Chaoit: ... Xx_Killstreak_xX: ..... Chaoit: -no, not the best- Prowl: *prowl didn't process it.* Airachnid: [she was watching him to see his reaction, she is disappointed] Chaoit: .... NoodlesAtNight: [[Clever human.]] Chaoit: Quick reflexes for being 'untrained' Prowl: ... Soundwaves. *points at the movie* When did they switch to Polish? I don't process Polish right now. NoodlesAtNight: *Doesn't correct his name. Prowl can't help that right now.* [[They are not speaking Polish. Are your audio settings correct?]] Chaoit: He's playing with her Prowl: *baffled blink. ... and another baffled blink.* It's not? Chaoit: Or teaching? Airachnid: Possibly both. NoodlesAtNight: [[Both, he thinks, Blaster.]] NoodlesAtNight: [[No. The audio is in English.]] Chaoit: Most likely Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Glances down at Prowl from his rafter perch with a confused tilt of his helm.* Prowl: No. I process English. Xx_Killstreak_xX: -of his helm.* NoodlesAtNight: [[You are still hearing it?]] *Pings Hook. Is this a side effect?* Pipes: Um... *looks to Hook* Is that normal? Pipes: ((PFF)) Airachnid: [she's just going to chuckle to herself] Prowl: *hooks got a... slightly puzzled look on his face.* Hook: Usually it's the uh... higher-level stuff that comes back last. Like common sense. Chillsins: *Arrives fashionably late.* NoodlesAtNight: *Nods at Windchill* Pipes: *waves at Windchill!* Pipes: So is this... should we take him to go see someone? Is he gonna be okay...? Prowl: Hook: But boss is kinda unique. Maybe that includes languages for him? Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Looks at the new arrival quietly before turning his attention back to a confused Prowl.* Prowl: *grumble grumble* Words are hard. Chillsins: *Waves at the room in general, if he looks more bleary-eyed than usual just ignore it.* NoodlesAtNight: *Will provide a summary of what has passed and ever so slightly delayed dialogue then.* Prowl: Hook: Yeah boss. I know. *pats his leg* Don't think it'll be a problem unless it continues after the sedative finishes wearing off. Pipes: *nods* All right... Airachnid: Sedatives certainly are... something. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Nods in agreement with Airachnid.* Pipes: It seems pretty odd, yeah. I don't speak from experience, though... *shrugs* Chillsins: *He'll sit down near the back of the room, you're welcome.* Pipes: I can't actually have 'em. Chillsins: Gotta sit on the floor, with the rest of the filth. NoodlesAtNight: [[Why is that?]] Chillsins: *Seems interested in the horses at least.* NoodlesAtNight: [[Do not be ridiculous. You are not restricted to the floor.]] Prowl: Filth. Chaoit: Oh dear Prowl: Fiilth. Airachnid: Likewise... [doesn't know Pipe's designation but shares that too] Chillsins: *Ears perk up at the word 'filth'* Pipes: My fuel system. I've got a small tank but I was built to travel long distances, so in order for that to work, the whole system's extremely efficient. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Jumps in surprise from the sudden human war cries.* Prowl: Ffffilthhhff. Pipes: So, chemicals like that either don't w-... *watches Prowl for a moment* NoodlesAtNight: *Glances between Pipes and Airachnid, then looks at Prowl again* Pipes: Either don't work or make me crash. But, hey, on the plus side, I couldn't get addicted to circuit speeders, ever. Chillsins: *Well if Prowl's gonna make weird sounds then he is too.* Airachnid: [she's going to chuckle at what Prowl is doing] Pipes: *looks to Airachnid* Oh? Chaoit: ....crazy girl Chillsins: PBBBBBBBBBBBBT. NoodlesAtNight: *Quietly amused huff. Poor Prowl. He knows what playing with words is like after surgery.* NoodlesAtNight: [[And you, Airachnid? Your systems are like PIpes'?]] Prowl: Ffffffllthb. *blep.* NoodlesAtNight: *...maybe captures that* Airachnid: Somewhat. But my systems do not handle it well, so I do not take them. I merely disable the pain sensors and hope for the best. NoodlesAtNight: *What a fighter, this human.* Prowl: *cannot unblep* Chillsins: *Raises brows* Chaoit: ....a comb NoodlesAtNight: *Will carefully hover a feeler in front of Prowl's mouth to hide that.* Chaoit: She...is...persistent NoodlesAtNight: [[It is an admirable trait.]] Chillsins: Her clothes are dirty now. Pipes: So, question--how well can YOU handle high grade? Are you a lightweight, or can you drink anyone under the table? Chaoit: True, but look at the trouble she just got herself into Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Is confused by the way the two humans interact.* NoodlesAtNight: ((lbr this is whirl's idea of a good romance)) Prowl: *... kisslicks it. or squishes his face against it.* Chaoit: Does she even know the way back to her mother? Pipes: ((PFF)) Pipes: ((MEET ME IN THE DESERT FOR AN ASS WHOOPIN)) Airachnid: I do not handle it very well, I am described as a lightweight yes. NoodlesAtNight: *Soundwave abruptly sits up vERY STRAIGHT* Pipes: That's interesting! It's the opposite, for me. Pipes: *a bit proudly* I can probably out-drink everyone in the room. Well... *looks over* May not my pal Windchill over there. Chaoit: ....? Xx_Killstreak_xX: *The masked seeker glances down at the TIC with an air of amusement.* Prowl: *loSES HIS GRIP. hook leans over and snatches him back upright.* Chillsins: *Peers at Pipes out of the corner of his EYEBALL.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -amusement.* NoodlesAtNight: *Alarmed!!!! Thanks Hook and uses the feeler to help readjust Prowl. Did not mean to do that.* Chillsins: I concede. Pipes: Unless you're secretly a lightweight, too? Pipes: Well, hey! Looks like I win by forfeit! Prowl: *a baffled and startled blep* Airachnid: I never liked the taste and the idea of drinking high grade anyhow, so I am not missing out on much. Chaoit: ...wow Chillsins: *nods. That's not even a contest he wants to win.* NoodlesAtNight: *Will just... keep this feeler around him for stability and resume hiding the blep. Even if that means getting licked again.* Chaoit: ....it all looks the same... Chillsins: *And wise people DEFINITELY don't want him to compete.* NoodlesAtNight: [[He does not drink high grade either.]] Chaoit: that poor horse)) Prowl: *considers it* NoodlesAtNight: [[Humans do not have GPS systems. She will become lost.]] Chaoit: She did. Chillsins: Deja vu, much? Chillsins: *He's pretty sure he just saw this happen* Prowl: *something tells him face squishing the noodle has a 100% probability of making him fall over again. maybe not.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Let's out a confused click as he turned his attention back to the human made Xx_Killstreak_xX: video feed.* Chaoit: -okay it is more entertaining to watch Prowl than the movie right now- Pipes: *sighs* And this is going to be the romance, isn't it? Pipes: I'm not liking it. Prowl: *hook reaches over and gently pushes prowl's tongue back in his mouth* Chillsins: I have no idea what's going on. No comment. Airachnid: [she's watching Prowl more than the movie] NoodlesAtNight: *Appreciated. There are things he doesn't think it's his place to do.* Pipes: He led a band of raiders to attack the caravan she was traveling in. Chillsins: *Immediately looks irritated* Pipes: If I'm not mistaken, people got killed. People she knew. And she chased him to get her comb back. Pipes: And somehow *waves a hand at the screen irritably* Their antagonism is romance. NoodlesAtNight: *And he's not terribly interested in this on-screen romance either. He is, however, interested in whether she'll get that comb back.* Chaoit: -just thinks this is amusing to watch- Chillsins: To be fair, if somebody stole my shit I might try to kill them too. Pipes: I mean, I hate to be hyper-critical but surely a decent, wholesome romance can't be THAT hard to write, right? Pipes: Exactly! I think she was well within her rights to chase him down. Prowl: Killing is mean. Airachnid: Yes. Mean. Pipes: Yep, it absolutely is. Chillsins: *nods* Chaoit: Yeah Prowl: ... Mmmean. Chillsins: *He is mean though* Prowl: Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeen. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Killstreak quietly moves, now hanging upside down from his rafter perch, a series of soft clicks escaping him.* Airachnid: [don't mind her, she's just going to laugh more loudly than she should] Chillsins: I suppose I've seen worse romances. Pipes: I've definitely seen better. Pipes: God only knows what his bandits did to her mother, in the meantime. This is dreadful. Chillsins: People bond over the weirdest things. Xx_Killstreak_xX: -clicks escaping him.* Prowl: Mnnn. Pipes: Okay, okay. I'll stop being such a downer. Chillsins: *Makes gagging sounds.* Chillsins: What the hell. Chaoit: Ew Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Covers his visor at the display of human affection.* Chillsins: Excuses... Chillsins: I don't see why people can't imagine love stories without needless suffering and drama. Chillsins: *points* Chillsins: Horse. Chillsins: *He's going to be distracted by horses now.* Prowl: *prowl replies, quite articulately and reasonably,* Mean. Chaoit: -sighs- NoodlesAtNight: [[Agreed.]] Chaoit: ...so, that was a no Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Uncovers his visor and continues to watch from his upside down position.* Prowl: *hook leans over and taps Prowl* Hook: Your grammar's regressin'. Think you could try sayin' a full sentence? Xx_Killstreak_xX: -upside down position.* Prowl: *gives hook as steady a look as he can manage, and says, with great dignity and certainty,* A full sentence. NoodlesAtNight: *Considers this.* Prowl: Hook: ... Yeah, I'll take that. Chillsins: *Applauds Prowl's efforts quietly, in the background.* NoodlesAtNight: [[Technically, a fragment, but following the rules.]] Chaoit: -snorting and trying to keep from laughing- Chillsins: That is way too many people to pack into one place. Chaoit: That...Prowl did do as asked. Chillsins: I don't even like looking at it. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Trills in amusement at Windchill's statement, nodding in agreement.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -agreement.* Prowl: This is an egregious violation of fire safety codes. Chillsins: Good job, they're clearing out. Chillsins: Nice stage names, boys. NoodlesAtNight: [[Destroying property as well.]] Chaoit: They're wrecking the place Chillsins: ...Lame. Chillsins: PFFFT. NoodlesAtNight: [[That looks like a lot of traces to him.]] Chillsins: *nods. His thoughts exactly* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -Decides to come down and join the others below, feeling a bit more comfortable being around them.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -them.* Chillsins: I have to respect that level of buttkicking and destruction, but come on. NoodlesAtNight: *Nods to Killstreak.* Prowl: *baffled look* Prowl: *somebody just appeared out of nowhere* NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: (txt): New mech hiding above until now. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Greets the spymaster with a soft click, giving a slight bow of his helm, doing the same to Prowl before sitting comfortably on his knee plates.* Prowl: *baffled stare continues* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -knee plates.* NoodlesAtNight: *Pleased by the little bit of respect. Looks back to Prowl, curious.* [[Something is wrong?]] Prowl: *whispers* Where. Did. He. Come. From. Prowl: *look, he's remembered how to whisper* NoodlesAtNight: *Pleased! An improvement.* NoodlesAtNight: *Points to the perch spot on the ceiling with his free arm.* Prowl: *looks up. blinks.* Chillsins: *He's rooting for the older lady.* NoodlesAtNight: *As is he.* Prowl: *... blinks again.* Chaoit: -same- Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Looks up at Prowl from his position on the floor, tilting his helm at the mech before letting out a quiet croon of confusion.* NoodlesAtNight: [[They are no longer there. They have joined us.]] *lowers arm to point at Killstreak.* Prowl: *baffled look at the noise* NoodlesAtNight: ((that right there is my favorite bit of the entire movie. the one that's too heavy to lift.)) Chillsins: (( I IRL snorted )) Prowl: ((i liked it)) Pipes: ((if only i could have seen it :') hanks rabbit)) Chaoit: ((saaaaaame Xx_Killstreak_xX: //Pfft, do you even lift bra? XD// Chaoit: Idiot child Chillsins: I'm not entirely sure that's how physics work. Prowl: It is not. Prowl: It is very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very wrong. Chillsins: *Actually laughs at this NONSENSE.* Chillsins: I didn't know this was a comedy. Pipes: It is kind of... uh. Goofy looking. Airachnid: It is, but I feel like you have suspend your disbelief to enjoy this film. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Watches the human made video feed in amusement.* Pipes: I'm just saying that they could have picked a better time to do this scene than a dramatic moment. Prowl: I suspend my disbelief every day of my life just to deal with all of you. Give me physics. Pipes: It kinda detracts from it. Chillsins: The more dramatic something gets the more hilarious. Chillsins: This is just making it that much better. Airachnid: But overall yes, it does seem rather silly. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Covers his mask in an attempt to suppress his laughter at Prowl's statement.* Chillsins: gun fingers, my kinda guy. Chaoit: -siiiigh- crazy lady Shockbox: *He's honestly too tired to pick at the awful physics very much. himself.* Chillsins: Keep a firm grip on your sword at all times. Chillsins: Firmly grasp it. Shockbox: *It is fiction, just like most other human media, this is ridiculous.* NoodlesAtNight: [[It is only an external weapon.]] Chillsins: Get on your knees and grasp the sword. Chillsins: Firmly. NoodlesAtNight: *Suspects Windchill is being lewd* Chillsins: *He's always being lewd.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: Brrt!... *Static escapes his vocalizer at Windchill's words.* Chillsins: *Though he would agree that her internal weapons are pretty weak at this point.* NoodlesAtNight: *Then an outside one will do her little good.* Chillsins: *And yet, she won't let it go.* Prowl: *leans on soundwave's arm again* Chillsins: *Raises hand* Prowl: Snd. NoodlesAtNight: *Carefully supports/leans.* Chillsins: I want a version of this that's just the scenery. Chaoit: ... NoodlesAtNight: [[Snd...?]] NoodlesAtNight: [[A scenery version would be... interesting.]] Prowl: Snndwave. Airachnid: [chuckling at Prowl] NoodlesAtNight: [[Ah. Yes?]] Prowl: Yes. Chaoit: So, no romance, all tragedy NoodlesAtNight: *....This is not the ending he had hoped for.* NoodlesAtNight: [[You wished to say something?]] Airachnid: Good. Prowl: Yes. Chillsins: Have you ever seen Chinese cinema? NoodlesAtNight: [[What were you going to say?]] Chillsins: It's all like this. Prowl: Soundwave. Chaoit: Chinese cinema? Chaoit: I've seen...um...cartoons? Chaoit: And horror movies? Airachnid: I don't watch human cinema often, I'm rather busy. Chaoit: Things like that, so...no? Chillsins: Your surprise is warranted, then. Chillsins: Wowie. Chillsins: I... Pipes: Th-there she goes. Chillsins: She's gone. Pipes: Farewell, flying woman... Chillsins: Good riddance. Chaoit: ....um.... Airachnid: ...alright. Pipes: That was... unsatisfying. Pipes: But on the technical side, pretty impressive. NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: (txt): Name only? Other sentences not intended? *He's not sure if Prowl was going to complain about the movie or just wanted his attention or what* Shockbox: *Seems satisfied, but doesn't seem to have been paying the film much attention either.* Prowl: Name only. NoodlesAtNight: [[A depressing ending.]] Shockbox: *It is nice to just sit down.* Chaoit: Right, okay then, that made no sense at the end NoodlesAtNight: *Nods to Prowl then. Coils the feeler a smidge tighter.* Pipes: Well I meant... all of it. All of it was kind of unsatisfying. Pipes: But maybe it's just not my kinda movie.! Chillsins: I thought the horses were satisfying. Chaoit: It was...interesting? Pipes: They were great horses. Prowl: I. Prowl: Did not understand a damn thing. Airachnid: Yes, it was... interesting. But that's abut it. NoodlesAtNight: *Soft huff* Pipes: Anyway, Prowl, I hope you feel better soon! *hops up* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Lets out a confused trill at the movie's ending.* Pipes: I'll try and come visit you again in the next few days. Chillsins: I'm missing a lot of context. Maybe I'll watch the whole thing later. NoodlesAtNight: [[It -was- somewhat confusing.]] Prowl: Okay. Chillsins: (( I, too, will probably watch the whole thing later when I can actually hear it. )) Chaoit: I have no idea what to make of that movie Pipes: G'night everyone! Catch you later! Chaoit: G'night! Airachnid: Goodnight. NoodlesAtNight: [[Goodnight, Pipes.]] Chillsins: *Waves at Pipes.* Chillsins: *Bye bye!* NoodlesAtNight: ((yeah, i'm sorry it was so quiet?? it was louder when it wasn't played through rabbit....)) Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Chirps a farewell.* NoodlesAtNight: [[It was, if nothing else, visually interesting.]] Shockbox: *Ah, but now the film has ended...Shockbox gets up to leave. Unlike Pipes, he is not one to announce his departure.* NoodlesAtNight: *Shockwave gets a nod anyway* Shockbox: *He appreciates that, tired as he is.* Pipes: *waves to all who waved to him, and scuttles off* Shockbox: ((Goodnight.)) NoodlesAtNight: ((night)) Airachnid: [she's going to sneak off, until next time] NoodlesAtNight: *Goodnight, Miss Spide* NoodlesAtNight: *Looks at Hook* [[Should he rest now? He does not have your medical expertise.]] Prowl: ... Did I say anything about fluff? NoodlesAtNight: [[Fluff? No.]] Prowl: Hook: Doctors said he oughta stay awake until the sedative's out of his system. Chillsins: (( Rabbit likes to be weird with stream sounds. One time I watched a horror film and all we could hear was the rustling of cornfields, footsteps, dogs panting, etc. Dialogue and music was nigh absent. It was surreal. )) NoodlesAtNight: *Wants to ask why that was a question. NEEDS to ask why. Mustn't ask why.* Prowl: Good. I can think private thoughts again. NoodlesAtNight: ((Ooooh okay. If that ever happens that bad, y'all let me know, okay?)) Chaoit: ...... Prowl: ((interesting atmosphere for a horror tho)) Chillsins: (( I think we'll all know if it gets that bad. :') I'm just saying, sometimes it makes for QUITE AN EXPERIENCE... )) Chillsins: (( Exactly. We could only follow the plot through visual cues. )) NoodlesAtNight: ((a good point)) Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Brings his knees to his chest plates, wrapping his arms around them before laying his helm on top of them with a soft click.* NoodlesAtNight: [[Then he will stay here to assist with that.]] NoodlesAtNight: [[And you - new one. What is your designation and faction?]] Prowl: Why did you come out of the ceiling? NoodlesAtNight: [[And that.]] NoodlesAtNight: *In the meantime, he's going to test that private thought thing - safely, of course. He wants to make sure Prowl doesn't think a one-off is a full recovery of thought-filtering* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Audio receptors perk forward at this before a very soft but raspy voice answered almost hesitantly.* Des-signation Killstreak...Decepticon Spy and Scout.....Reason for behaviour:...Uncomfortable in large groups... Chillsins: *Stretches all two of his legs in succession.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -large groups... Chillsins: You and everyone else, new kid. Prowl: *very softly* bad. NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: (txt): Safe filter confirmation test suggested. Question: Hook, Autobot? If yes, say 'true'. If no, think word 'Decepticon' without speaking. NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: Reassurance: Soundwave not listening. Unspoken word, only proof. Prowl: *squints at soundwave* ... huh? *that's a complicated set of instructions there* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *He clicked in annoyance at Windchill. He was most certainly no youngling, even if he didn't remember his own age, he has been estimated to be between 6-7 million years of age.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: - 6-7 million years of age.* NoodlesAtNight: *Still too much? All right. Try again:* (txt): Simplification: Think Hook faction without speaking. Chillsins: *Get used to being very annoyed with him, all the time.* Chaoit: -once again just watching everything- Chillsins: *He puts on his most innocent face.* NoodlesAtNight: [[You will not be harmed here, Killstreak, if you do not harm others. These are neutral meetings.]] Prowl: *thinks hook's faction very hard. soundwave now has a chevron pressed against his upper arm. prowl is Concentrating.* NoodlesAtNight: *Hmm, satisfying.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *The seeker clicked quietly before nodding. He couldn't help it, he was a naturally anxious and cautious mech.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -cautious mech.* NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: (txt): Prowl test ended. Prowl: *hook leans over the hover-chair* Hook: You okay there, boss? Don't hurt your patch. NoodlesAtNight: *Soundwave taps his chevron at Hook. He's pretty sure no part of the patch is touching him. Will help Prowl sit upright if need be though.* Prowl: *no, no. prowl's got it. sorta. he sits upright-ish and looks at hook.* Decepticon. NoodlesAtNight: *...So close.* Prowl: Hook: ... S'right, boss. *pats his shoulder* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Hidden optics dim slightly behind the cover of the mech's visor as he relaxed slightly.* NoodlesAtNight: @Hook: [[His filter control seems to only be working if he is not looking at the subject.]] NoodlesAtNight: @Hook: [[Be mindful of that.]] Chillsins: *Stretches with a loud grunt. Stretching, STRETCHING back until he falls over with a thud. Good. He will collect more germs that way.* NoodlesAtNight: *Turns to look at Windchill* NoodlesAtNight: [[...Would a berth not be more comfortable?]] Chillsins: Probably. Chillsins: I haven't seen one in my size since... Prowl: No. *covers audials* Chillsins: Well, it was a long time ago. Prowl: *without his grip on soundwave, starts slowly tilting* NoodlesAtNight: *Oh no you don't. Feeler coil posture correction* Chillsins: *He can think of a specific incident, but he doesn't measure time in numbers so there's no point in trying to explain it.* NoodlesAtNight: [[You could pull several together.]] Prowl: *hook reaches out to correct him, but soundwave's got it.* NoodlesAtNight: *Cautious but gentle tendril pet? The thud noise is gone.* Chillsins: *Ignores Soundwave for a half second to start bicycling his footies in the air.* NoodlesAtNight: *So that's where Whirl gets it.* Chillsins: Do I look the kind of guy who can afford beds? Chillsins: (( I'm scared to ask what whirl gets tbh. )) NoodlesAtNight: ((the random foot bicycling)) NoodlesAtNight: [[There is plenty of rubble on the planet. Some may be repurposed.]] Chillsins: (( My god. Windchill does it once or twice every year real time so maybe it is. Another unfortunate parallel. )) Chillsins: I'm not going to Cybertron just to get sleeping rubble, if that's what you're suggesting. NoodlesAtNight: [[Suit yourself.]] Chillsins: Suiting has nothing to do with it, but thanks. I will. NoodlesAtNight: *Nods.* Chillsins: Besides, Earth trash is way more accessible. Chillsins: *It might also explain the smell???* Prowl: *what smell* Chillsins: *It's a smelly smell* Prowl: *can't relate* Chillsins: *Come over here and smell for yourself I dare u* Prowl: *is smell-sensor free* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Killstreak carefully stretched out his slender wings, hearing a small pop as the tension in his wing nubs was released.* Chillsins: *You lucky dog, Prowl.* Prowl: *no luck. he had to get surgery.* Prowl: *... specifically, to get rid of his smell-sensors. not today's surgery. different surgery.* NoodlesAtNight: *And because I forgot to add this up there a while back* @Prowl: (txt): Temporary visual contact break suggested if hidden thought target nearby. Sight cue still interrupting filter. Prowl: Is it? NoodlesAtNight: *And Soundwave smells the smell but he's known Astrotrain for so long it barely bothers him* NoodlesAtNight: *Small nod* Chillsins: *Good job now you can't smell his armpits.* Chillsins: *Don't worry, he only smells like a landfill some of the time.* Chillsins: *He always smells like bug sex though, an unfortunate reality for anyone with the sniffer to sniff it.* Chillsins: *Like Whirl.* Chillsins: *That sucker.* NoodlesAtNight: *He does not, thankfully, know what that smells like.* NoodlesAtNight: *Well, he does, because Ravage will have smelled it, but he doesn't know what it IS, so.* Prowl: *never discovered what that smell is before his sniffer was disabled* Chillsins: *A blessing.* Chillsins: *Stops pedaling to roll onto his front. It involves many stages of grunting and clumsiness. Behold.* NoodlesAtNight: *Records* Chillsins: *Have some posterior for posterity.* Prowl: *has kind of stopped paying attention to reality for the moment* NoodlesAtNight: *Is this a noticeable unfocus* Prowl: *kind of. he's staring vaguely at nothing and moving toward half-asleep* NoodlesAtNight: *No! No sleeping. Not yet. Hook said.* NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: (txt): Soundwave may see patch closer? Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Green biolights begin to glow as the seeker fell into recharge, his helm resting comfortably on top of his knee plates. It seems four months of no recharge has finally caught up with the spy/scout.* NoodlesAtNight: *Four months? An admirable span. They can stay there. Soundwave will see they're moved elsewhere by staff once the night is over.* Prowl: *sleepy blinks, then optic brightens.* Okay. *shuffles a bit more upright so Soundwave can see his face* Chillsins: *He stands proudly, having finally made it to his feet.* Chillsins: *Nice going, he can barely stand to be awake for four hours.* Prowl: *the shape of the patch pretty clearly indicates that there's at least a bit of face missing underneath it. Some cutting was necessary.* NoodlesAtNight: [[Congratulations, Windchill. You have beaten the Earth turtle he once saw.]] Chillsins: Thank you, I worked really hard on it. Chaoit: -yawns and stretches- NoodlesAtNight: *Begins mapping this on his screen. He's going to be checking once it's all fixed up to make sure Prowl's face is well repaired* NoodlesAtNight: (txt): This, last repair needed? NoodlesAtNight: *Can hear Blaster yawning. Wonders if he'll be snoozing like the others soon.* Prowl: They have to fix my face in a few days. And cracks in my optics. Chaoit: -Tempted, but he'd rather not scare his friends back in his own timeline- NoodlesAtNight: (txt): Patched optic not repaired during retrieval? NoodlesAtNight: *Oh, yes, that would be a good idea not to do that. He'd rather not be the reason 10 mechs come in with guns looking for a potential murderer* Prowl: No. They just got it out. Chillsins: *That sounds very exciting though.* Chaoit: -Let's not. Jazz is worth about 10 himself- NoodlesAtNight: *Unfortunately (and reluctantly) agreed.* NoodlesAtNight: (txt): After face, optic repair, recovery, no other repairs needed? Health restored, stay here complete? Chaoit: -Okay, he's getting up...in a moment- Chillsins: Okay, you guys...I'm going home. Chaoit: -waves- NoodlesAtNight: [[Travel well.]] Prowl: Maybe. Prowl: I hope so. Chillsins: Remember, horses are good. NoodlesAtNight: [[It has been logged.]] Chillsins: *He might be vaguely implying that he behaves better when distracted by ponies, but it's barely true.* NoodlesAtNight: *Windchill and his late Megatron both.* Chillsins: *That kind of pony, not so much.* Prowl: ((fffff. the ponies.)) Chillsins: *Their high pitched voices make him restless.* NoodlesAtNight: *Most of him is pleased to hear that. Prowl has spent far too long in a state of disrepair. He deserves to be healthy. A wee little shred of him wishes some stupid excuse to steal another few days after that would come up though. A popped tire, or something.* NoodlesAtNight: *He banishes it at once.* Chillsins: Good night, suckers. NoodlesAtNight: [[Goodnight.]] Prowl: I'm not a sucker. Prowl: I'm bad at sucking. Chillsins: Maybe if you're nice to me I'll teach you. Chillsins: But you're not, so no worries. NoodlesAtNight: [[Primus.]] Prowl: It's an anatomical problem. Prowl: And I wouldn't want to learn from you. Chillsins: *You can't just leave it open like that.* Chaoit: ...? Prowl: *... so he isn't COMPLETELY back to filtering his thoughts.* NoodlesAtNight: *That's what he SAID* Chaoit: Learn what? Chillsins: How to suck. Chaoit: Why would you want to learn how to do that? NoodlesAtNight: [[They're discussing oral interface. He thinks.]] Chillsins: I, *he places a palm on his chest,* am a master of sucking in every respect. Chaoit: Oh. Ew. NoodlesAtNight: [[It is slightly unclear.]] Chillsins: Short of being an actual black hole. Chillsins: So it's only fair that you'd want to start at an easier level, and work your way up to mine. NoodlesAtNight: *Just taps his visor.* Chillsins: *And yes, he is also referring to sucking as in being bad at everything.* Prowl: I'm not interested in being on your level. Chillsins: That's a shame, I love having competition. Prowl: I don't. Chillsins: Here I thought you might have a god-given aptitude for sucking. Chaoit: .... Chillsins: To be fair, I have yet to see any evidence to the contrary, but I'll take your word for it when you disagree. NoodlesAtNight: [[Enough. He is not in the mood to moderate insults.]] NoodlesAtNight: @Prowl: (txt): Private reassurance: Unnecessary activity. Chaoit: And this is a good enough time for me to go home Prowl: I know. I've made it this far without it. Chillsins: No worries, I'm not getting offended. NoodlesAtNight: [[Goodnight, Blaster.]] Chaoit: G'night, Soundwave Chaoit: -and out the door he goes- NoodlesAtNight: *...That's not quite what he meant by 'unnecessary activity', but, you know, he'll let that sit for the moment.* Chaoit: ((because mun needs sleep)) NoodlesAtNight: ((night!)) Chaoit: ((g'night! Chillsins: (( Goodnight! )) Prowl: Who's insulting? Chillsins: I was insulting myself. Chillsins: Kind of, depends on your view of sucking. Chillsins: It's fairly open to interpretation. Chillsins: *And boooooy do folks interpret it.* Chillsins: Either way, I was either praising myself for being good at sucking or putting myself down for it. NoodlesAtNight: *It's all Wheeljack talks about. It's hard not to interpret it that way anymore.* Chillsins: *He meant in the sense that folks always assume he's insulting THEM, but that too.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: //*Mun comes back from stalking the shadows of Tumblr. Xx_Killstreak_xX: //What the frag did I just walk in on? XD// NoodlesAtNight: ((a thousand misinterpretations* Chillsins: (( It happens every time Windchill is present. )) Xx_Killstreak_xX: //Oh my lord X'D// Chillsins: (( Nobody gets used to it. )) Xx_Killstreak_xX: //Should I be slightly concern? XD// Chillsins: (( Only if you take Windchill's chronic self depreciation personally.)) Chillsins: (( They died! )) NoodlesAtNight: ((messily)) Chillsins: (( TRagic. )) NoodlesAtNight: *Busies himself inspecting the last bit of the patch and carefully looking for any other spots that might have been from past surgeries* Prowl: *bit of weld work around his left optic, some chipped paint around his audials from where he was opened up.* Chillsins: I'm leaving for real this time. Gotta go suck...somewhere else. NoodlesAtNight: [[Goodnight.]] Chillsins: Goodnight, suckers. NoodlesAtNight: *Hmm. All right. He's got pictures of these too now. Must keep in case something goes wrong later.* NoodlesAtNight: Yesterday Chillsins: *He go.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *The seeker suddenly jolted online, letting out a soft croon of annoyance at having fallen into recharge.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -recharge.* NoodlesAtNight: [[Greetings. Perhaps you should seek a more familiar place to rest.]] NoodlesAtNight: [[You are likely to get stepped on down there.]] NoodlesAtNight: (txt): Acceptable work. Prowl's current feeling? Not ill? Sleepiness level? Xx_Killstreak_xX: *The seeker politely declined the spymaster with a shake of his helm, not planning to fall back into recharge after the memory flux he just had.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: -flux he just had.* Prowl: I'm tired. NoodlesAtNight: (txt): Sedation status? Prowl: I don't know. Xx_Killstreak_xX: *He glanced at Prowl with slight concern in his EM field.* Prowl: Hook: Shouldn't be completely worn off yet. But I'd better get him back to his room. NoodlesAtNight: *Nods.* NoodlesAtNight: *One quick squeeze from the coil and then it unwinds. Here you go, Hook. One free Prowl.* Prowl: Bye. NoodlesAtNight: (txt): Rest well. Prowl: I can't. Hook won't let me. NoodlesAtNight: (txt): When allowed, meaning. Prowl: Hook: In another couple hours. *pat pat. gets up and takes the hover-wheelchair* NoodlesAtNight: *Nods to Hook, gets up, and will spend a little while longer putting the room back in order before vacating it.* Prowl: *takes Prowl home* Prowl: *... i.e. three halls away.* Xx_Killstreak_xX: *Looks over at Soundwave, before sending the other a short message over comm. link asking if the mech wanted any help.* NoodlesAtNight: [[He has it this time. Perhaps next time.]] NoodlesAtNight: ((and i'm gonna head back to tumblr. night you two)) NoodlesAtNight: ((good to meet you killstreak)) Xx_Killstreak_xX: //It was a pleasure to meet you as well! Good night! X3//

What I want my rapist to know.

Know. No. Did you hear me when I said no? Surely the word has been said to you before, by your parents, maybe even another woman (girl) who was in the same position as I was?

I know that I said no.

The night you raped me is slippery in my memory, only fragments of it with enough texture for my brain to grasp. Now there are only things I know and things I fill in to the best of my ability, and the complete mind-movie is graphic and choppy, like a film student’s first short film.

You knew that I was staying in a hotel alone. You knew this when you dropped off a box of my things that I had asked you to the night before, when I met you in the parking lot of my hotel. We stood in the rain and made small talk, joked about legislators and interns, and you gave me the box of leftover shirts from my organization’s lobby day. We stood in the rain because I wanted to make it clear that this was a professional transaction, and you were not invited into my personal space inside the hotel.

You knew that I was in a happy, committed relationship. You knew that I had a daughter. You met my boyfriend and had seen several photos of my child. You knew that I had a life that was whole and complete and happy and a career that was taking off. You knew that I loved my job and that I would do anything to keep it, to continue doing this work. Specifically, you knew that I  was an advocate for women’s reproductive rights.

I don't know how many drinks I had. I know that I ordered some for myself, and I know that you gave me at least two mixed drinks. I know my anxiety medication enhances the effects of alcohol, and impairs my cognition and physical composure. Did you know that I was taking this medication, that it would further impair me? That I do not know.

You didn’t make any public show of your advances. You brought me drinks, and then walked away. You didn’t touch me in front of our friends and colleagues. You did not set off any internal alarms or red flags. You knew that I trusted you, thought you were some goofy tall frat boy that went to high school with my little sister, knew that I didn’t perceive you as a threat.

You could have stayed inside the carpool of our drunk friends being driven home. You could have been dropped off at your house. The time and snowy space between getting out of the carpool and into my car, and discovering that you were also in my car, is fuzzy. Too fast. Like the film jumped. I stepped out of the carpool, carefully into the snow, and unlocked my car. Just after buckling my seatbelt, I saw you in the passenger seat.

What are you doing? I ask, laughing.

What are you doing? you reply, smiling.

I am going to my hotel to sleep, I have to be up early. Are you driving home?

I can’t drive, can you drive me?

You knew I could not and would not drive around a dark unfamiliar town after drinking, risking a DUI. I know it was snowing and cold.

No, I say, and am thinking of what to do. How to help you, because as the older adult, I feel responsible.

Can I stay with you?

No, I say, my room only has one bed.

I’ll sleep on the floor.

I know that at that point, I still trusted you. I could not conceive of any ill intentions. Although rape has always been one of my biggest fears, ever lurking on dark walks to my car and creaky apartment hallways. And yet, I did not see this coming from you.

Okay, I say. I drive us the two blocks to my hotel. Had I been sober, or even slightly less intoxicated, I could have asked you to wait in the lobby and call a cab. Why didn’t I do that? I don’t know.

We get to my hotel room, and you have not done anything to indicate your intentions at this point. No attempt to touch me or kiss me or innuendo made. You knew you had a better chance  if we were in a dark room together, where I would be tired and comfortable and unsuspecting. You took off your pants and laid in my bed.

What are you doing?

This will be my side, you said.

At this point I felt nervous, but still could not have conceived you would have done anything to me. I laid in bed fully clothed in my red dress.

Your chest was prickly where you shaved your chest hair.

You smelled like an amalgam of all cheap cologne frat boys douse themselves with.

Your balls were tiny.

Your penis hurt me for what seemed like hours.

You hurt me.

My vagina hurt for several days afterwards. It still hurts now, a violent echo, every time I think about it and as I am writing this.

I want you to know the string of questions I ask myself, over and over, every time my brain plays this sick movie.

Why didn’t I demand you move to the floor?

Why didn’t I yell?

Why didn’t I jump out of the bed and ask you to leave?

Why didn’t I use my pepper spray?

Why didn’t you stop when I said no?

Why didn’t you stop when I asked you to stop?

Why me?

Why me?

My counselor told me I will never find the answers to these questions. She told me that the answers don’t matter. She told me, believe it or not, that none of it really was about me. I want you to know that I am a whole human being with a life and a conscious, and that I do not exist for anyone’s purposes other than my own. I want you to know how much that hurts, how futile it makes me feel, how used.

I want you to know how humiliated I felt, calling my doctor’s clinic and asking to be tested for STDs. I want you to know that I cried while I scheduled that appointment. I want you to know I sobbed in my boyfriend’s arms after I hung up the phone.

I sat through 12 hours of committee hearings and session in the same building as you, the next day. I didn’t say a word to anyone. I was numb. It wasn’t until I was about to testify against a bill in my own committee hearing that I fully realized what happened. I texted my sister. I saw your “apology” message, sent via snapchat, so it would be erased after I read it. I took a screenshot. You called me, waited for me outside the committee room, cornered me. Asked if I was going to report it. I said I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I won’t. It would jeopardize my ability to continue doing my job. In that small cow town? Who would believe me anyway? I would be marked as a slut.

I want you to know I cried when I walked to my car that evening, to drive home to my boyfriend. I cried all the way from the Capitol to the gas station half an hour away, where I always stop on my three hour drive home. Those three hours were spent crying and piecing together how I would tell my boyfriend, the love of my life, what you had done. I want you to know I was afraid he wouldn’t believe me. I was afraid that rape is a conspiracy among all men, and that he would leave me. I was afraid that I was ruined for him.

I want you to know that he did and still does believe me. That he supports me, and still loves me. Have you had that kind of love before? Are you capable of that? I don’t think so. You are too selfish.

I want you to know that the last two weeks have been a pool of pills and alcohol and tears and screaming and nightmares. I am incensed by all white men around me. I continually see faces that look like yours in every crowded space. I am still in shock. I am mostly angry.

Most of all, I want you to know that I will keep doing my job. I want you to know that I am even more determined to fight against every single factor that allowed you to rape me. I am going to smash your fucking patriarchal society to shards of glass that cut your feet everywhere you walk.