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rainbowvamp · 3 years

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Alone Too Young

The first installment in my Princess Bride AU. Today we meet our first protagonists, Gwen and Elyan (playing the parts of Valerie and Inigo respectively). Wednesday, we get the rest of their origin story, and Friday we start with the Princess Bride Retelling Proper (Morgana/Lancelot for the main pairing).

Warnings for semi-graphic depictions of murder (Thomas's) and blood. Also semi graphic depiction of injury (Broken ankle), and mentions of death and burial rituals. Implied threat of sexual assault.

Teen and Up Audiences Advised.

Summary: It was supposed to be a day like any other day. Except the king came early for his commissioned sword, and slayed their father before left, leaving Gwen and Elyan orphans.

Word Count: 3,859

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32975395

For Protagonists: Albion Party 2021 (❤️Red Team Rulez💋)

---

It’s just like any other day, really. Father is in his smithy, creating a sword. Elyan is there, helping him, and Gwen is in the kitchen, preserving the ripe spring fruit for winter and fall. Her mother had taught her to do this, when she was still very young, and when mother had died, the kind woman down the road had helped her perfect the craft. Most of the household chores had fallen to Gwen in her mother’s absence, while Elyan had tried to apprentice under his father and her father had to work even harder at the forge to buy pre-made clothes, since Gwen couldn’t sew nearly as fast as her mother and she and Elyan were both at the age where they outgrew clothes quickly

Gwen had heard father telling Elyan that this sword will be his master work. That it is the most beautiful thing he has ever created, and it will fetch a good price, keep them fed through the winter when firewood is harder to find, and buy them both nice warm clothes that they won’t have time to grow out of.

The King himself has commissioned the sword, he hears them whisper in the quietest tones late at night, while Gwen attends to her sewing, trying desperately to make enough clothes, and patch and resize what she can salvage. King Uther will be there at the end of the week to pick it up, coming himself to inspect the craftsmanship. It’s a high honor. Tomorrow Gwen is meant to begin preparing the house for royalty.

Only… a very fancy looking party is coming down the road, past her house, towards her father’s smithy. The clatter of chainmail and swords, the clop of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels passes her by, and she is worried, because there was no word that anyone noble would be passing through their little village. And the knights are all dressed in an unmistakable Pendragon Red.

Gwen leaves her jam, covers the fruit with a towel so the flies and bugs can’t get to it, and she dresses hurriedly, not even putting her hair in a nice braid before donning her cap and making for her father’s forge, taking the shortcut that she knows by heart after years of being sent to give her father, and now Elyan lunch, dinner, and water.

“It’s not ready.” She mutters to herself as she goes as quickly as she dares in her nicest dress. “It’s not ready. Father will be so embarrassed.”

She slips into the forge through the back door, and can already hear the King’s party coming.

“Gwen,” her father says, voice high and mouth smiling. “What a lovely surprise. Is the jam-making going well?”

“No.” She shakes her head and tries to pull herself together, heart racing and breath weak from having come as fast as she had to try and outrun their horses. “No, father. The King! I saw his party coming this way. He passed by the house not long ago. Where is his sword?” She is quick, frantic as she speaks. Her heart is racing, her head turning side to side, looking for any sign of the sword her father has spent weeks and weeks making.

“The King? He’s not due till next week.” Father’s voice mirrors her now, as he looks toward Elyan. “Give my that sword, son. It’s not ready, but I can polish it up before he gets here.”

“Hurry, please.” Gwen says, frantic, as Tom is looking for his polishing materials. Maybe it’s the clopping of hooves she hears, or maybe it’s the racing of her own heart, getting louder and louder. King Uther is not known to be patient or forgiving. She is terrified of what might happen if he is displeased in any way. Could he take the forge? Kill her father?

No. No, she couldn’t think like that. She just couldn’t. It would only make things worse, to think like that.

“Elyan, take your sister home. I don’t want either of you here for this.”

“Father, no!” Elyan begins to protest, and Gwen goes to do the same, but Tom’s gaze becomes hard, his mouth set in a firm line that quiets them both.

“I said, take your sister home. I’ll see you both for dinner.”

No you won’t. Gwen’s terrible thought replies, but she pushes it down, pushes it back. Because she won’t believe it. She won’t. Her father will be fine. He crafts the finest swords in all of Camelot, and even if the sword isn’t finished, it is still beautiful, and sharp, and the king will not be disappointed in it. Of course he won’t be.

So then why does the thought feel so much like a lie.

Her brother takes her arm and leads her out with much more authority than he had any right to. He is smaller than her by an inch, though he will catch up to her soon. Guinevere is only fourteen, he only fifteen, sixteen come winter, but mother had predicted that she would grow faster than he would, leaving Elyan to catch up when he was older. Soon he would, she is sure of it.

They dash through the trees, but Elyan stops when he catches a glimpse of the King’s riding party. Gwen stops too, forboding and dread weighing her down to the spot.

“You go ahead. I’m going back with father.” Elyan tells her, and she glares.

“No, we both go home or we both go to the forge.” Gwen hardens her features, standing her ground like Mother always taught her to, and Elyan glared back at her, a battle of wits ensuing.

Eventually, Elyan sighs, defeated. “We’re wasting time. Come on. But you’re to stay outside and out of sight, and if you think they might start looking around, you run back home, do you understand? Men like that, they aren’t kind to women below their station.”

She swallows hard. She knows what he means, and what she is risking, but she will not leave her father alone, and neither will Elyan.

They race back, just barely making it to the forge as the King himself bursts through the door, loud and rude. They watch through the window, obscured by bushes and the curtain father uses to keep bugs out.

“Tom, smith, it is good to see you! I hope I am not too early.”

“Of course he’s too early.” Elyan muttered from their perch at the window, glaring at the king in a way that would be treasonous if he saw. Gwen doesn’t blame him. She’s sure her own gaze is not particularly favorable to the king just now.

“Of course not, your Majesty. I’m just finishing polishing it up, if you don’t mind waiting a moment.” Gwen can hear the tenseness in her father’s usually easy-going voice. The fear in it that the King is probably used to, maybe even delights in by the way his eyes light up.

“Excellent. I’ve heard nothing but good things this about your work. I expect the result to be excellent.”

“I endeavor to please, Sire.” Tom continues polishing the sword as the king looks around the smithy, walks casually, hands behind his back, and examines the walls lined with tools and swords and horse shoes.

“This is beautiful.” King Uther said, picking something up off a table that Gwen can’t see. “I should like it as well.”

“Thank you sire. I was actually making it for my daughter. Her coming of age is soon, but I would be happy to make another just like it, better even.” Tom is smiling, but Gwen can see the insincerity in it, the sweat beads forming at his temple are not just from the heat of the forge.

“No, I won’t be back this way for some time. I’d like this one. Make your daughter another.”

Elyan starts to stand and Gwen grabs his arm, clawing her nails into it and leveling her hardest glare at him. Their father was a competent man, and they would leave him to do what needed doing.

“The metal is from my late wife’s wedding ring, Sire. I would prefer not to part with it, if I could.” His voice is soft, pleading, begging the King to understand, but King Uther is heartless and the whole kingdom knows it.

“Hmm.” Uther carelessly drops whatever it is he is holding onto the table, the clatter making Gwen flinch even as Elyan grips the window seal like he would like to jump through it and give the King a piece of his mind. “Enough of that then. The sword.”

“Here, Sire.” Tom’s voice is soft with relief that Gwen can feel in her chest, a knot unwinding ever so slightly, that will not be fully undone until the whole thing is over and the King is gone.

“Excellent.” The King takes the sword an examines it, head and hand turning this way and that to admire the work her father had done. “That’s 100, isn’t it?”

Tom is quiet for a moment, eyes widening. “Um, Sire, I believe we agreed to 1000.”

“He can’t be serious. Father worked for months on that sword.” Elyan seethes beside her and Gwen finds her own anger is rising, even above the anxiety. She can’t see this ending well.

“1000?” The King scoffs, “What does a peasant need 1000 for all at once? 100. Take the money or you shall get nothing at all.”

“Sire, with all due respect, I can’t take less than 1000. The materials alone are worth more than 100. That handle is inlaid with real gold, precious stones. I have a family to feed, Your Majesty.” Tom’s tone is raising, higher pitched, pleading, not yet angry like Elyan so obviously is beside her. She keeps hold of his arm, not to keep him in line, but to keep herself grounded. This cannot end well for them. It will not.

“I don’t believe I asked about your family, smith.” King Uther adjusts his grip on the sword and places the tip at their father’s breast both, just beside his heart. “Be lucky I offer you 100.”

“Sire, please.” Tom is looking around frantically for anything he can use to defend himself, and his eyes catch on something just beside Gwen. When Gwen follows their path she realizes that he is looking at Elyan. Whether he has always known they were there or just discovered them is unclear, but Gwen read the words on Tom’s lips clear as words straight from a book. “Don’t.” Her father tells Elyan, and Gwen grips her brother’s arm, but it is too late. He is racing around the building, toward the door, and Gwen can’t stop him. She’s wary for her own safety, and her father had begged him not to.

Elyan doesn’t see their father’s death, because he is running around to the door, but Gwen sees it. She has to hold her hands to her mouth to keep a scream from escaping. She has never seen a sword pierce a human before. She’s never seen anything killed before today, so to have the first death she witnesses be her father’s is more than she can bear. She collapses into the bush outside the smithy window, the gurgling sound of her father’s final breaths creeping out the window, but soon covered by Elyan’s roaring yells of “father!”

Their father won’t survive. Elyan won’t survive. What will they do? What will she do? Her limbs are stiff and her lungs are empty, refusing to fill themselves. She hears the clashing of sword, and her brother’s grunts of pain. She is still crying, sobbing, even, but she holds her hands so hard to her face that she thinks maybe she’ll have bruises across her lips afterward. It hurts. Everything hurts.

She hates King Uther. Hates him with a fiery passion, but that is nothing compared to the sorrow welling inside her. Her father is dead. Her brother is dead.

She hears hooves on hard dirty road, the king giving orders to leave, and only then can she gather enough sense to crawl out of the bushes and around the smith to see what damage has been done.

Her eyes are so wet with tears that she can’t see anything but red. Red that turns deep black where there is too much blood pooled of the smithy’s dirt floor. She can hear her father’s choking, gurgling breaths and she collapses again, sobbing. She doesn’t know how to save a stabbed man. The nearest doctor is two villages away. She can’t help him. She can’t save.

“Guinevere.” Elyan’s croaking voice calls to her and she sobs harder, curling in on herself and holding her knees.

“Elyan!” She wails, “Father!” She hates King Uther. She hates him. She hopes he gets caught in a hideous fire, burns alive and has hot metal searing his flesh in his final moments. She hopes he suffers. She hopes he dies.

“Guinevere!” Elyan yells louder, though nowhere near his full strength. “Help me.”

She forces her shoulders to still and her sobs to quiet, wipes at her eyes with her sleeves. Her hand is wet, wetter and stickier than tears would leave it, and when she has cleared the tears from her eyes she sees that she has put her hand in blood. Elyan’s blood most likely. She’s enthralled by it, can’t move anymore, knowing that the king has spilt both her father’s and brother’s blood. She’s only able to move again when Elyan calls her name.

She crawls to him, ignoring the blood staining the worn blue fabric of her mother’s handed down dress, still the finest dress she owned. It was too big for her, and the fabric would have dragged through the blood even if she’d bad the strength to stand, which she didn’t.

She dropped again beside her brother, who laid in the dirt, too weak even to move his head. His foot lays at an odd angle, and his face is bleeding. There is so much blood Gwen thinks he might die too.

“I will-“ Elyan starts to say, but he winces with the pain of his injuries, “I will avenge our father, Guinevere. I will keep you safe.” He reaches up and touches the blood streak on Gwen’s face, brushes it away with the sleeve of his own shirt. She brings her hand up to hold his, tears still tracking down her cheeks and making both their sleeves wet. There father is silent beside them.

“You have to live.” She pleads. Looking over at their father, whose eyes are glassy, wide open, chest unmoving.

“I will. He laid no killing blows. He thought me younger than I am.” Elyan swallowed hard and Gwen squeezes his hand, walking on her knees to take the pitcher of water from the counter and bring it down to the ground with them. She has to help him sit up, and move him to rest against father’s work table before he can drink. He tries not to show how much he’s hurt, but Gwen can see it in the way he tries so hard not to move his left leg, and grits his teeth harder with every motion.

“Elyan, what are we to do?” She whispered once he’d drunk what little water was in the pitcher.

He doesn’t speak for a long while, and Gwen starts to cry silently again, her eyes settling on the wall farthest from where her father lay dead, unwilling to look upon his body again.

“You have to go fetch the doctor, or my foot won’t heal right. I’ll be of no use to you if I can’t walk.” Elyan grit his teeth as he adjusted himself against the table, trying to get more comfortable. “Once he’s finished with me, I doubt we’ll have much money left. I’ll find some odd jobs in the villages, see if there’s a widow needs firewood or something of the like. I’ll keep the forge going at night, prove to people that I’m as competent as father.”

Gwen nods and swallows hard. “The fruit will be bad by the time I get back with the doctor.” It’s the only thing she can think.

“Damn the jam, Guinevere. We’ll make due without.” Elyan’s voice is dismissive, angry, but she knows it’s not aimed at her. Even so she feels herself shrink, frightened by him.

“I’m sorry.” Is all she can think to say. She is sorry that their father is dead. Sorry she can’t think of anything but the jam. Sorry that she didn’t… what, stab the King? If Elyan couldn’t lay a hand on him, what hope did she have? Guinevere was never trained with a sword. She would make Elyan train her now.

That thought centered her as she stumbled to her feet. “I’m going to get the Doctor. I’ll see if The Henricks will let me borrow their horse.”

“Don’t ask them. Their son has eyes for you. Ask the Tailors, down the way. The mother has a soft spot for you.”

Gwen nods, pulling her scarf closer around herself. “She’s always been good to us.” She had taught Gwen to make jam. And to sew, and all the best household remedies and cleaning tricks. Surely they’d spare her a horse.

“She has.” Elyan nods and his eyes focus once again on their father’s dead body. She knows that’s where he is looking, but she doesn’t dare look herself. She’s only just stopped crying and she can’t afford to lose it again. She has to bring a physician back, for Elyan.

“Hurry back,” Elyan says to her on her way out the door and she nods at him, eyes steely and determined. When she passes people and they see the blood on her knees and the tears still glistening her eyes, they put two and two together. None of them stop her or ask her questions, but they leave a trail of gossip in her wake.

She ignores them.

—

The physician sees to Elyan quickly, who’s been moved to their house by a neighbor with a cart and kindness in their heart. Elyan is laid up on their father’s bed, rather than the cot they usually shared, to try and keep some of the pressure off his ankle.

The physician had given her something to help his pain, and showed her how to change the dressings on his wounds. She had taken all the instructions in stride, committing them to memory and never once glancing towards the fruit still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting to be cooked and jellied.

“You’re a very lucky young man.” The physician says as he’s packing up his things. Gwen can’t fathom how anyone could apply the word “lucky” to their situation. “The King has killed boys younger than you for smaller slights. If he had, your sister might be left all alone, and where would she be then?”

Elyan bites his tongue, and Gwen does too. They both know how lucky they are Elyan isn’t dead, but their father is, and they are still too young to be alone like this. It’s cruel of him to torment Elyan so.

Gwen sees the physician out the door, and gives him most of their money as he goes. She doesn’t know what they’ll do when the few coins they have run out, but she will just have to think of something until Elyan is on his feet again.

“Father still needs to be buried.” Elyan said as the sun begins to set. Today had seemed so ordinary only hours ago, but now it feels upside down and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Gwen nods as she tries her best to save the fruit that was left. It would cost too much to waste it now. “The Tailor’s son has offered to come first thing in the morning and help me dig.”

Elyan nods as well, but doesn’t look at her. It must be weighing on him that he can’t dig the grave himself. Guinevere remembers how at just ten years old, Elyan had insisted on helping father dig mother’s grave. Guinevere had braided flowers into a crown for her. Father had told her not to touch mother, but Gwen had always been a stubborn child, and she had snuck over to her mother’s shrouded body, moved the shroud from her face, and placed the crown on her head.

Her mother was cold, stiff, like a doll made of corn husks, but more solid. It felt strange to touch the body and find it completely stiff. The neck wouldn’t give even an inch so she could put the crown all the way around her head, so Gwen had just rested the crown askew, and replaced the shroud. Her father had caught her, yelled at her to step back. Mother had been very sick for a long time. It wouldn’t do for Gwen die as well, now that all of Mother’s duties were hers.

Mother had told her once, that she’d run a home one day. This was probably not how she meant it.

After placing the crown, Gwen had gone inside to finish the day’s chores. It was all she could do. Playing didn’t feel right, and people kept coming to the door, saying how sorry they were and asking when they would bury mother. Gwen fielded these questions as best she could, and finds herself fielding the same ones late into the evening as word of Tom’s slaughter at the hands of the king, and Elyan’s injury, spread through the village. A few of the village men bring Tom’s body to the main house, to keep it safe for the night. Gwen tells them thank you, and when they offer to help during the burial tomorrow, Gwen gladly accepts it.

“You’re too young for this.” Elyan said, with a single candle burning down on the kitchen table and Gwen laid out on the cot by her brother’s side, unwilling to go more than a few feet from him.

In the dark of the night, Gwen feels another set of tears start, and she leaves them, lets them soak the hard pillow beneath her head. “We’re both too young for this. But we’ll make it.”

“Yes, we will.”

When Gwen looks up at Elyan, his eyes are focused over her, probably on the shrouded body of their father. There will be a stink in the house by morning. There was with mother. They will have to take they father outside as soon as someone comes by in the morning, and someone will have to guard his body from wild animals while they dig. Gwen thinks Elyan should do this. It would make him feel useful. Even when mother died, Elyan had tried to be jovial, but he is nothing by sad and serious now. She can’t say she expects him to smile, but they’ve barely spoken all day except to make plans. Gwen lets the tears keep flowing late into the night, and she barely sleeps for the grief.

#albionparty21 #redteamrulez #Elyan #sir elyan #gwen #gwen pendragon #lysa's pbau #pbau #pbau proper #<<<the tag I'll use for just the story #Tell me what you think I'm so excited to finally get to post this #pbau au proper

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girlactionfigure · 3 years

Photo

He was called a “lazy Indian.”

Aboard an ocean liner with the likes of a West Pointer named George Patton and a Hawaiian swimmer named Duke Kahanamoku on their way to the Olympics, he was found “relaxing” on a deck chair, according to the Smithsonian.

A newspaperman approached him and asked, “What are you doing, Jim, thinking of your Uncle Sitting Bull?”

Though the comment was insensitive and racist, he simply replied, “No, I’m practicing the long jump. I’ve just jumped 23 feet eight inches. I think that will win it.”

The Peace Page has shared stories before of Jim Thorpe - how he was raised as a ward of what they called then Indian residential schools and how he was stripped of his gold medals at the 1912 Olympics, but with the Olympics upon us, the Peace Page wanted to share another story of Thorpe’s.

Every once in a while a picture of Thorpe starts circulating on social media, the one where he is wearing a pair of mismatched shoes. The post claims that Thorpe won a competition at the 1912 Olympics wearing different socks and shoes.

It became so popular that even Snopes had to check it.

Snopes concluded, “This photograph does indeed depict Jim Thorpe wearing mismatched shoes shortly before competing at the 1912 Olympics. Thorpe participated in 15 events during the 1912 Summer Games and won eight of them, leading to his capturing gold medals in both the pentathlon and decathlon. His feat was all the more remarkable for his having contested several of those events wearing mismatched shoes.”

Yes, it was a remarkable “feat” - no pun intended.

But, before we get to the story itself, let’s provide some background.

“Jim Thorpe never had it easy,” according to Noble Humans. “As a member of the Native American tribe the Sac and Fox Nation, he was born in Indian Territory outside of Prague Oklahoma in 1887. The children of these tribes were separated from their parents and taught to be more Anglo-American, they were told to forget their heritage. It goes without saying that life on the Indian Territory was tough.”

“Thorpe was orphaned after his father Hiram passed away,” according to writer John Duffley.

His native name was Wa-Tho-Huk or “Bright Path”.

“Thorpe, like just about every other Native American, faced discrimination,” according to Victor Mather of The New York Times. “The founder of Carlisle, Richard Henry Pratt, had an educational philosophy that Pratt summed up as ‘Kill the Indian, save the man,’ and believed Native Americans must shed their culture and assimilate into mainstream American culture.

His twin brother, Charlie, died at one of those residential schools from an epidemic which swept the school.

His son, Richard, once asked him where he got his strength. Thorpe responded, "he inherited it from his brother. He felt his brother, Charlie, was with him all the time."

Jim Thorpe became "one of the greatest American athletes of all time,” according to Noble Humans. “He played six seasons of major league baseball for the New York Giants (1913-1919) and bounced around the NFL to six different teams.”

But before all that, before he was finally honored on a Wheaties box (48 years after he died), Jim Thorpe would be remembered for his remarkable feat (sans matching shoes and socks) at the 1912 Olympics.

Thorpe had already crushed “the field in the now-defunct pentathlon, which consisted of five events in a single day,” according to Sally Jenkins of the Smithsonian Magazine. “He placed first in four of them, dusting his competition in the 1,500-meter run by almost five seconds.”

“A week later the three-day decathlon competition began in a pouring rain. Thorpe opened the event by splashing down the track in the 100-meter dash in 11.2 seconds—a time not equaled at the Olympics until 1948.”

On the second day, Thorpe’s shoes went “missing.”

Some say they were stolen.

The sleuths at Snopes reported:

“Bob Wheeler, founder of the Jim Thorpe Foundation and author of the biography ‘Jim Thorpe: The World’s Greatest Athlete’, appears to have been the first to uncover the back story behind this photograph. Wheller [typo? by Snopes] conducted more than 200 interviews with teammates, family members, and friends of Jim Thorpe before publishing his book in 1979.”

According to Wheeler, “There’s lots of theories about why they were missing or who took them or what happened, but the fact is that he had a matter of minutes to get to the starting line. He frantically asked teammates if they had an extra pair of shoes. One teammate had an extra shoe. It was too small but he squeezed his foot into it. And the other shoe he found in a trash bin. It was too big and he put a couple pair of socks to make that fit.”

Note that “this was before Olympic athletes had Nike deals [and, back then] the IOC and the AAU ensured that the atmosphere was more like a modern-day High School track meet than the Olympics we know today,” according to Noble Humans. “He couldn’t just go to someone to get new shoes, and he didn’t want to be late.”

After all that, however, he still “went out and competed against the greatest decathletes in the world and won the race at 1500 meters,” according to Wheeler.

Thorpe “was hailed internationally and got a ticker-tape parade up Broadway in New York,” according to the New York Times.

Of course, if you read the previous stories of Thorpe on the Peace Page, you would also know that Thorpe would be stripped of his medals.

Not because he was wearing mismatched shoes and socks.

But, because he “played some semi-professional baseball before competing in the Olympics, violating the IOC’s code of strict amateurism.”

Note again, this was before the Olympics allowed professional players from participating - we’re looking at you, NBA players.

“The IOC’s decision in 1912 to strip Thorpe’s medals and strike out his records was not just intended to punish him for violating the elitist Victorian codes of amateurism.” according to the Smithsonian. “It was also intended to obscure him—and to a certain extent it succeeded.”

“Oddly enough, it was American officials who pushed the hardest to take away his medals,” according to the New York Times. “They were motivated by an almost fanatical devotion to the notion of amateurism, and, most historians say, a healthy dose of racism.”

“In 1912, there was a little bit of prejudice against Indians,” adds, Thorpe’s son, Richard Thorpe, in The New York Times.

But, then again, that’s a whole ‘nother story there you can find on the Peace Page archives.

“Nobody was in his class,” says Olympic historian Bill Mallon.

Mallon, co-founder of the International Society of Olympic Historians, who has served as a consultant statistician to the IOC, believes that Thorpe’s 1912 performances establish him as “the greatest athlete of all time.”

Even with mismatched shoes and socks.

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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In a mood and I’m trying not to be, but oof. Not easy at the moment. Real life stresses are kicking my butt and I’m decidedly limited in resources for addressing that at the moment, so might as well get this off my chest, lol. Already lost the usual fifty followers or so I lose every single time I post about stuff the way I did the other day, so what’s some more, y’know?

So earlier today I tried to get my mind off things with some fic, and happened across one I hadn’t read before that promised Jason and Dick talking things out and bonding. Halfway through I sighed and went oh, this is familiar, and skipped to the bottom to check the end notes and comments to see if there was any mention of this next part, but nope. The reason for the sigh was it took me about halfway into the fic to realize that it was blatantly inspired by my post about what if Jason was missing some memories from his death/resurrection and the Pit, like specifically the ski trip they took, stuff like that. Now I’m not so egotistical as to think nobody but me has certain ideas, but its fairly easy for me to recognize when someone is basing something off a post of mine because of specific turns of phrases that I use and like, they hit ten or so bullet points from my post without missing a one. Like, there’s parallel evolution and similar ideas, and then there’s going down a check list, y’know?

And don’t get me wrong....I don’t mind people basing stuff of my posts, being inspired by them, etc. I WANT that. I’m GLAD to have that happen.

The part I mind is the way this all ties back into my interaction with fandom as a whole....and this fandom’s interaction with me. Which I don’t tend to hear NEARLY as much about as I tend to have people giving me shit about my impact on fandom....but ONLY the negative impact.

In the four years or so that I’ve been active in this fandom, I can think of only three people who have given me some kinda shout out for being the basis of one of their fics. Three people. And in that time I’ve come across literal dozens of fics that I am almost certain can trace their way back to popular posts of mine. There’s the post about Jason’s memories and the ski trip for one - this fic isn’t an isolated occurrence, I’ve found a good half a dozen or so I feel fall into the same pattern. There’s fics based off my posts about how fucked up the blame Dick got for Spyral was, with my certainty based on the fact that I know I’m the only fucking person who ever brought up various key phrases like “Bruce not having an extraction plan for Dick’s highly dangerous undercover op, leaving him stranded when Bruce got/(chose) amnesia.” I made a big deal about that in a few posts because of the fact I NEVER saw that particular element raised in any fics, and a couple months after I started including that bit regularly, I was seeing the words ‘without an extraction plan’ in every other new post Spyral fic. That’s not a coincidence.

There’s been stuff that included bits and phrasings from my post about Dick and Jason being partners who focused on helping kids who had been abused specifically....oh wait, no, my bad. The two fics I’m thinking of there lifted straight up entire lines from that post but just made it about Jason and TIM doing that instead, despite like.....the entire basis of that headcanon stemming from Dick’s juvie origin but whatever. There’s been stuff based on juvie posts of mine, stuff based on posts I’ve made about Mirage, there’s been stuff based on the post about Jason looking into why Dick was undercover as a mob enforcer and then Renegade, there’s been stuff clearly inspired by my headcanons about Jason calling Dick for advice after the Garzonas case. I could go on. There’s a fucking LOT.

I don’t try to give myself too much credit but I’m not unaware of being a loud voice in this fandom and that having an impact. And like I said, I’m not adverse to inspiring people to make their own stuff based off an idea they initially saw me present. That’s fine. People should feel free to do that. My problem is that none of this exists in a vacuum. It exists in a fandom where I regularly get people lecturing me on my presentation, people hyping up how negative I make fandom, my condescension, my anger, my hostility, etc, etc.

But the thing I never see is any awareness whatsoever that like....dudes, I’m literally just a guy on the internet. And that goes two ways. Yeah, I have an impact on people, but they have one on me too. And I’m tired and frustrated by it being acted like this is a one way street and everyone is just helpless victims of my bullying, while meanwhile SOME OF THE EXACT SAME PEOPLE GIVING ME CRAP FOR MY NEGATIVITY are ACTIVELY adding to their own fics with stuff that I JUST posted about.

And like, I see people vagueblogging about the negativity on their dashes and its impact on fandom right after I have a Dick Grayson rant blow up and get a few hundred notes......but its acted like I DID that to fandom, that’s my negativity and mine alone when its like....y’know, if you’re not following me yourself, and this stuff is still on your dash, you uh....have to be following people who reblog my negative posts for some reason or another. And given that there are obviously reasons you follow THOSE people, maybe instead of worrying about what I’M doing all the time, you can spare a thought or two for the fact that I don’t have any power to make people reblog anything, and for whatever reason, something about my oh so negative post resonated with those people reblogging it onto your dash, which also kinda suggests it wasn’t negative in THEIR eyes, but was actually a kind of validation of thoughts or feelings they already had?

Trust me, there’s no mind control ray at work here. This mood is also brought to you by the cricket sounds that come every time I fucking BEG people to reblog and signal boost posts I make about rape/abuse fandom trends and depictions from my POV as a survivor, specifically. Like I mentioned, I LOSE followers every time I bring that stuff up. It doesn’t benefit me in any way whatsoever, in fact my notes tend to go comparatively radio silent for a good couple weeks after I go off on one of those jaunts, because idk, people don’t want THEIR mutuals and followers to think they agree with some of my oh so controversial stances?

Actually, I say idk, but I do know is the thing, because people actually go on anon and tell me they appreciate me posting stuff like this, and its like.....that....doesn’t actually make me feel good? Because I never expect any single person in particular to reblog me, but when I say crickets after I post on those topics, I mean CRICKETS. I’m lucky if I can get five reblogs on those posts in total, and those are usually all from the same people. It actually kinda sucks knowing that people agree with me and what I have to say there, but they won’t put it on their own blogs because this fandom is so fucking STEEPED in its views, they don’t want to risk their friendships or back-and-forths with certain popular fandom authors by rocking the boat.

Because meanwhile I’m making myself target practice for the people who really would like me to shut up on certain topics but are too cowardly to ever confront me directly about why they dislike what I have to say there, in the vain hope that other people might finally even just START to pass some of that on even for consideration....because I can make waves by myself just by being loud and consistent, but I can’t do shit to actually make CHANGE without other people agreeing in PUBLIC so that fandom is forced to confront the fact that no, certain opinions aren’t just one loud asshole being annoying, there’s an actual viewpoint here that people actually have in greater numbers than we realized and we DON’T have as much of a monopoly on this topic as we thought.

I have anons who give me shit accusing me of driving off certain authors by making this fandom not fun for them anymore, when like, I never even fucking INTERACTED with the authors in question. Some of the names I’m accused of driving off I don’t even KNOW. I’m called an ‘abusive survivor shaming cunt’ with zero irony or self-awareness that they’re literally doing the exact same thing because they don’t like the stance *I* take as a survivor posting about how ‘some survivors use dark fic/rape fantasy to cope’ shouldn’t be treated as a monolithic defense of such things if it leads directly into the same kind of survivor shaming other people view criticism of such fic as being in the first place.

I’ve had to unfollow mutuals because I post about how reblogging posts about purity culture is a direct fucking slap into the face to people like me whose stances on fandom culture are directly based on our own personal experiences and the intersection those have with various popular fandom takes.....like you don’t have to agree with all my takes obviously, but if you can’t see how framing a naive pursuit of ideological purity as the only possible reason people object to certain fandom trends when I’m literally standing right here saying no actually, the way these fandom trends impact me is the reason for me saying the things I say when I say “here’s how this fandom trend impacts me”.....like.....c’mon.

And I’ve had mutuals unfollow me because despite following me because they liked my takes on social justice issues THEY care about, I just ‘post too much about what’s really just a personal issue’ and has no larger social relevance whatsoever, obviously. LOL. (Oh and this of course has nothing to do with them getting friendly with various popular authors on discord, who happen to be vocal about ‘disapproving’ of any fic criticism whatsoever. Just FYI, there’s a reason I haven’t followed anyone new or made any new mutuals in like....a year. I have my reasons for being....not quick about that).

I get condescended to constantly about not minding the tags, and then radio silence when I list literal examples of ways in which people haven’t tagged things correctly, tagged things at all, or literally used the tags in an attempt TO trigger people they just don’t like.

And meanwhile, allllllll of this keeps happening while the general narrative is I’m this loud asshole guy with zero concern about anything but his own personal likes or dislikes and who makes fandom a negative place that’s unwelcoming in general. And with basically zero mention of all the ways in which I’ve contributed to this fandom, the amount of content I’ve made that has DIRECTLY inspired people, and the productive conversations I’ve started which have resulted in people actually changing the way they approach various characters or dynamics in fics.

Its THAT part that bugs me, specifically.

Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again now.....I’m not anyone’s victim. Negative fandom interactions are negative fandom interactions. All this complaining I’m doing here - lol, that’s all it is. I’m venting. I’m pissed off and I think its relevant to a greater fandom dynamic or tendencies a lot of people unknowingly or consciously reinforce, and so I’m just fucking SAYING it because while its not something I EXPECT this post will do much to change, if at all, I would still like it to change so any effort towards that end is still better than no effort at all...hence, my posting this rather than bottling it up so at least people have it to consider.

If you don’t agree with it, if you don’t like that it exists at all, if it ruins your day to have to consider whether or not you or people you know or even like are active participants in what someone else is describing as y’know....fairly day-ruining in its own way? Hit that unfollow, that block, that make new text post button of your own and have your own rant about what a douchebag I am.

Literally all I’m trying to express is like.....fa*ndom’s got a lot to say about the stuff I have to say about fandom, but like....this is a two way interaction. A lot of people make a big deal about MY impact (again, JUST the negative though, lol) but I don’t ever see anyone ever addressing anyone else about hey maybe you could spare a thought or two about YOUR impact for a change as well.

I mean, what if....just maybe...what if.....a lot of my behavior or attitude has a lot to do with how people approach or talk about me BEFORE that display of attitude or certain behavior? Weirdly....I feel like maybe something that could then have a transformative effect on the kind of behavior or attitude people dislike from me....is.....them acknowledging or addressing things they might have done to prompt certain responses from me?

I don’t actually like being whiny or negative or down in general, just to be clear? If I see something I have a problem with or think could use change or improvement, I say so - but I pretty much always put an effort into expressing both WHY and HOW I think possible change could look - because I’m not generally interested in being negative for the sake of just being negative. I just....want things to be better. That’s not an obsession with purity or perfection, btw, I will NEVER understand how people think that survivors of rape and abuse (which include a lot more ‘antis’ than anyone else seems to want to acknowledge) and the like EVER expects perfection or thinks that the world will ever produce that - lol no I’m actually pretty clear that things being perfect is pointless, I’m just interested in BETTER.

But I mean, I like being goofy and silly and also analytical and contemplative and also creative and spontaneous. I like lots of things. I like lots of moods. I like producing, creating, generating, interacting, engaging, I like a million things more than I like THIS kind of mood, THIS kind of post.

But I’m just not someone who is content to sit and stew in that sort of thing when I know full well that the problem does not actually stem from something broken or flawed inside of me, because I’m also someone who does believe very strongly in periodic bouts of self-reflection and honest self-assessment.....so that I can change things about myself when and where I feel necessary. But this also has the effect of me also being VERY aware of when the problem is not internal, but actually just me having a perfectly valid reaction or emotional response to outside stimulus. Aka fandom’s interaction with me, every bit as much as my interaction with fandom.

So....posts like this. I’ll do my usual rituals, get myself back onto my preferred trains of thought soon enough on my own, because ultimately that is all I can control and just because I make posts like this doesn’t mean I ever EXPECT any specific result - or a result at all - to come from it.

But, y’know, sue me for being hopeful.

I know. What an ass am I?

14 notes · View notes

muwur · 4 years

Note

um!! i want to request a comfort hc/drabble(?) anything !! just 👉👈 can i get hinata n/or tsuki comforting and standing up for their s/o (or friend!) who is non-binary ??

standing up for a non-binary s/o

♡ scenarios ♡ for hinata and tsukishima

gn reader

turned out longer than i intended tHIS IS MY PROBLEM N Y I UPDATE SO SLOW FORGIVE ME FOEFHEFOEFRG but anyway,,,, 2.3k words

a/n: i use primarily they/them as reader’s preferred pronouns in these scenarios, but i wanted to acknowledge that ik some non-binary ppl use other pronouns, they/he, they/she, or even all pronouns, etc :) reminder to pls be respectful to what people want and use their preferred pronouns! and pls lmk if i ever offend you bc i don’t want to upset anyone <3

hinata

Just a week ago, you had finally mustered the courage to come out as non-binary to your boyfriend, Hinata. You recalled the rising panic you felt when you were met with silence and the slight widening of his chocolate eyes. However, his initial surprise was quickly replaced with a softness gracing his features. When he gently stroked your cheek and reassured you that nothing would change how he feels about you, you felt your heart melt with relief. You had nothing worry about, after all.

Unfortunately, not everyone could be as accepting as Hinata.

Picking at an array of noodles with a fork, you fixed your sights on the dinner plate before you, trying to ignore a certain gaze threatening to sear your skin. Next to you, Hinata grimaced. Munching on his stir fry and trying to be respectful in front of your family were the only things keeping him from wiping that leer off your aunt’s face. She was blatant in expressing her disapproval, the wrinkles in her face contorting with disgust whenever she so much as looked your way.

After your heart-to-heart with Hinata the other week, you were inspired to come out to your family as well. The news circulated, and though you weren’t expecting everyone to exactly be on board, the reality of disapproval hurt more than you imagined. It was great timing that today happened to be your cousin’s birthday, and you were forced to have dinner with one of your least favorite family members. Luckily, you were allowed to invite Hinata. You couldn’t fathom how your soon-to-be 5-year-old cousin was so kind and polite despite being reared by such a tyrannous mother. Your earliest memory of your aunt was when she snatched your favorite toy from your toddler hands. You cried as she yelled at both you and your parents for letting you play with such a “gender-inappropriate” toy.

You knew she wouldn’t let you escape tonight without any offhand comments or dirty looks.

A throat cleared. You tensed in your seat. “Y/n? Dear, could you pass me the salt?”

You dared a glance up at the familiar voice. Your eyes locked with your aunt’s menacing ones briefly before you quietly obliged to her request.

“Thank you,” she said dully, taking the shaker. Sprinkling her meal, she continued to speak with nonchalance. “So, I heard you go by ‘they’ now? What’s wrong with he/she, hm? I mean, that is what you are, and that’s the only thing you should go by.”

Silence. Your parents looked at one another in discomfort, unsure how to respond. Your cousin looked back and forth between you and and your aunt curiously, unaware what was happening. A few more seconds passed by. With a shaky breath, you could only stutter out a timid “I-I--” before your mother cautiously piped up. “Aunt *name*, please, it’s your child’s birthday, let’s save this conversation for another ti--”

A scoff interrupted her. “Easy for you to say. You’ve always been so soft on y/n. Neither of you,” she glared accusingly at your parents, “raised her/him right. Now, look what’s happened. She/he’s gone delusional. How could any of you be okay with this and carry on like normal?”

You could feel yourself holding back tears. You wanted to say something against her, to show her you weren’t afraid of her and didn’t care what she thought. To prove that she didn’t know anything about you. That she had no right to be talking to you like this.

Yet you remained frozen in your seat, unable to speak. Inside, your mind went blank, leaving you defenseless against her hateful tirade.

“If she/he were my daughter/son, I’d set things straight immediately. No more outside communication. Who knows what nonsense they’ve been feeding your child? She/he needs to see a specialist to undo whatever brainwashing has occurred and--”

SCREECH.

Hinata stood in front of his seat, which had slid noisily across the floor when he pushed it back. He was silent, his eyes pointed downward and his two palms pressed on the table. All eyes looked at him with shock, if not a tinge of curiosity.

“Stop saying those things as if you knew one thing about y/n and what they’ve had to go through,” he said in a low voice, teeth clenched.

A challenging arch of the brow replaced your aunt’s initial surprise. “Oh, please. What do you know? You’re just a naive kid like y/n. You don’t understand. You know nothing about the real world and you kids go about life as if you can just do anything. You’re selfish.”

“You’re being selfish for refusing to understand a point of view that you’re not used to. How could you live with yourself knowing that you’re making someone you should care about miserable for the rest of their lives? You have no right to speak as though you know y/n. All you care about is your opinion, regardless of whether or not it’s right, and how you look to other people. What’s wrong with letting y/n make their own decisions? Why invalidate them before even giving them the chance to explain and help you understand? You should think about how you’re acting before trying to teach someone else how they should live.”

The air cracked with silent tension. It was too much. Quickly, you got up and dashed to the front door, unlocking it and stepping outside to breathe in the cool evening air. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stumbled off the front porch, increasing the distance between yourself and that dinner table.

Your body jolted with shock when you heard a familiar voice out and felt a pair of arms wrap from behind your frame. Hinata was breathing heavily, his rushed voice laced with worry. “I’m sorry for making a scene in front of your family, y/n, but I couldn’t just sit around and let her say whatever she wanted. You don’t deserve that treatment. I don’t regret anything I told her. And if she’s still bothering you, or anyone else for that matter, you bet I’m gonna be there to stick up for you, no matter what.”

Despite the tears that pricked at your eyes, a small smile formed on your lips. Ditching your family dinner, you spent the rest of the evening together seated in a booth at a nearby fast food restaurant, munching on goodies and sharing lighthearted jokes. That night, you were reminded that it didn’t matter what someone like your aunt thought. Those who did matter were the ones who accepted and cared for you--the real you. In the midst of darkness, you found yourself a radiant being who never failed to brighten your day. You didn’t know what you did to deserve Hinata, but you knew he would be by your side through it all. For that, you were grateful.

tsukishima

After a rough week of nonstop work, food delivery, and 1AM espressos, you were relieved Saturday had finally come. Tsukishima, who had come by your home a few times that week to check up on you(r sanity) and drop off some surprise dinners, nagged you to take better care of yourself and offered to treat you to lunch that weekend (after you promised to get a lot of rest when you were finished). When you beat your deadlines early Friday evening, you nearly cried tears of joy and immediately passed out on your bed to catch up on lost sleep.

Saturday reminded you of the beauty of the outside world, much needed after your long week of confinement. Both sun and clouds gathered in the pale blue sky overhead. Warm sunshine freckled your skin while a gentle breeze cooled your temple. Hand in hand, you walked down the block with Tsukishima towards the farmer’s market. Already you could hear the nearby murmurs of a crowd and smell the savory aroma of freshly cooked food. Your stomach grumbled with enthusiasm as you thought about all the delicious choices waiting to be ordered.

Numerous vendors lined up down the street. Smoke arose from hot grills, carrying the scent of various spices through the air. Workers called out to passing customers, offering them samples of their homemade nut butters or showing off their natural, handmade soaps. With a fascinated glint in your eye, you observed each stand you passed by. From Hawaiian poke, grilled paninis, and tacos, to Thai stir fry, barbecue, and shawarma, the options seemed endless. As much as you loved the variety, it made making a decision even more difficult.

“Tsukkiiii,” you said pleadingly, “I don’t know what I want.”

He sighed. “Well, what’s your appetite in the mood for?”

“No clue, that’s why I’m asking.”

When he shot you an annoyed look, you held your hands up. “Hey, I’ve been using my brain way too much this week. I’m tired of thinking. I’m pretty down for anything, to be honest.”

With a shrug, he suggested trying the ramen from a stand several feet away from you both. You happily agreed and dragged the both of you to stand in line. Looking down at your shirt, you pulled on it slightly and adjusted the pin attached close to your collar. It depicted a cartoon cat with a text bubble that said “they/them” to indicate your preferred pronouns (though, in the note above, ik you may have a different combination of preferred pronouns. feel free to just sub in whatever those are into the pin ^-^ ). You recalled how you heart rushed with excitement when you found it in your mailbox that morning.

“You know, you didn’t have to get this for me,” you told your blonde companion as you admired your gift. Hands in his pockets, he gave you another shrug. “I just thought it suited you. Plus, strangers won’t misgender you, anymore.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you, Kei... Thank you, again, really.”

His lips formed into a thin line and he looked off to the side. He muttered a low, “Don’t mention it.” before stepping forward to follow the shortening line. A huff of amusement escaped you in response. You were also taking a step forward when you felt a shove on your left side. Tsukishima caught you mid-stumble, helping you regain your balance and stand upright again. Narrowing his eyes, he looked over at the man who bumped into you. The stranger caught himself from stumbling as well, then scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that young man/woman! I wasn’t looking clearly,” he apologized.

You shook your head in response, offering him a smile. “No worries. I’m glad we’re both okay.”

He was about to laugh in agreement when he noticed the pin attached to your top. His smile vanished and he looked at you quizzically. “Say, what’s that pin you got there?”

“Oh,” you pointed at it. “This? These are my gender pronouns. I go by ‘them/them,’” you announced proudly.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “What does that even mean? ‘They/them’ is plural, so doesn’t it make more sense to just go by he/she?” He paused for a few seconds of thought. Then, it clicked. “Is this that ‘gender identity’ bullshit I’ve been hearing about lately?”

Your enthusiasm quickly dissipated. ‘Oh gosh, please don’t tell me that this person’s--’

“Now missy/boy, I don’t know what’s gotten into all your heads, thinking you can just pick and choose whatever or whoever you want to be. What you were born with is who you are. Why can’t people accept that and have to complicate things? It’s biology. I swear, people are just doing this for attention or a trend or whatever--”

“Ahem,” Tsukishima cleared his throat, interrupting the man’s rant. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and drew you close against himself. “Perhaps the topic is too complex for your tiny mind to comprehend,” he challenged, his voice dripping with collected hostility. “You should stop going on about things you don’t understand; it makes you look even more ignorant. Now, please, stop bothering my partner before you piss me off more.”

The stranger glared up at Tsukishima, then back at you. Deciding it wasn’t worth a fight, the man scoffed and shoved past your boyfriend;s shoulder, then disappeared into the crowd. Behind you, a kid’s wide eyes looked at Tsukishima with awe. “Wow, that was really cool! You really showed him!”

“Tch, it was nothing,” he responded bashfully. “Can’t let assholes get away with whatever they want.”

15 minutes later and you were both settled in a shady area on a grassy field with ramen bowls in your lap. Your eyes were glued to the ground. Tsukishima waved a hand in front of your face with concern.

“Earth to y/n? You good? You’ve been quiet since we encountered that guy earlier.”

You risked looking up into his eyes, unable to control the stream of tears running down your eyes. Surprised, the blonde placed his hands on the sides of your face and started to wipe your tears off with his thumbs. “I-I’m just, r-really grateful that you,” you choked between sobs, “were here with m-me, today. I d-don’t know what I would’ve done if I was alone.”

You let him wrap his arms around you as you buried your face in his shoulder. He nestled his cheek onto the top of your head and ran a gentle hand up and down your spine. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, anymore. I promise.”

Several minutes later, you pulled away, sniffling and rubbing the remaining tears from your eyes with your forearm. He gave your head a small pat.

gRhhrrhGRH.

“Someone sounds hungry.” You rolled your eyes and swatted his hand off your head.

2 minutes into eating, and you asked (suggestively), “Can we eat from the same bowl and see if we end up connecting noodles?”

“N-No, that’s dumb.”

“Oh, c’monnnnn~ You know you want to, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not!”

a/n: sry about the weird stomach growl effect LMAO

if you coudlnt tell i was hungry writing this n i miss going out to eat foueherhggu

i hope u enjoyed <3 pls lmk if u would like any changes anon or smth different (liks regular hc’s, etc). have a lovely day n i hope you feel better <3 ill fite anyone who makes u feel bad >:(

#haikyuu x reader #hinata x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #haikyuu imagines #hinata shoyo #tsukishima kei #requests #comfort request

143 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Note

If you’re still accepting requests, I got a challenge: “I just want to be held for a little while” with Herzog x Bondarev or CaesarxJohann :3💙

(Thanks for the Challenge! You are rewarded with a Cross-over!)

The lighting was minimal in the the ancient 11th century castle in the middle of this small Eastern European Country, so it was easy for Caesar and Johann to hide their identities among the uniformed soldiers of this illegal lab in the mountains.

This lab was run by a group that named themselves after the legendary Hydra. From the murky waters of the swamps near a place called Lerna, the hydra would rise up and terrorize the countryside. A monstrous serpent with nine heads, the hydra attacked with poisonous venom. Nor was this beast easy prey, for one of the nine heads was immortal and therefore indestructible.

The second labor of Hercules was to kill the Lernean Hydra. Caesar Gattuso considered himself a dragon slayer of that caliber. After coming from his adventures in Japan and facing a different beast of a similar name, the SheQiBai Clan, who named themselves after Yamata-no-Orochi, an 8-headed serpent of Japanese Legend, he figured this was just one more head.

Hercules set off to hunt the nine-headed menace, but he did not go alone. His trusty nephew, Iolaus, was by his side. Iolaus, who shared many adventures with Hercules, accompanied him on many of the twelve labors. Legend has it that Iolaus won a victory in chariot racing at the Olympics and he is often depicted as Hercules' charioteer. So, the pair drove to Lerna and by the springs of Amymone, they discovered the lair of the loathsome hydra.

Likewise, Caesar wasn’t alone. Next to him, Johann Chu marched through the gate, flashing their falsified credentials. The two had gotten along much better after their shared adventure. But getting closer meant exposing vulnerabilities. After the mission was done, they no longer invited each other to any sort of shared bathhouses. That was for certain.

Together, they had been helicoptered into to the sparse surrounding woods. After being warned of landmines it was amazing they didn’t set any off parachuting down. The place was being torn apart by a civil war, thought to be stoked by this Hydra organization. They were taking test subjects from the ensuing refugee disaster.

The plan was simple. As far as they could tell, this facility wasn’t staffed by hybrids. They were normal humans and needed to be taken out of the way humanely for questioning and memory wiping of all dragon knowledge if needed. So rather than burst into the facility, guns and swords drawn, they would infiltrate, destroy the lab, free the prisoners and the the Secret Society handle the rest of the investigation.

One of the biggest questions was how these people got ahold of dragon knowledge in the first place. Their similar name made Caesar assume that perhaps they had some connection with Herzog, but as he looked around the place, there was no sign of anything Japanese or anything familiar. The uniforms weren’t the Yakuza’s dark trenchcoat with Ukiyo-E on the lining, but simple camo army uniforms. And the symbols they used on those uniforms had nothing to do with the Cassell’s world tree or even of the actual mythical Hydra. Emblazoned on the chest of each of them was something more like an octopus.

He paused in a corridor and opened his golden eyes. The Scythe Ferrets of his Soul Skill released and swept like phantoms, mapping the entire space like echolocation.

“There’s a lot of empty rooms. I see what’s probably two prisoners. The rest are workers. I know where the computers are. I’ll head that way and get Norma to hack in. I need you to buy some time. We’ve got company. Fourteen, ...fifteen heartbeats headed our way.”

“Stop! Put your hands up!”

Caesar nodded once. In an instant, Johann Chu whirled and drew his pistol and fired one round. The man dropped in a heap, rendered unconscious by a Frigga bullet. “How long do you think it’ll take you?” Johann asked.

“Mmm… give me fifteen minutes.” He loaded a few more bullets into his Desert Eagles

Johann looked up at the taller man sharply. “That is forever.”

He clicked his gun shut and sneered. “They’re just humans. I’ll be dealing with the hybrids. One of the captives is a lady.”

Johann Chu sighed and his eyes narrowed further.

“Don’t give me that look.” His cocky smile turned into a scowl. Caesar had reason not to trust Johann Chu with a rescue task of this sort. He was more than willing to kill Shavee and turn Erii over to the mercy of the School Board.

Johann’s look held just as much cold disdain and without a word, he invoked what happened last time Caesar decided to stick his neck out to rescue a woman. Johann had ended up set on fire and nearly dying and Caesar had gone berserk with Blood Rage and littered the street with mutilated people.

The woman died anyway.

Not willing to give Johann a chance to bring that up, Caesar made his way up the metal stairs while Johann dashed away to deal with their company. The Scythe Ferrets brought him shouts and gunfire that lit up in his ears and he smiled again.

It was much quieter ahead. He pulled an earpiece from his pocket and tucked it in his ear. “Norma, we’re inside. The operation has begun. I’m on my way to the computer room.”

Caesar kicked open the door and spotted a man hunched over the computer. When the man saw him, he raised his arms to shield himself, “No! Please!”

Caesar didn’t bother negotiating, and just put a Frigg bullet into the man's torso without even breaking his stride while he looked around. “This isn’t anything like Genji Heavy industries. Everything here is… decades old tech. Who… uses floppy disks?”

He reached over and picked up a piece of paper. “German…?”

He paused in front of the computer screens. “Hopefully it’s not too incompatible with you, Norma.”

The female voice spoke in his ear. “So long as there’s a USB port then I should be able to copy all their files.”

Caesar nodded and stepped over the unconscious man to get to the computer tower. He slipped in a large device into the USB port. Norma would handle the rest of this job, but questions swirled in his mind about who this Hydra organization really was.

His superhearing ability was telling him that the wall to his left hid a corridor behind it. The whisper of a hollow wind and the whir of fans became clear to him as he approached. He felt along the wall until same thing gave in and pushed it. Sure enough, the wall swiveled open. Even this was no fancy technology but a hidden passage built into the castle itself.

Caesar radioed Johann. “Norma is working. I’m heading down to the captives.”

This corridor was even darker, lit only by yellowing cagelights in the ceiling. Caesar proceeded cautiously, one hand on his pistols, resisting sneezing against the dust that kicked up from its layers on the floor.

“This is too easy.” Johann’s voice came into his ear.

“I just got the same feeling.” He murmured, eyes scanning the room.

“Are you detecting any signs of explosives or booby traps?”

“Not yet, but I am keeping an eye out. Dress those goons up for easy pick up and post sentry outside, be ready when I call you.” Caesar pulled his pistol out as the corridor began to widen into a larger chamber. “I… think I found the lab.”

It was messy full of half filled metal shelfs and discarded drop clothes. Caesar raised his eyes toward the huge cathedral-like ceiling. There a black curled claw the size of a car was suspended. It looked thin and wasted, mummified. Caesar lifted his phone and began to take pictures. It was surrounded by scaffolding. On closer inspection, he could see where pieces of it had been sheared off.

Even this large space was cramped and cluttered, full of blind spots and places to hide, but his scythe ferrets were doing their job. When he stepped around the corner, he knew there was no one there. What the ferrets didn’t tell him was that he would be met with the sight of bodies, in various states of dismemberment, laid out on tables. Men, women, children, skin pale and cold in death. Some had their body cavities open, but there was no blood. Looking further, he could see tanks of fluid where more bodies had been preserved for dissection. It was enough to turn his stomach.

On a table amidst it all was an old book made of ancient parchment. Even from this distance and in the dark, Caesar could see if was old alchemy. “Was this book here when you arrived?” He asked, turning to the woman standing behind him. “Oh, you didn’t think I would know you’re there? I know you were following me the minute I stepped in his room. You’re fast, but… your heart still beats.”

She was fairskinned and dressed, not in a prisoner’s or a soldier’s uniform but a black shirt and dark colored jeans. But what gave him a little tickle of mirth was that she had red hair. What was it with him and red heads?

The woman glared at him, with a fearless threatening manner. She wasn’t afraid or startled by the horrors around her. “Are you responsible for all this?” Caesar asked, waving a gun cavalierly. “Or are you a victim of it?”

He heard what he thought were whispers and saw her eyes glow red. He gasped but then a familiar scream made him turn and raise his pistols. “Nono?!”

He blinked, shaking his head, Nono wasn’t here. She was back in Italy. How… why was he seeing her on the examination tables? Torn to pieces? Naked… Violated! On another table, his mother. The sight was like a spear through his heart. Not again, not her. Not again!

The Scythe Ferrets told him that the other woman was still there, her heart beating fast, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the two most beloved people in his whole life, meticulously torn apart and used in death, just like they were used in life. Disbelief at what he was seeing tugged at his mind but he was drawn to confirm this sight. Nono’s red hair spread out from her face, her eyes stared in an empty expression, blood trickled from her mouth as he reached out to touch her cheek.

A sharp crack made him flinch. The claw had come to life and flexed its fingers before lowering to the ground. The sharp tips dug in and the ground trembled as a reptilian head broke through the stone floor and blinked its golden eyes at him. The eyes were like fire, molten. Burning!

The vision suddenly ended. Caesar blinked, his heart racing. The claw had returned to its mummified state. Nono and his mother were gone from the table. He was sitting on the floor, sweaty and exhausted.

Johann was calling him. “Where are you?”

“I’m here in the lab.”

“Still?”

Norma interjected. “I’ll guide you to him.”

“That girl. She’s a hybrid. She… she’s not on our side.” He felt wet and looked down to see his uniform patched with dark round spots. He ran his hand over it and it came back red on his fingers. “She shot me.”

“Where is she now?”

“Don’t know… be careful. You’re close. You should… be nearly here.” Caesar could hear the other man’s boots coming down the metal stairs. He saw his dark shadow among the debris. Johann wasted no time looking around, hurrying to his side.

“She got you.” Johann dropped to one knee but Caesar pushed him away.

He grit his teeth. The pain hit him arresting his breath and sending trembling through every muscle. “Get the book on the table. I’ve already taken pictures.” Caesar grunted to get up, finding the strength in his dragonblood to stand, leaning on the table. He coughed, and tasted iron. He wiped his mouth and saw blood there as well. Johann ducked under his arm and lifted him up slightly. “Norma, we’re going to need somewhere we can stay for a while. Caesar is suffering multiple gunshot wounds. I can get transport. I just need a place.”

“This will only take a moment.” came Norma’s reply.

Caesar turned his head back to the table where he saw the vision of the dismembered Nono. His heart sank. The vision was so real, not even his Soul Skill could overcome it. That scream echoed in his ears.

“I have acquired all the information I need. The clean up crew is on the way.” Norma said.

Johann took him into a garage with old jeeps. Johann carefully lowered Caesar into the front seat of one and lifted the hood. After a few moments, he slammed it shut. Then he got into the front seat and opened the steering wheel to expose the wiring.

While he worked he murmured. “Caesar. Stay with me.”

“I’m still here.” He said hoarsely. Dizziness was starting to cloud his mind. The vision was emblazoned there like a memory. It was seeping into his subconscious. No matter how much he said it wasn’t real, it affected him like it was real. The feelings of loss and helplessness made his heart flutter.

“What happened.”

“Some sort of hypnosis.”

“What did she look like.” Johann’s grounded questioning was the only thing keeping him moored into this reality. He was sure he was only doing it to keep him conscious, but he clung to it like a life raft in stormy seas.

“Like… Nono, only with darker red hair.”

The Jeep roared to life. Johann put on the flimsy seatbelt more out of habit than safety concern. He lifted Caesar against his shoulder, mindful of what effect a seatbelt might have on his injuries. “I’ll do my best to hold on to you.”

Much to his surprise, Caesar’s arm snaked around his back and his head rested on his shoulder. Johann could feel the blood soaking into him even from that contact. He down shifted the car and sped out into the dark forest. Norma was in his ear, directing him to out of the maze of trees and onto a main road. “Caesar… you…”

“I just want to be held for a little while.” He muttered. Even now, pride wouldn’t let Caesar look him in the eyes. The pain of his injuries was fading, but the wounds from the Soul Skill she used had run deeper. They were like barbed wired on his psyche. The moment he tried to break free of it, the more painful he became. He could only shrank away from the memory of that cold and frightening loneliness that he was truly on his own. There was no family to rescue him. It was him against the cruel world that had wronged him.

Johann’s arm tightened around him.

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elizabethemerald · 4 years

Text

Widogast’s Magnificent Mansion

Please Reblog and tell me what you think of this version of the Mansion!

Caleb stepped into the former meat locker and watched as his friend’s jaws dropped one by one as they followed him. When each had stepped into the foyer he closed the entrance with a wave, then turned to look at the room, a smile teasing his lips.

The entrance foyer to the magical mansion had stained glass windows on every side. There were three large windows on the left and three on the right and one massive one straight in front of them. Each of the windows depicted one of the Nein in beautiful, ornate stained glass, finer than any glass cutter could make.

On one wall, Yasha stood with both hands on the hilt of the Magician’s Judge, it’s point dug into the earth at her feet. Lightning crackled and arched around her white feathered wings. Next was Veth in her yellow dress, who wore a necklace of buttons, with her cross bow in one hand, while her other held a porcelain mask, just peaking out from behind her dress. Last on that wall, Beauregard stood in an easy fighting stance, resplendent in her Cobalt Blues, and with lightning blasting off her fists, a cocky smile on her lips.

Across from Yasha, Caduceus stared serenely down at them his blight staff in his hands, surrounded by growing greenery and tangled vines, with a skull at his feet, flowers growing from its eyes. Behind and above him shone the radiant light of the Wildmother. Next to him, Fjord held the Star Razer in one hand, with green eldritch energy in the other. He stood on the deck of a ship, waves crashing over the rails, with divine light shining off the Wildmother’s symbol in the air above him. Finally there was Jester, her skirts bellowing out around her as if she had just finished spinning, in one hand she held her lollipop weapon, with it sitting over her shoulder, while in the other she offered a blueberry muffin. Standing behind her was a green cloaked figure, just a hint of a smirk visible underneath his hood.

Finally on the wall opposite the entrance, standing above a pair of double doors was the entirety of the Mighty Nein. At first it was the grubby assholes who had met in Trostenwald. Caleb stood in the center of their group in his dirty coat, Nott, still a goblin near him, with the rest of the group around him. As they stepped forward the image changed to the group of capable adventures who now stood in the foyer. Veth, now a halfling, Caleb clean and well dressed, Yasha with her white wings, Fjord shining under the light of the Wildmother, Beau wearing her expositor uniform. And over their heads, a purple coat, that seemed to flap in an invisible breeze.

“Lebby...This is-” Veth’s words died in her throat as she stared.

Caleb turned to take in his friend’s awestruck looks. The smile that had been teasing at his lips now broke into a full on grin.

“This! Is only the beginning.” He declared, than lead the way to and through the double doors.

As the doors opened, without him touching them a warm chime could be hard echoing through the mansion. From the foyer the first room was a massive open living room filled with comfortable couches. There was a grand stair case that lead to a second floor and several rooms opened off the main room. Caleb spun slowly in place pointing out the rooms around them.

“There’s a work out room there.” Beau nudged Fjord and smiled. “Next to it is a workshop, with all the tools you could dream of Veth. And there’s a studio, for art or music.” Jester was already excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet, but at that she cheered and threw her arms around Yasha. “The garden is behind the stairwell and there’s a dining room over there. The larder is through the kitchen, don’t worry Mr. Clay, it’s well stocked, we will not want for food.” Caduceus leaned on his staff, his whole face split into a wide grin. “And of course a library and study.”

The Nein were practically vibrating at this point. Beau had thrown herself down on one of the couches, her legs over the arm, while Jester had started to jump from cushion to cushion around the room. Yasha had wandered over to the studio with a look of contentment on her face. Veth ran to the workshop to peak inside. Fjord patted Caleb on the shoulder.

“Well done, Caleb.” He said warmly.

Caleb took just another moment to appreciate his friends and how much they enjoyed the mansion, before he clapped his hands together.

“Would you like to see your rooms?”

He asked the question innocently enough but the way those who had moved away snapped back to his position filled his heart with joy. When they were again gathered he climbed the stairs, his friends at his heels. At the top of the stairs were seven rooms, each with a plain wooden door, and an engraved symbol at the top of the door frame. Caleb’s smile somehow widened as he saw each of them take hesitant steps toward the doors that had something special to them in the engraving.

Caleb followed Beau to the room that bore an engraving of the three eyes of Ioun. She opened the door and stepped inside. The room within was reminiscent to her room with the Cobalt Soul. Few decorations or furnishings were in the room. A bed, dresser and desk taking up the bulk of the space. The desk was well lit with several magical lanterns, and had several piles of paper, as well as quills and inks. All across one wall was a board with tacks, coils of string and paper. The window showed an evening in Zadash from the Archive of the Cobalt Soul there.

“The uh, conspiracy board was a comparatively recent addition.” Caleb smiled.

Beau nodded absent mindedly. She picked up the one piece of decoration, a framed portrait that sat on her desk. Caleb knew it without looking. Beau in the center of a group hug with the Nein. Jester and Veth both physically clinging to her, all of them smiling and laughing. He knew that she would deny it if he brought it up, but he caught a glimpse of a tear sliding down her cheek as he stepped away.

A voice coming from the next room drew his attention. He stepped to the door with the symbol of the Wildmother surrounded by vines to see Caduceus greeting his plants. His room was similar in color and lighting to what Caleb remembered of the Blooming Grove. Outside the window was a bright, verdant forest filled with all manner of beautiful trees and plants. The room itself was fairly austere, though not as severe as Beauregard’s room. However other than furniture the room was filled with plants. There were vines hanging from the ceiling and creeping up the walls. Plus multiple small planters filled with fungus.

Caleb left Caduceus to introduce himself to his new plants to look at the next room. The door bore the mark of a crossbow bolt covered in electricity. Veth’s room matched her attire, ostentatious colors decorating the walls, and her furniture was an eclectic mix, more chosen for comfort over style. Every possible surface, from the walls to the desk and dresser were covered in pictures of Veth and her family. There were pictures of all three Brennattos, pictures with just Veth and Yeza, and dozens of pictures of Luc laughing and having fun. Including Caleb’s personal favorite, Luc sitting on Yasha’s shoulders from just this morning.

When Veth saw him standing at her door she ran to him. Caleb knelt to meet her running hug. She pressed her face against his coat to hide the tears running down her face.

“Thank you Caleb.” She whispered into his shoulder.

“Of course, Liebling.” He replied, his voice tight. “And if Luc and Yeza visit I can rearrange things to give the three of you your own apartment, so they are always welcome here.”

Veth pressed herself tighter against him, pulling on his jacket for a minute before she let go. She took a deep shuddering breath then turned back into the room. Caleb stood to leave her to it, his smile growing wider as he heard her exclaim upon finding her closet.

Next down the line was Yasha, the Stormlord’s symbol carved above her door. Caleb stuck his head in, but didn’t disturb her. The giant woman was standing, her fingers resting gently on the wall of her room. Caleb had copied the walls from her room in the Xhorhouse, so the wall was painted with Jester’s mural of wild flowers. Yasha turned from staring at the mural to kneel in front of the potted flower at her feet. She gently rain her fingers over the flower’s leaves, before glancing at the rain that battered the windows of her room.

Caleb stepped away, leaving her to it and found himself outside Fjord’s room. The symbol above it was almost a perfect copy of the Wildmother’s holy symbol that Cad had made for him. The room had wood paneling and decorations that made it look like it was the captain’s cabin aboard a ship. The walls were decorated with naval charts and on the wide map table were copies of every map the Nein had collected. Fjord had summoned the Star Razer and placed it on a sword rack that hung over the desk while he looked at one of the maps more closely. Outside the wide bay windows a choppy sea could be seen, with the light of dawn filtering in between the clouds.

He looked up as Caleb looked in and gave a warm smile, the tips of his tusks just poking out above his lips. He nodded to Caleb, appreciation in his eyes before he turned his attention back to chart in his hands.

Caleb stepped back and looked at the last two rooms. Both doors were still closed. He turned his head as he heard Jester cheer from Veth’s room. He smiled and turned to watch her dash between rooms, her excited chatter filling the hall with noise, as she inspected each person’s room in turn, sharing in their delight at their new accommodations.

Finally Jester finished talking excitedly with Beau about her room and ran down the hall to meet Caleb outside their two rooms. She immediately pulled him into a bone crushing hug in her excitement. Caleb wheezed as she released him, but his smile didn’t leave his face. How could it, when Jester’s own radiant smile was before him?

“You haven’t seen your own room yet?” He asked.

Jester’s demeanor changed a little at his words. She lost none of her joy, but there was a hint of purple in her cheeks and her tail curled and uncurled around her ankle.

“Well, I wanted to wait so you could show it to me.” She said.

Caleb’s smile grew crooked at the look of expectation on her face. Who was he to make her wait any longer? He gestured to the room with a Traveler's Gate above it, and the door opened for them. Jester immediately entered, practically dancing in joy as she did so. Caleb followed right behind her.

Jester squealed in joy as she spun in place in the center of the room trying to take it all in. Caleb had copied elements of her room in the Lavish Chateau, with a few new personal touches. The walls were covered in paintings. The ones near the bottom, childish and simple, while those higher up grew in skill. Many of the paintings were exact copies of the ones from her room, but hidden among them were members of the Mighty Nein, and art of their greatest adventures. Of course among them were some friends of the Nein who didn’t travel with them. Calianna, Kiri, and Shakaste.

Across the vanity and the desk top were sculptures of all kinds. Again, some of the ones she had made as a child, some of the Nein and some of their friends. There were piles of paints and brushes on the desk, along with a plate of bear claws and other pastries. Jester grabbed one, then jumped onto her bed, landing on her back. She had stars in her eyes as she stared up at the canopy, and the painting Caleb had put there.

“This is the most amazing thing Cayleb.” She said. Tears beaded at the corners of her eyes. She took a bite of her bear claw and her face brightened immediately. She groaned as her tail curled on itself. “Mmmm. These have cinnamon on them!”

“Ja, of course.” Caleb’s face hurt from how much he was smiling. He glanced out her window at the Nicodranas skyline, soft moonlight falling through the curtains.

Almost before he realized, Jester was back on her feet and pulling him into another hug. This one was less tight, but no less warm.

“Thank you so much Cayleb.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. For probably the first time, Caleb let himself hug her back. After a long hug, he pulled away.

“Also,” Caleb took on her lilting accent as he said. “There are, like, sooo many dicks hidden on the walls.”

Jester cheered then spun away to begin examining the walls closely trying to find the hidden dicks. Caleb watched her for a moment, then quietly stepped back, leaving her to her search. He left her door open before turning to his own. An open book with a pair of cat eyes hovering over it marked the top of the door frame. He opened the door and walked in.

His room was simple. Almost as spartan as Beau’s. There was a small bookshelf filled with books. A simple desk with one of his dancing lights floating above it. He knew the drawers were well stocked with paper and ink. The bed was plain but comfortable. One he hadn’t slept in since before he left for the Soltryce Academy. Frumpkin already sat on the bed, gently licking his paw. And on his desk, was a plate with a single Blueberry Cupcake.

#caleb widogast #jester lavorre #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #veth brenatto #caduceus clay #fjord #the mighty nein #critical role #critical role spoilers #Mordenkainen's magnificent mansion

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wafflefries13 · 4 years

Text

Walk Me Home

Woop woop! Finally got this one done. I think it got away from me a little there, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Summary: While trying to avoid a potential stalker, you and a certain hard-headed boy make a deal to keep you safe on the way home.

Genre: Fluff, suspense

Warnings: Slight language, references to being stalked, depiction of kidnapping

As always, I love feed back. Thanks for reading! <3

You were racing the drops of condensation dripping down the frosted cooler glass. Personally, you thought the one on the far left was going to win. The center had been in the lead, but it crashed into a glop of drops and was forced to a sudden halt. The middle left gained a sudden lead by dropping down through an empty space. It veered suddenly and crashed into the far left, both of them stopping dead.

Well, so much for that.

That was the fifth race you’d monitored this hour. You’d spent the previous hour walking around the aisles of the convenience store you were holed up in, rotating the chip bags, soda bottles, and cans so that all the labels faced outward. The hour before that you spent memorizing the employee cleaning manual kept under the sink in the customer bathroom. And the hour before that you had spent tirelessly counting every ceiling and floor tile (Ceiling = 237, Floor = 422.) You were kind of surprised the worker behind the register hadn't said anything by this point. His feet were kicked up on the counter, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t looked up from his magazine since you came in.

It was dark outside by now, the street lights the only way to see where you were going. It had been early evening when you had first rushed in. Abandoning your condensation drop race, you sneaked a look out the wide windows that lined the front of the store. There, half-way hidden in the shadows of the large tree, silhouetted by the street lamp light. You jerked back, heart jumping up 100 beats per minute. God, you hoped he hadn’t seen you. But he had to know you were in here. So why hadn’t he come in? Why hadn’t he left?

You felt sick. You were going to be sick.

The door chimed as they slid open. Your fight or flight response kicked into overdrive

(Definitely flight). You ducked behind a display of dill pickle flavored chips. Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Did you jinx yourself? Did he see you looking out and take that as an invitation? If he tried to do something, would the cashier help you? Would he even think something was wrong? Would he call a hero?

“Hey,” A voice broke you out of your panicked internal monologue. “The hell are you doing down there?”

Wait. You knew that gruff, irreverent voice.

“Bakugo?”

You and Bakugo were in the same class at UA. You weren’t sure he actually knew your name, though, much less that you sat a few seats away from each other.

You looked up from your crouch behind the chips display at his confused and slightly annoyed looking vermilion eyes. Well, his default state was slightly annoyed, so maybe that second part didn’t mean much. He had one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a bottle of cola by the neck.

“Umm,” you said, flustered. “I dropped a 500 yen coin. So, you know, don’t want to lose that. And, hey! These chips are 500 yen, too! So if I find it I can get a bag!” You nervously laughed, still not standing.

He narrowed his eyes at you, furrowing his eyebrows. Letting your self-consciousness take over, you slowly stood, rubbing your arm awkwardly and not meeting his gaze. Your eyes nervously darted to the large window, trying to see past the glare of the store lights.

“The hell are you looking at?” Bakugo said, lazily turning his head to look out.

“Don’t!” You said without thinking. You grabbed his uniform shirt sleeve and pulled him toward you, if only to get his attention away from looking outside.

He jerked back away from you, bringing up his arm as a barrier between you, as if you could ever do anything to hurt him. “Hah? What the hell?”

You looked away, wringing your hands together. “Sorry, I just… Can-can you do me a favor?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Outside, across the street, there’s a big oak tree next to the street light. Is there… Is there someone still standing there?”

His glare turned less harsh. He rotated his neck and shoulders as if he was stretching his muscles, sneaking a glance through the window. He hummed low in his throat and turned back to you. “Yeah, there’s some creep there. Can’t make them out too well. You know that guy?”

You pressed your lips, slinking farther to the back of the store and away from the view of the window. “It’s nothing. I can deal with it later. Sorry to bother you.”

“Jeez,” Bakugo huffed, not buying it for a second. He followed your retreat, looming over you as your back hit the cold window door of the fridge. “You’re really bad at lying, aren’t you? What, is he some ex you’re trying to avoid? Owe someone money?” He smirked at his joke, but his face turned serious again when he saw your concerned and fearful expression.

“The truth is,” you started in a whisper. “I have a stalker. That guy out there has been following me for a few weeks. Usually it’s from school to work, but today he was waiting till I got done with my shift. I-I didn’t want him to know where I live, so I started taking all these back streets to try and lose him. I thought he’d just get bored or something, but he was always just behind me. So I came in here. Maybe if I Just waited here for a while he’d get bored and leave, but he’s been standing out there, waiting for me, for hours now, and I just want to go home and forget all about this but if I step outside…”

You weren’t sure when you started crying. All you knew was that at some point you couldn’t keep it in any more and everything started pouring out. You started hiccuping with the effort to keep back tears and making a scene, the heels of your hands digging into your eyes. Bakugo awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and looked away.

“Jeez,” he said under his breath. “I never know what to do when girls cry. Uh, hang in there?” He patted your shoulder, bringing his hand back when you flinched from his touch. “Have you, like, tried calling the police?”

“Of course I have. They said they can't do anything because he hasn’t actually done anything illegal. And it’s not like I can get a restraining order or something because I don’t know who he is.” You sniffed.

“Huh. Well. You want me to go kick his ass?”

Your brain took a second to process his response, then you burst out in a fit of giggles. He smiled back, more like a self-satisfied smirk. You tried to gulp down a breath, laughing becoming frenzied as the stress of the situation finally overwhelmed you. Then, as suddenly as you started, you stopped as an idea slammed into you.

“Actually, maybe you could do that.” Bakugo quirked his brow at you. “No, not literally. I mean, well, you’re scary looking-“

“Hey!”

“And I was just thinking that maybe if someone was with me - if you were with me - when I walked home, then he wouldn’t think he could, I don’t know, take advantage of the situation?”

“You want me to be your bodyguard?”

“I mean, when you put it like that…” You fiddled with your hands again.

You stood in silence, the only sound the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you and the hum of the drinks fringes behind you.

Bakugo shoved his drink in your hands. “Pay for this for me. I’m gonna grab some instant noodles and boa buns too. You know how to get home from here?”

You blinked up at him, twisting the bottle anxiously in your hands. “If we get to the train station, then I know where to go from there.”

He jerked his head to the front. “Great, let’s hurry it up. I want to get home too, you know.”

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Move your ass.”

You followed closely behind him, paying for the snacks at the counter. You hesitated when the doors to the convenience store slide open, standing half-way out. The street light hit your eyes differently out here, blinding you to the already dark shadows. Was that a twitch of movement? A hidden figure in the mess of shapes cast by the trees?

Bakugo’s grip on your wrist shocked you out of your grim hyperactive imagination like a bucket of ice water. His mouth was pulled into a frown, but he gently pulled you out of the doorway. He let you go as you walked out of the light of the store. You desperately wanted him not to.

It didn’t take long before you heard a third set of footsteps join yours and Bakugo’s. You inched closer to him, arms brushing together. Seemingly unconcerned, Bakugo munched on a boa bun.

“Hey,” He said. The abruptness of it in the otherwise silent night made you jump. “Didn’t you win the 50 meter dash in the sports festival last year?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Cool. This should be easy, then.”

He whipped around, chucking the boa bun directly at the man following you. You heard a sound of surprise. Bakugo grabbed your hand and took off in the other direction. Your feet pounded against the sidewalk, knees high in a way that you would have considered indecent in your uniform skirt if you weren’t already terrified. Your heart pounded in your ears as he led you down turn after turn, block after block. After the length of several 50 meter dashes, he let go of your hand, Both of your long strides slowing down as you came to a stop in the glow of the train station’s entrance. You bent over, hands steadying yourself on your thighs. Next to you, Bakugo stretched backward, pulling his arms back to ease the muscles.

“Well, that wasn’t too terrible, huh?” He said with a smirk.

You gave a breathy laugh. Standing up, you searched the dark around you for any signs of human disturbance. You pushed your hair out of your face, sweat sticking to your forehead from your impromptu marathon.

“Sorry you had to sacrifice your bun.”

He shrugged. “You‘ll just owe one. You know where to go from here?”

The two of you started down the road back to your house. You tried to fill the space between you with small talk. Bakugo would grunt in response every once and a while. You tried to ignore the feeling that he was getting annoyed with you. But whenever you would trail off, he’d snap at you to continue your line of thought.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you finally got home, just that it was late. The windows were dark and you fumbled with your key. Bakugo skeptically observed your house.

“You’re not home alone, right?” He asked.

“I am, actually. My parents work for a pretty new company, so they’re out of the city a lot for business trips.”

“Hah?” He sounded indignant, like you personally offended him. “They left you alone with this creep around?”

“I mean, I haven’t really told them.” You pressed your lips, trying not to meet his furious glare. “They already just deal with a lot. And I already told you what the police said. I just don’t want to worry them, you know?”

He tapped your forehead with his knuckles. “Idiot. Parents are supposed to worry, that’s what they’re there for.” He glowered as his cell phone rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he mumbled, “Speak of the devil.” He held up a hand in goodbye. You waved a little before dropping in to a bow of gratitude. You could hear him arguing with the person on the other end of the line.

You triple checked all the locks on your windows and doors, turning on all the lights. You drew the curtains in tight, not looking too deeply into the dark outside. But you were home now, you were safe behind these familiar walls. And besides, that guy didn’t know where you lived, right?

~~~

You were still half asleep at your desk in school the next day. You hadn’t slept well last night, jerking back awake at the slightest irregular noise. You were becoming a wreck. You weren’t sure exactly how much more of this you could take. After you had woken up for the n-th time last night, you had typed out a text to your mom, explaining what was happening back home. Agonizing over the text, you ended up deleting it.

You started nodding off. You could just rest your eyes for a second, right? It was a passing period, so you had some time.

A stack of textbooks slammed down on your desk. You shrieked, throwing yourself back. You would have fallen back if someone didn’t catch your chair.

“Whoa, hang on there, (Y/N)!” Kirishima caught your chair and set you back upright. Bakugo drummed his fingers on the textbooks he had just stopped your heart with.

“Thought you were going to bed after I left last night,” He said.

“Ooh, left last night?” Mina said, sliding over. “Is there something we need to know?”

“Lay off, Pinkie!”

“No, it’s no big deal, really!” You tried to salvage the situation, waving your hands in front of you. “We just walked home in the same direction is all.”

“Walking home together?” Sero said, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a pretty big leap in your relationship, don’t you think, Bakugo?”

“I said to lay off, you damn extras!”

The small group started playfully arguing with each other. It didn’t feel at all serious, especially since every one but Bakugo was laughing and joking against his threats.

“Can’t anyone have a private conversation around here?” Bakugo said angrily. He stomped away, turning back at the door. “Well, aren’t you coming?” Realizing he was talking to you, you quickly excused yourself and hurried after him.

Bakugo was leaning out an open window, the autumn wind tossing his hair. Not sure exactly what you say, you bowed a little. “Thanks again for last night.”

“Do you have any clubs after school?” Bakugo asked, ignoring your gratitude.

You blinked.”No, I don’t. I have to head to work after the final bell.”

“And how far is that from here?”

“Not very. It’s a Japanese sweets cafe that opened nearby. I’ve seen some people with our school’s uniform there, so I guess it’s pretty popular here.”

“And how long’s your shift?”

“From 4 to 6:30 on school days, 8 to 4 on the weekends. But, um, why?”

He scoffed, knocking your forehead with his knuckle like he had the night before. “Idiot. Obviously because I’m gonna make sure you get to work and home okay. You said that weirdo followed you from school to work. So we’ll walk there together then back to your place. At least till your parents get back in town, because you’re definitely telling them, you got it?”

You could feel yourself blushing hard. “Yeah, sure, of course! That’s really kind of you, actually. Thank you!”

Bakugo waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t take it personally or anything. I just don’t want to be watching the news and hear your dumbass got kidnapped or some bullshit like that.”

You weren’t really sure how to respond to that, so you just twirled a lock of hair around your finger. “Still, I really appreciate it. It’s really heroic of you!”

Bakugo whipped his head away, but you were almost sure you caught his cheeks turning pink. “Tch, whatever. Don’t think too hard about it. And I still expect payment! You better be ready to cough up some of those sweets from your job!”

~~~

“So, (Y/N),” Your coworker, Matsu, said while elbowing you good-naturedly. “Who’s your friend you brought in today?” She winked and nodded her head at a small table set on the patio of your workplace.

Bakugo was studying, gnawing at the end of his pen. He’d planted himself there after the two of you left school. He’d kept on a steady diet of sweets since your shift started, and you started getting worried about what your paycheck at the end of the month would look like. Once again, you talked the whole way through your walk with only interspersed responses from the blond. But you felt much more comfortable chatting this time, less like you were bothering him. Although you knew he would never admit it, you had a feeling that Bakugo could really be kind under all that ego and anger.

You started placing chick-shaped meika hiyoko in a tray in the display case. “Bakugo is a friend from school. Well, I think you’d call him a friend, anyway. He’s just waiting for my shift to end to walk me home.”

You didn’t like the self-satisfied look that came over Matsu’s face. “Ooh, walking you home, huh?”

“Oh, stop coming up with ridiculous ideas! He’s just…” You trailed off. How exactly were you meant to explain your situation?

You were saved from responding with a knock on the window. Bakugo mouthed an order of Shingen Momo. You quickly excused yourself despite Matsu’s teasing protests.

Bakugo had a healthy stack of plates from previous sweets stacked next to his text book. You tried mentally adding a tally of how much his little feast was going to cost you. You set the plate down and looked over his shoulder at what he was studying.

“Wow,” You commented. “That looks really difficult. Did I miss something in class today?”

“No,” He said. “I’m studying for college entrance exams.”

“Oh, right. You want to get into that famous hero college, right? I guess they have to be pretty tough. I heard Izuku in our class wants to go there, too.”

Bakugo snapped the pencil he was holding. “That damn Deku! Always trying to take my ideas! Who does he think he is, trying to be a hero, huh?! No one even knew he had a Quirk until recently! He pretty much breaks every bone in his body when he uses it! How’s a loser like that meant to be a hero?!”

You were a little shocked. You didn’t think you’d ever seen Bakugo this suddenly passionate about anything. Yet, despite his negative ramblings, he came across as admiring the boy with green hair in your class, talking about Izuku’s training schedule and how strong he had gotten since they knew each other in middle school. You couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden uproar. Hearing you, Bakugo cut himself off, quickly glancing away.

He fished another pencil out of his bag and re-focused on his text book. “That creep is still here.” Your mouth went dry as all frivolity seeped from your body. Bakugo stealthy pointed the end of his pencil to a garden store across the street. “He’s been walking in and out of stores this whole time. He’s hiding out there now. Definitely keeping an eye out.”

You gulped hard. “What should we do?”

“Well, first, you can bring me another momiji manju. Then, go back to work. Let me know when your shift ends. You guys have a back door, right? We can go through that, cut through the big inside shopping center.” He pulled out his phone and opened an app. “I looked it up. There’s another train station near here. It goes right to the one near your house. We’ll jump on there.”

You expected your heartbeat to slow down now that there was a solution to the probable danger. But instead it kept speeding up as you thought of the work Bakugo had put into researching his escape plan.

“Wow,” You breathed. “I guess you really are my hero, huh?”

Bakugo bristled, turning his face away before you could see it turning red (although the tips of his ears were practically a cherry color by now), and shoved an empty plate at you. “Momiji manju! And make sure it’s hot this time!”

~~~

“He’s still behind us.”

Your stalker was more cautious this time. He was making more of an effort to go unnoticed, ducking in and out of shops, getting lost in the crowd, but still keeping an uncomfortably close distance.

Bakugo clicked his teeth. “This guy doesn't know when to quit. You’re sure he doesn’t know where you live, right?”

“I’ve never seen him around. But…” You let the thought hang between the two of you like a dark cloud.

Bakugo seemed to be contemplating something for a second. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his hand shot forward to tightly grip onto yours. You started a little at his sudden aggressive hand holding, but flexed your fingers to intertwine with his. Bakugo cleared his throat, looking away.

“You’re not-“ You could have sworn you heard his voice crack, not that you would ever admit it. Bakugo cleared his throat and started again. “You’re not scared of heights, are you?”

“Not really. Why?”

Faster than you could keep up with, Bakugo pulled you closer. His other arm swept down, scooping you up under your knees and holding you to his chest. He took two large steps before kicking off a vending machine on the side of the street. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he took off his support from your back, pointing his hand palm down and releasing a blast. The explosion rocked through your ears as the two of you were propelled upward. A scream died in your throat. Just before you landed on the roof of a store neighboring the street you were just walking along, he released another explosion which propelled you even higher and further.

“I thought you said you weren’t afraid of heights,” Bakugo said with a laugh in his voice. “Open your eyes.”

You didn’t really notice how tightly you had clenched your eyes until he told you to open them. You had your head buried in the crook of his neck, the scent of caramelized sugar and smoke overwhelming your senses. You cracked open one eye just as Bakugo launched you both high in the air. You lost your breath, gazing in wonder at the sight before you. The sky was ablaze with red, oranges, and purples as the sun set. A band of stars was just twinkling into existence at the very top of the sky. The town below you looked just like a train-set model, tiny and delicate and perfect. Your stomach dropped as you plummeted back down. You laughed, yelling, clutching to him tighter. He tightened his hold around waist, smirk widening into a genuine heartfelt smile.

You both stumbled a bit, coming to a rocky landing in your neighborhood. There weren’t any more commercial buildings around, so you thought the residents would be grateful that they wouldn’t have to deal with shoe prints on their roofs. The air around you was crisp with the scent of melting sugar. You were lost to a giggle fit, holding your stomach as you tried to get a hold of yourself.

“You think he saw that coming?” Bakugo asked with a sideways grin.

“This is worth all the momiji manju in the world if we get to do that again!”

Bakugo’s chest swelled with pride as he brushed off invisible dirt. “Hah, what I tell you? It’s going to take a lot more than some creep in a black hoodie to get one over on Bakugo Katsuki.”

You clapped for him. “Full marks, Mr. Future-Number-One-Hero.” He ducked his head, looking away bashfully. You started walking in the direction of your house. “How did you even come up with that idea?”

“Rockets. I figure you have to get some pretty powerful force to shoot something that high up. And considering my Quirk is the most powerful force out there, well, it was a cinch.”

“So is that going to be your hero name, then? Rocket Man?”

He scowled. “No way! My hero name’s gonna be something way cooler! Like, like,” For someone who had dedicated his whole life to becoming a hero, you thought it was a little cute that he had left off some of the more practical aspects, like what he would be called. He snapped his fingers. “What about Lord Explosion?!”

You tried to bite back a laugh. You failed. “It’s a little obvious, don’t you think?”

“Alright then. What about King Murder?”

“Well, it’s certainly direct.”

“Wait, I’ve got it! Lord Explosion Murder!”

You stopped trying to hide your laughter. “Perfect. I can see it on all the T-shirts now.”

He pouted, no doubt trying to look menacing. “Alright, what’s your great idea?”

You hummed in thought. “What about Ground Zero? That’s what you call the middle of a major disaster. You know, like an explosion? It’s kind of metaphorical, thematic, and way more marketable than having the word ‘murder’ in your title.”

Bakugo looked down, eyebrows furrowed. “Damn. That is good.” He gave you a sideways look. “What’s your Quirk, anyway?”

You fiddled with your fingers. “It’s nothing too fancy. Nothing heroic or strong like yours, I mean.” You pressed your lips together and whistled. Instead of a normal sharp note, however, you replicated a perfect Asian Koel call. Not a second later, you heard a reply from a nearby park. Altering your call al title, a small brown bird with white speckles and red eyes flew down and landed on the back of your hand. You alternated with a few more calls, a Pacific Swift, Gray Nightjar, Kentish Plover, and Japanese Sparrowhawk. One by one, the birds would respond and come to perch on your hand or shoulder, the plover taking a dignified seat on your head. The sparrowhawk squaked at Bakugo when he tried to poke it.

“I can recreate any birdsong if I hear it once,” You explained. The Koel cooed as you pet under its chin. “I can kind of understand them, too. Not in a Dr. Dolittle way or anything, more just the general idea of what they’re trying to communicate. Danger, hungry, food here, that kind of thing.”

“Must be fun in the spring.”

“Ugh, you have no idea. It’s impossible to sleep in.”

“Maybe they’re just trying to chat you up.” Bakugo created a little explosion in his hand. The birds squaked in protest and flew away. “Little bastards. Don’t birds have noises to let other birds know not to mooch on their territory?”

“You mean a song? And what do you have to defend anyway?”

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close again. “Birds mate for life or some shit, right? They need to know you’re not available.”

Your heart definitely didn’t skip a beat. Definitely.

~~~

One of the last things you expected the next morning was to find Bakugo waiting impatiently at your front door. “What am I supposed to do if you just don’t show up for class, huh?” He declared with a haughty attitude. “You’ll make me feel guilty.” He came in, slugging off his shoes at the doorway and collapsing on the couch in the living room. “Let me know when you’re done with breakfast then we can leave.”

“Oh,” You said. “I, uh, don’t usually eat breakfast. I try to get to school early, so…”

Bakugo furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously? It’s the first thing in the morning. How are you supposed to have energy for the rest of the day?” He put on a begrudging air as he marched to the kitchen. He started pulling out pans and rummaging through the fridge and pantry. “Geez, you have nothing here! What, your parents didn’t leave any grocery money when they abandoned you here? Well don’t just stand there. Go finish getting ready. I’ll get something together by the time you’re done.”

Unsure about leaving him alone in your kitchen, but in no position to refuse him, you headed back to your bathroom to try and make it look like you had been getting a decent night's sleep for the past week.

Slugging your backpack over your shoulder, you came back downstairs to the smell of warm waffles. How Bakugo had managed to make a giant stack of fluffy waffles in the few minutes you were gone was beyond you.

“Shouldn’t we eat on the go?” You asked when he set down a plate on the table.

He tapped the long handle of the spatula against his shoulder. “You have way too many unhealthy habits. You don’t ask for help, you don’t eat breakfast. What am I going to do with you?” He pushed you down into a chair and took a seat in the one next to you, angrily stabbing the top waffle and taking a massive bite out of it before it even made it to his plate. “Eating on the go messes with your digestion. If you want to be helpful, start making a grocery list. You don’t work today, right? We’ll go to the store after school. I don’t need the stress of having you pass out from hunger on top of everything else.”

You stared at him as he wolfed down his breakfast. When he noticed you still haven’t taken anything, he shoved the plate to you. Taking a waffle, you couldn’t help but have a large smile spread across your face.

“You really are nice, aren’t you, Bakugo?”

He choked on his waffle. He refused to look at you for the rest of the morning.

~~~

Bakugo had been walking you to and from home for three weeks now. People at school had definitely started to notice. Especially after he started to drag you to eat lunch with him and his friends, lunches that he had made for you. You started showing off your Quirk a little more. Your favorite was calling down crows, bribing him with shinny pins and glass gems. You especially got a kick out of Denki freaking out when the birds mimicking human speech.

Without really noticing, you had slowly stopped being so nervous. You didn’t triple check your windows and doors at night, you weren’t always looking over your shoulder, you didn’t flinch when the chime over the door at work sounded.

You had also been growing significantly closer to Bakugo. You didn’t think it was at all possible for someone so rough to have such a sweet side. Sure, everything kind he did was still smothered in his devil may care attitude, but you came to learn that his abrupt remarks and aggressive personality was just a top layer. Bakugo knew what he wanted in life and was never subtle about sharing his thoughts. But his own emotions still came as an annoying mystery to him. He would intertwine his fingers with yours, declaiming with a blush and avoiding your eyes that he just wanted just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get lost or snatched away from him. He made sure you started eating well, something you had all but dropped due to stress. He would pull you into the kitchen with him, having you help him making breakfast and your bento lunches.

There was one situation where sitting on the patio of the sweet shop you worked at. Your boss had noticed his frequent stays and had recruited him to help test new recipes. Not to mention this helped ease the impact on your pay check.

Munching on a new flavor of melon pan, you two chatted under the warm sun. Giggling at some remark he made, you froze when you felt his fingers brush your face. Suddenly, Bakugo was less than a breath away from you. He brushed a lock of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand dropped down to your chin, eyes falling to your lips. Your heart started stuttering, breath coming out in shallow gasps. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip.

Bakugo looked up, searching your face. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning forward.

You both must have jumped three feet in the air with the interrupting squawk. A crow perched on your head, beak darting forward to peck at the melon pan forgotten in Bakugo’s hand. Bakugo yelled at the bird, waving it away and yelling obscenities at it. But that didn’t stop him from tearing off a chunk of the sweet bread and throwing it to him.

You both kept the blushes for the rest of the day.

~~~

You knew that nothing this good could last forever.

It started out like any other new-normal day. You were walking home from work with Bakugo. It was late autumn now, the days getting shorter and nights longer. The sun had already completely set as you strolled down the street. You didn’t notice something was wrong immediately. But then your stomach started to turn into knots. You shuffled closer to Bakugo who seemed to be noticing that something was amiss, too. You kept telling yourself that you were being paranoid. Nothing had happened for so long now, why would something suddenly happen now?

And then you heard the sparrow start singing. It was high pitched and panicked. A few swept down, fluttering in front of the two of you before cascading back up to their tree. You knew that sound. It meant danger.

You latched yourself to Bakugo’s side. “Bakugo,” You whispered. “Something’s wrong.”

He wrapped his arm around you. “Yeah, I noticed. Stay close, okay?”

You were afraid that you were practically tripping over his feet. But you didn’t want to move away. Every muscle tense, you looked over your shoulder. He was walking behind the street lights, staying out of the majority of the light. The street lights just barley illuminated his dark clothes, his hunched figure, determinately marching at a steady pace. Was he holding something? Did he just speed up? Was he-?

Bakugo stopped suddenly. You stumbled a bit, clutching his arm to get your balance again. “Bakugo?”

He whipped around. “Hey! Asshole!” He turned to you, hesitating for only a second before cradling your face, maybe a little more aggressively than he should have, rattled by nerves, and kissed you. It wasn’t extremely romantic, your teeth clashed for a moment, his fingers burying in your hair. He dropped one of his hands to your hip, pulling you closer and angling his head. The kiss was desperate, urgent, trying to communicate feelings and thoughts that it would have been difficult to vocalize. Your eyes fluttered closed. You pressed back up into him, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other tangerine in his mess of spiky blond hair.

The seconds stretched on for what seemed like minutes, but when you pulled away it felt like it was over all too fast. You tried to regain your breath, slightly panting. He looked into your eyes with an intensity and softness you had never seen from him, all his layers peeled back to show a soft and caring core.

His face suddenly hardened. He pulled you into him, turning his face to look back at your stalker, who you had almost completely forgotten about during your kiss.

“She’s not interested!” He shouted. “She’s got a boyfriend! Get it through your thick skull! And if I ever find out you’re nothing my girlfriend again, I’ll kill you, got it?!”

You looked at your stalker straight on from the first time. He was this dark shadow that cut through the street lamps lights. He was shaking, with nerves you hoped, but more likely with rage. But at least, standing in front of you, with someone strong at your side, he looked so much more human. This wasn’t a shadow with fangs and claws. Just a person. Sure, an unhinged person who had been following you, but you had back up. A whole team of support both emotionally and physically.

The stalker didn’t say anything, just stared at the two of you. He looked like he was going to come to you, to fight, to scream. But he just turned, marching away, back into the dark.

~~~

“Do you think he’s actually done?” You asked. You were back at your house, nervously chopping leeks for lunch in the coming week.

“Damn better be,” Bakugo said. He reclined on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

“I guess that means you don’t have to walk me home any more then,” You said, leadingly.

You smirked when you heard him slam the magazine back on the coffee table. “Like hell! You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you? I can walk you home whenever I damn well feel like it! Or, you know, if you want me to, I mean. You still want me to, right?”

You tried to press down your grin as you walked back into the living room, sitting down next to him. “So, you were serious about that? You’re my boyfriend now?”

He scowled. “I don’t say anything you mean. You’re mine now, got it?”

You smiled and kissed his check. “Only if that means you’re mine, too.”

He blushed up to his ears, pressing his face to the top of your head. “Sure.”

~~~

An hour later, there was a knock on the door.

Bakugo left just a little while ago, and since then you had taken a shower, changing into your pajamas. Coming down stairs to check the locks and lights one last time, you saw Bakugo’s laying across the back of the couch. You picked it up, rubbing your thumb over the collar. You’d have to give it back to him at school tomorrow. You smiled fondly, thinking of what he’d try to say to justify him forgetting something.

And then someone knocked at the door.

You started a little. You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart. It must have been Bakugo. You supposed Bakugo had realized he had misplaced his jacket and come back. Well, you didn’t mind seeing him again, you supposed.

Practically skipping to the front door, you opened the door with a smile. You barely had the door cracked when it slammed open, cracking against the wall, the knob indenting in the soft drywall. You shrieked and fell back, landing hard on your butt. Before you could regain your bearings, a heavy weight pressed down on you.

Your eyes bulged open. A man in all black was on top of you, knee pressing into your chest, one hand securely applying pressure to your throat and the other pressing a too sweet smelling rag against your nose and mouth. The bottom of his face was covered by a black bandana, but his eyes were wide and blood shot. He was muttering something to himself, or maybe you? But the blood rushing to your ears blocked out any cognizant thought.

Your hands flew around, slapping and shoving, trying to jab your thumbs into the soft tissues of his eyes, clawing at his cheeks. But nothing seemed to bother him too much. And then things started getting fuzzy at the edges. The spiked fear in your head started swirling around. Your limbs felt heavy and stopped responding to your commands. Then everything fell, and the dark pulled you in with an ice cold grip.

~~~

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. It was dark, so dark you almost thought you were blindfolded. You were curled up in an uncomfortable ball, something fibrous was shoved in your mouth. You tried to poke it out with your dry tongue, but it didn't budge. Your hands were fastened behind you with plastic zip ties. You flexed your fingers, coming to grasp the thin but strong metal bars behind you. You tried to stretch out your legs, but your bare feet came into contact with more of these bars. Trying to sit up, you could only manage an awkward hunch as a roof of bars thunked against your head. A cage. You were in a dog cage. You were tied up in a dog cage in the dark.

You tried to kick against the bars, but you couldn’t build up much force with so little space. All it did was shake the cage in an awful rattle. You stopped when you heard footsteps. You shuffled on your side to the back of the cage, which wasn’t saying much with how little room there was any way.

The door to the room the cage was in opened. You squinted against the sudden light, temporarily blinded. Blinking up at the figure of your capture, You felt the blood in your veins turn to ice. Your ears rang with the sudden surge of adrenaline and every muscle in your body told you to get ready to run.

Your capture, your stalker, stood like a horrible stain, silhouetted in the light. He pulled back the hood on his jacket, beaming down at you. This is the first time you had seen his face up close. Did you know him? You think he might have come into the shop once or twice. But you couldn’t think of any time you would have talked to him.

He smiled like a kid in a candy store. It made you ill. “You’re awake!” He said. His voice was chipped, strained from years of smoke. The reek of it hung on his clothes and wafted through the room. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know it’s small and uncomfortable. But I had to make sure, you know? You get it, right? I had to speed everything up, see? I just-” He balled his hands into fists. Suddenly, he slammed down on his knees in front of you. Your shriek was cut off by the gag in your mouth. “I had to get you away from him! The way he was all over you, touching you, grabbing you, k-k-kissing you!” He slammed his fists on the cage, making it shudder. He saw your wide eyes, your trembling. He lowered his voice, leaning down to look closer at you. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault. He was taking advantage of you, right? But it’s okay, I have you now! And don’t worry, we’ll get out of here soon. There’s this place, way out in the mountains. We’ll be safe there. I have a room, just for you. A little palace for the perfect little doll…”

He tried to reach through the bars and touch your face. You screamed through your gag, trying to kick away his hand. He jerked back, surprised. He got angry in a flash. Slamming his fist against the bars again, he got up, muttering to himself about how this would all be solved once he could get you out of the city, how that damn boy had tried to poison you against him.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. You had to get out. You had to get out! You squirmed against your bonds, but only succeeded in having them cut deeper into your flesh.

You felt a chill in the room. You squinted, trying to see through the dark. You noticed a blackout curtain taped around a window. One corner fluttered away. The window must have been slightly opened. If you could just get your gag out…

You chewed at the dense fabric. Bits were coming off in your mouth, getting stuck between your teeth. Working your jaw until it felt like it was about to fall off, you finally managed to work it loose enough to shove it from your mouth with your tongue. Pressing your lips together, you let out a pitiful excuse for a whistle. You swallowed hard, willing saliva back into your mouth. Once more, you whistled, the sound transforming into a Russet Sparrow call. You thought you heard a faint reply from outside, but couldn’t be sure with every one of your nerves rattled and frayed.

You ran your fingers along the bottom edge of the cage. Along the back side, where the bars met the hard metal floor, there was a small lip of metal, something that had been welded wrong in the cage’s construction. Maneuvering your bound wrists, you started to saw at the zip ties with that jutting piece of metal.

~~~

He’d forgotten his damn jacket.

Bakugo was on his way home after leaving your place. Halfway there, he suddenly realized he felt a lot colder than he had when walking to your house. He supposed he could always turn around and pick it up now. It would give him another excuse to see you. But his old hag would probably just get angry at him if he showed up later than normal. Still, maybe he could just use the later hour as an excuse and stay at your house for the night. Sleeping on the couch, of course! But he did wonder what you looked like first thing in the morning…

Feathers flung in his face. Bakugo jerked back, swiping at the air in front of him. A couple of those small birds you would chirp at was frantically flying circles above him. One dive bombed him again, chirping nervously and fast.

“Beat it, dumb birds!” He whacked at them again. Stupid jelous birds.

Then he noticed their patterns. Sure, they would dive down at him, but then they would shoot up and fly back in the direction of your house, circling back to him. It was almost like they wanted him to go back there…

Bakugo broke out in a cold sprint. His feet pounded the pavement as the birds flew leading the way. He was panting by the time he reached your street, more out of the rising dread in his chest than actual exhaustion.

Reaching the front gate to your house, he froze. The door was wide open. He launched himself inside, yelling your name. His coat lay in a crumpled heap just inside the entrance. Underneath it was a strange rag. Picking it up, Bakugo felt that it was slightly wet. He brought it to his face and sniffed, jerking it back when the sickly sweet smell hit his nose. Chloroform.

His mide connected the dots in a flash. He yelled angrily and punched the wall, the drywall caving it without his notice. He dropped the rag and headed back outside.

He saw the birds chittering in a tree branch. “Hey!” He yelled at them. “You know where she is, right? She sent you to tell me. Take me to her!” At the back of his mind, Bakugo felt like an idiot for yelling at birds in the middle of the night. A sense of relief overwhelmed him when the birds chirped again and purposefully flew away, darting back to him to make sure he was following.

~~~

You couldn’t tell if you were making any headway with the zipties. Did they feel looser or was that your imagination? Or perhaps you were just losing feeling in your hands from the cutoff of blood flow. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop the one thing that might help yourself.

With a sound that to you mimicked a thunder clap, one of the zipties snapped. You almost sobbed in relief as you brought your hands to your front and rubbed your wrists. You tugged on the other plastic tie around your wrist, but it was still stubbornly strong. You’d have to cut it off with a knife or something.

A knife! You needed something to protect yourself with. There was no way of knowing if your bird distress call had actually reached anyone. You needed to take care of yourself, get outside, get to a phone or a police station or a hero or something. You knew you had a slim chance of taking on your attacker in a one-to-one fight. He had at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you, not to mention whatever his Quirk might be.

You fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the latch for the cage. Swiping randomly, your fingers clutched around the pull handle for the door. You tried to yank to open but it wouldn’t budge. Feeling around, you clutched a heavy padlock firmly attached to the handle. Of course your stalker would have taken extra precautions, and you didn’t think you could break the lock with a thin piece of metal.

No sooner had hopelessness started to creep back into your mind than you heard the door to the room click open. You threw yourself back against the far side of the cage, shoving the gag back in your mouth and putting your arms behind you as if they were still tied.

Your stalker peeked in, smiling widely like he had a wonderful surprise for you. “We’re almost ready,” He said, giddily. “I can get you ready to move now. You’re just going to have to sleep for a little longer, okay? By the time you wake up, everything will be fixed!”

You watched in disgusted horror as he took out another rag, licking it to soaking with his saliva. Was that what he had pressed against your mouth and nose back at your house? Did he have some sort of chloroform-saliva Quirk? If you weren’t going to be sick before, you definitely were now.

But then he fished out a key from the pocket of his ill-fitting sweatpants. His hands shook as he tried to fit the key in the lock of the cage. You still had the element of surprise on him. You pictured your plan of attack. When he opened the cage door to grab you, you’d kick him. Then, while distracted, you’d claw at his face, bite him if you had to. You didn’t need to beat him, you just needed to distract and disorientate him enough to make it out of the room. You could close the door behind you. Maybe there was something near you could barricade it with. Then just sprint as fast as you could to the door. He made it sound like you were still in the city, in a residential district as the very least. You could run next door, hide in someone's backyard, pound on their door until they let you in to call the police.

Just as he fit the key into the lock, there was a loud sound from outside the room. It sounded like it came from downstairs, banging. Your stalker glowered, ripping the key from the lock. He tossed it on a desk in the room, slamming the door behind him as he marched out to deal with the intrusion.

You were barely able to fit your hand through the bars, much less reach the key. You took a steadying breath before starting to whistle the sparrow song again. You heard a faint reply from outside. You whistled more frantically, a sharp song that indicated danger. You could just barley make out a lump pushing against the blackout curtains covering the window. A tiny tan bird head popped up from the corner of the curtain. You could have cried. Quieting your whistle, you nodded your head at the desk with the key. The little bird fluttered its wings, hopping around the room. It probably didn’t have the best night vision either.

You heard banging coming from downstairs. There was a roar of something you quickly recognized as an explosion. Bakugo? Your message had reached him! And now he was fighting your attacker by himself. You had hoped he would call the police or a hero or something. Honestly, you thought to yourself, you should have seen this coming.

The sparrow found the desk. It pushed the key off with its beak. The key was about the same size as the sparrow. It had a little trouble carrying the key over to you. It dropped it just within reach of your index finger to pull it into the cage. Using two fingers to hold the key, the most you could fit between the bars, you jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. You had never been so happy to hear a click before.

You slammed the cage door open, causing the bird to flutter away in surprise. You stretched your aching muscles as you unfolded yourself from the cage. Whipping your head around, you tried to find some sort of weapon you could use to help Bakugo. Seeing nothing in the small room, you opened the door just enough to peak out. As silently as you could, your legs still half asleep from being stuck in a cramp position, you snuck out into the hall.

Downstairs, you heard Bakugo yell. The little sparrow dove down the staircase and you followed. You saw Bakugo and your attacker grappling in the living room which was crowded with moving boxes. Your stalker had his teeth sunken in to Bakugo’s arm. His arm fell limply to his side as numbness seemed to spread to that whole part of his body.

Frantically looking around, you saw a half-packed lamp sticking out of one of the boxes. You heaved it up, the weight reassuring in your hands.

Bakugo spotted you over your stalker’s shoulder. “(Y/N)!” He barked out. “Run!”

Just as your attacker turned around, you surged forward with the lamp held aloft. With a scream, you brought it down on his head with all the strength you could muster in your addled limbs. He crumpled to the floor like wet cardboard. Blood began to leak from his skull. You dropped the lamp, the feeling on impact still drumming through your fingers.

“(Y/N)!” Bakugo called again. He stumbled to you, his left side already half paralized by your stalker’s Quirk infused bite. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? I told you to run, idiot! How did he get inside your house?” Before he had a chance to breathe, much less answer his questions, his left leg gave out on him. You caught him, halfway holding him up.

“I’ll tell you everything when we get to the police, okay?” You said in a frazzled voice. He tried to haul himself up to standing, but he might as well have been standing on a broken ankle.

Bakugo told you where the front door was. You half dragged him through the house to get outside. Just as you opened the front door, you felt something hard and heavy plow into the small of your back. You went flying forward, dropping Bakugo who landed with a grunting thud.

“(Y/N)!” You heard from behind you. You pushed yourself up, looking behind you. Your stalker, face now red with dripping blood and wild eyes, stumbled towards the two of you. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to poison you against me! He’s going to take you away from me! Unless… He already has! He’s corrupted you!” He lifted his leg to kick Bakugo in the stomach. Bakugo lifted his good arm and released an explosion aimed at the stalker’s stomach. The second man yelled in pain and was blasted backwards.

Bakugo shoved himself up, propping himself up on his good knee and maneuvered his way in front of you. “This time, listen to me and go,” He said sternly.

“Bakugo!” You protested.

He looked over his shoulder at you and smirked. “Hey, I’m your hero, right? That means I got to protect you, even if I get hurt.”

Your stalker roared, thrashing as he picked himself off the ground. The place where Bakugo’s explosion had caught him ripped his oversized hoodie, revealing his belly and chest that now had burns. He roared again and started charging to you.

You gripped Bakugo’s good shoulder, pulling him back. You threw yourself in front of him, spreading your arms wide and closing your eyes tight.

Just when you were expecting a blow from your stalker, you heard an annoyed and surprised grunt from him instead. Opening your eyes, you saw the deranged man tangled in ribbons of white cloth. He snapped and tried to lash out at it, but the more he struggled the tighter it became.

A man appeared behind him, seeming to melt out of the shadows. He tugged the white cloth so it snapped tight around your stalker, pinning his arms and legs so he fell over unbalanced. The man controlling the cloth was dressed in all black, goggles over his eyes and a mess of black hair. He pulled his goggles up, revealing extremely tired looking eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at the two of you.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime by now?”

~~~

The next half hour was a rush of commotion. The hero, Eraserhead, who had secured your stalker called for an ambulance and the police. As soon as the red and blue lights were visible, he left, leaving your stalker tied and gagged against a street lamp. You barely had time to thank him while Bakugo grumbled about not needing saving behind you.

The paramedics gave Bakugo an injection to counteract the poison from your stalker’s Quirk. The police quickly took him away as he shouted obscenities, making promises that he’d come back to you, that he’d save you. You tried to take some comfort in the officer’s promise that the man would never see the outside of a jail cell again.

You sat in the back of the ambulance, a heavy blanket around your shoulders. You had just finished giving your statement to the police. The neighbors surrounding the house you were trapped in had come outside to see what the commotion was all about. You felt pinned by a million unasked questions, unsaid accusations, prying eyes. You were going to be sick.

“Hey.” You looked up. Bakugo stood in front of you, rubbing feeling back into his previously paralized arm. He jerked his head to the side slightly. You scooted over and he sat next to you, pulling the blanket over his shoulders too. “So,” he said.

“So,” You echoed.

“The police called my parents,” He said after a moment of silence. “Mom’s coming to pick us up. She said she can bring some extra clothes for you to change into, if you want. Dad’s making up the guest room.”

“What?”

He gave you a sideways look. “What, you think I’m letting you stay alone in that house after what happened tonight? You think I’m an idiot or something?” He put his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. He spoke into your hair. “You’re staying with me and my folks until your parents get back. Then I’m going to chew them out for leaving you alone for so long, and maybe then we’ll see if you can go back there.”

You giggled at his statement, half out of frazzled nerves and half out of love of his protective nature. You curled your fingers into his t-shirt, resting your head against his shoulder. “That sounds nice,” You mumbled, exhaustion and worn out adrenaline finally taking hold of your body. “It sure would make walking home easier.” Just before slipping under, you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “My hero.”

He pressed a kiss on the top of your sleeping head. “Always.”

#fanfic #bnha fanfiction #fluff #bakugo x reader #reader insert #bakugou katsuki x reader

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hongism · 4 years

Text

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 9

➻ Pairing: reader x ???

➻ Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Angst, Fluff

➻ Word Count: 5894

➻ Warnings: strong language; deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable

➻ Rating: PG-13/PG-15

➻ Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there. aka Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn’t work out according to his plan.

➻ a/n: so i know this has been a loNG ass time coming but here’s chapter 9!!! i hope you all enjoy it, i don’t have much of a preface to this so let’s just jump into it!

8 | 9

...

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places Chapter Nine: Control

"W-What?" Jungkook asks, still in too much shock to think straight or say anything else. You laugh at the expression on his face and release his shirt. Jungkook falls back to the floor unceremoniously, hitting the tile with a small thud, and watches as you stand up straight.

"Y/N, come on! You can't push him around without warning, the poor kid. You knocked him down too." Seokjin chastises you for your actions, and Jungkook looks back to see the man close behind him. You stick out your tongue in response as you squat down beside Jungkook to be more at eye level with him.

"I'm certain that I know exactly where Taehyung's bear is." You grin again, the smile unable to be contained, and Jungkook notes that. He notes how the smile reaches your eyes, the usually dull film over them gone and replaced by a shining new resolve. Is it… is it because of the bear?

"Where is it then?" He asks, propping himself up with his hands.

"It's obvious. I can't believe we didn't look there sooner. I should've known." You stand up straight once more, the smile never leaving your lips as you look down at Jungkook. "Come on, follow me." Jungkook does as asked and hastily gets to his feet. You are already on your way across the room, not waiting to see if Jungkook will follow you or not, and he looks back at Seokjin. The older man merely shrugs.

"I'll see you later, Jungkook." He waves at the younger before heading in the opposite direction and leaving Jungkook to chase after you.

"H-Hey, where are we headed?" He asks as he falls into step with you.

"Oh? The library of course."

"Why—why would it be there though?"

"Early on – when Mingyu was still new to the clinic – he would hide things on top of the bookcases in the library because he was always so much taller than most other people. It was rather easy for him to keep things there instead of risking having the nurses find them in his room. Since he never spent time reading, people never assumed that he would keep things there. Namjoon caught him in there once putting things on the top of the shelves and told me about it, so we used to keep an eye on things in there. We never… well, we haven't done that recently because we assumed Mingyu had outgrown his childish shenanigans. But anyway, I should've known that he would've put it there. Makes so much sense looking back on it now."

"How do you—how did you confirm that it was Mingyu who took it?"

"There's no need to confirm anything, it was already obvious. Having known Mingyu for so many years now, I guess I could say it's an inevitable outcome." You shrug, slowing your pace a little.

"You seem very happy about it," Jungkook comments. He realizes a moment later when your expression flattens and turns deadpan that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Of course I'm happy about it. Taehyung will stop being upset with me once I give him the bear back. Things will go back to normal, and Hoseok will come back to the clinic soon as well. Everything will be fine again. Normal and fixed, at least for the time being."

Jungkook panics. The black water swirls around his ankles again, he feels its presence looming, feels it biting at his skin, the cold of it sending chills through his whole body. It swells around him, filling his vision until all he can see are your eyes. Your dark eyes filled with hope. Hope that is about to be dashed and crushed and swept away because of his actions. He can't say anything in response, he can't agree with you or offer any encouraging words. He knows things are about to crash and burn. It's about to turn sour, and Jungkook isn't quite sure of what will happen when it all crumbles, but he knows it won't be good for anyone.

The two of you reach the library as Jungkook's black water reaches his waist. Namjoon sits inside, in the same position he was in the first day Jungkook came to the clinic. Although it was not all too long ago, Jungkook notes that it feels like forever since that day.

"Oh hi Namjoon," you greet, the small smile returning to your lips. Jungkook hates it. He despises it, realizing that he would rather you be hopeless than see your hopes be crushed by his actions. Selfish. Selfish. "Jungkook, give me a hand and help me reach the shelf, yea?"

"What are you two doing?" Namjoon asks and snaps the book in his hands shut. You barely spare him a glance as you usher Jungkook towards one of the shelves near the wall.

"I had an epiphany last night and realized something," you explain.

"She came to visit Yoongi while I was gone yesterday." Seokjin's words are still fresh in his mind, and they still sting a bit too much for Jungkook's liking. He doesn't bring it up to either you or Namjoon, although it continues to linger in his mind as he watches you glance around the bookcases.

"Hey, are you gonna help me up, Jungkookie? I think I see something up there." You point to one of the shelves, and Jungkook follows your line of sight to the top of the shelf.

"Why do you need up there?" Namjoon asks. He sets his book to the side and watches you turn back to look at him.

"I'm certain that Mingyu put the bear up there. Do you remember what he used to do with the smuggled cigarettes and alcohol?"

"Yea yea, I remember that. I'll get it for you." He gets up and moves towards where you're standing by the shelves, nudging you aside with his elbow.

"No, you aren't tall enough to reach the top either," you complain, elbowing him in the side as well.

"Oh shush, Y/N, I'm gonna help you up." Namjoon catches your elbow before you can hit him again and tugs you closer, then hoists you up by the waist. Jungkook can't do anything except stand back and watch the scene, feeling strangely out of place. "Hey, don't kick me."

"I didn't mean to!"

"Sure you didn't."

"Oh fuck off, Joon. You know I would've kicked a lot harder if I meant it."

The scene is oddly domestic, something out of place in the clinic, something Jungkook isn't used to seeing or witnessing, and certainly not something he is used to seeing from you and Namjoon. Namjoon laughs at your response and lifts you up a bit higher. You pad around on the top of the shelf, swiping something from the top. It falls to the ground in a cloud of dust. Jungkook blinks down at it, eyes wide.

Sure enough, there lies a stuffed bear, greyed by dust, and his lips part in shock at the sight of it. Something much smaller lies next to it, also dark with dirt and dust, but Jungkook can't make out what it is from the distance he's at.

"Y/N…" He starts, not sure what to say. Namjoon lowers you to the floor again then bends over. He misses the bear completely; instead, reaching for the plastic bag and lifting it. He wipes the dust away with his thumb.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"Wha-at is it?" Jungkook inquires, leaning over to look closer.

"A bag of pills." You lean over as well. One hand rests on Namjoon's shoulder, the other lingers at your hip, and a sigh escapes your lips as you look down at the bag. "Why is it here though, Joon? Who's is it?"

"I don't know. I rarely see anyone come in here, but obviously, it belongs to either Yesung or Mingyu. Don't know why they would keep it here of all places though."

"It doesn't look like the pills either of them take."

"Did they… did they take the pills from someone else for some reason?" Jungkook asks. You look his way, head tilting to the side as you mull over his words.

"Has anyone discussed leaving soon, Jungkookie?"

"Um, yea actually. Jimin mentioned that Mi-Miyeon? Yea, Miyeon could be on her way out." You shake your head at his words.

"That can't be right," you say as you shift your gaze to Namjoon. "Miyeon doesn't take any pills, does she?"

"No, she's strictly in the ED division as far as I know. No reason for her to take pills in the first place. Besides, these are narcotics. Among all the patients, I'm the only one who is assigned to take them. No way in hell I'd give those pills to anyone, let alone Mingyu or Yesung."

"So…?" Jungkook trails off, waiting for Namjoon to follow up on his comment.

"So they must be getting the pills from a staff member."

"Why on earth would they need them though?" You ask. Your grip tightens on Namjoon's shoulder, and he glances down at you with a darkening expression. "And why the hell would they keep them here?" Your tone increases in fervor. Namjoon shakes his head, not saying anything for a moment. He continues with a quiet voice.

"They're up to something, I know it but… honestly, we cannot worry about that right now. If someone were to find us with the pills, we would get in serious trouble. That may be exactly what Mingyu and Yesung want. So please, Y/N, please just forget about it for now. It's not important. We should just leave them here for the time being." A frown comes across your lips.

"Mingyu and Yesung have never done anything drastic, Joon. You don't think – do you think they might try something?"

"I'm sure Yesung isn't the one behind it if they are. He just does whatever Mingyu says because that's what is easiest for him. Y/N, please try to trust me on this. I'll try my best to figure this out so you don't need to worry about it." Namjoon brings a hand up, resting it atop yours, and he squeezes gently. You blink back at him.

"I already trust you, Joon. You don't need to ask that."

"I know but…” Namjoon trails off, not finishing his train of thought as a sad gleam overtakes his features. He looks away and shifts his gaze to the floor instead. "Take the bear to Taehyung. He's been waiting long enough, hasn't he?"

"You're right," you murmur before retracting your hand from Namjoon's shoulder. Bending down, you lift the bear into your grasp and give a few measly swipes at the dust.

"Jungkook, could you hang back for a minute? I'd like to chat."

You glance between Namjoon and Jungkook, eyes narrowed and skeptical. Jungkook bites at his lower lip. Your stare is lingering, increasing his discomfort and the anxiety bubbling in his gut. A moment later, you turn away though and do not question Namjoon's request.

"I'll see you both at dinner then." You slip out of the library without further comment. The moment you're out of sight, Namjoon grabs hold of Jungkook's arm and tugs him further into the room.

"Things are getting worse between Y/N and Taehyung. And by worse, I mean quite a lot worse. Y/N thinks it's all because of the bear because Taehyung hasn't said anything."

"I know that. Seokjin mentioned it earlier."

"Well, yes, that's fantastic, Jungkook. It's a big problem. If she gives him the bear, it is not going to fix anything. She will continue to think that she did something wrong because of what you did. To make matters worse, Hoseok is coming back to the clinic tonight."

"Wh-What?"

"He's scheduled to come back around mealtime, which means he will most likely be there during dinner. Y/N still doesn't know about the pills or him trying to overdose," Namjoon explains in a hushed tone. Jungkook merely shakes his head as he looks back at the man.

"I don't – I don't know what you want me to do. I don't understand what you want me to do, Namjoon. You already told her to take the bear to Taehyung. What am I supposed to do?" Namjoon laughs at Jungkook's coming, a breathy sound that lilts through the air for a moment. He quiets down even further with his next words.

"She's not doing that though. She's in the hallway trying to listen in on our conversation. I know her all too well. But, Jungkook, she can't sit at Hoseok's table tonight. She really can't. I don't even think she should see him in the first place."

"No…" Jungkook mutters. He leans away from Namjoon, eyes crossing the older man's face. "No. She needs to see him, and she needs to give the bear to Taehyung. It will make her happy, Namjoon. She needs that."

"At what cost, Jungkook? For what? A sliver of happiness? I refuse to risk her sanity and wellbeing for a brief moment of happiness."

"Yoongi would. He'd want her to be happy and do whatever it takes to make her happy." Jungkook pulls his arm away from Namjoon, but the man only grips him harder and keeps him rooted to the spot.

"I'm not Yoongi, Jungkook! I have lost more than one person because I just wanted them to be happy. It fucking backfired so I refuse to risk that for Y/N as well. She is all I have left."

"Things change. It doesn't mean it will be the same for Y/N."

Namjoon's arm falls limply by his side. He looks down at the floor, and Jungkook can't see the expression that rests on his face but he isn't sure that he really wants to out of fear of what he might see.

"I can't risk that, Jungkook," he whispers, voice so quiet that Jungkook has to lean in to hear him better. "She's the only one I have left. Everyone else has abandoned me. I don't have anyone else in my life, not even outside the clinic. I was dropped here when I was 16. My family never came back to check on me or talk to me or anything. She is all I have left. I can't lose her no matter what."

"Then are you going to keep her here forever? Just because you're being selfish? How long has she been here because you refused to let her go?" Jungkook steps away from Namjoon, nearly tripping over his own feet. Namjoon… how long have you forced her to stay? Namjoon doesn't answer his questions, and Jungkook continues to glare at him with fury in his eyes. "I refuse to help you keep her miserable. That's not what she deserves, that's not what anyone deserves. If it makes her happy, then I'll do that. That's how you know someone truly cares about your wellbeing."

Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the library without further comment and anger boiling in his gut. As soon as he turns the corner outside the door, he spots you. You're standing a couple feet away from the door, leaning against the wall with the stuffed bear hanging loosely in your grasp. Just as Namjoon said you would be.

"Take the bear to Taehyung," you say. You make no comment on whether you overheard his conversation with Namjoon or not, but Jungkook certainly does not want to press the matter. "Just leave it on his bed or tell him that you were the one who found it, I don't care."

"Why don't you want to do it yourself?" Jungkook says, head tilting to the side as he asks the question. "You deserve to give it to him."

"I really don't," you answer with a small shake of your head. "At the end of the day, I don't deserve anything, so it doesn't really matter."

"That's not true," Jungkook protests. He frowns back at you, your face stoic in comparison to his. "Taehyung would be more than thrilled if you gave the bear back to him." As soon as he concludes his sentence, you chuck the stuffed bear at him without warning. It bounces off Jungkook's chest and hits the floor with a soft thud. "Don't... don't do this, Y/N."

"What am I doing wrong? Tell me why I can't do this. It's my life. I deserve to make these decisions for myself, don't I?"

"You're trying to throw away your relationship with Taehyung," Jungkook bites out between gritted teeth.

"That's not true."

"You are pushing him away to save yourself."

"You're lying." You push away from the wall. Spit leaves your mouth as you hiss your words at him, pure vehemence in your tone. You begin to walk down the hall, and Jungkook rushes to pick up the bear from the floor and chase after you. "Stop fucking following me."

Jungkook persists still, hot on your heels as you move. "I'm not following you," he says under his breath.

"Fuck off, Jungkook. I won't say it again."

"Is it because of what Namjoon said? Did you listen to our conversation?"

"No, I actually didn't. I heard about ten percent of your fucking conversation and decided I didn't want to hear the rest. God, I could really use some cigarettes right about now." You bring a hand to your head, rubbing at the skin there as though it'll alleviate any of the pain Jungkook knows you must be in. "Before you make a smartass comment, I know it's bad for me and it won't help in the long run. I need that fucking temporary relief now."

"I know you do," Jungkook mutters. You opt not to acknowledge him or his words, continuing to march through the clinic with Jungkook following you like a lost dog. It isn't until the two of you reach the hall of bedrooms that you decide to speak to Jungkook again.

"I am still here for no other reason than that I am a bad person. I cannot get better. That is all. Don't sling accusations at anyone except for me." You slip into a room without even checking to see if it belongs to you. Jungkook blinks at the floor where you just stood. If he knew what to say, he might say it but he falls short. Yet again. I don't… I can't help. I don't know how to help. I caused this and yet – and yet I can't even try to fix things.

A sigh leaves Jungkook's lips. He turns away from the door and moves for his own, carrying the stuffed bear still. Stepping into his room, the chill is what hits him first. It's a cool draft from the AC, and Jungkook shivers under it, subconsciously bringing the bear closer to his chest. It's pointless really because Jungkook sets it down on Taehyung's pillow a moment later. It's only when he puts it down that he realizes you didn't step into your own room in the hallway. Rather you stopped at the room just before yours – Yoongi's. Jungkook hesitates just before sitting on his bed. The conversation he shared with Seokjin earlier in the day returns to mind, the older man's words coming to the forefront of his memory.

"They care about each other – Y/N and Yoongi that is – but it's always seemed as though they have a really twisted way of showing it."

It makes much more sense now. The differences in your relationship with Yoongi and your relationship with Namjoon. How any time something goes wrong you run to Yoongi rather than Namjoon, you search for Yoongi for comfort when Jungkook imagines Namjoon is a better option. How you and Yoongi cannot seem to hold a conversation without arguing. You mentioned that you had a different kind of trust with Yoongi, and now that Jungkook has an insight into Namjoon's feelings and mind, he sees why Namjoon chooses not to ask personal questions of you. Perhaps Namjoon is scared of what he might hear or he's worried that you'll say that you are doing better.

Had someone asked Jungkook whether he thought Yoongi actually cared for you on the first day in the clinic, Jungkook would have said he didn't without any hesitation. Now, however, Jungkook sees that Yoongi is the only one who truly cares about your well-being.

"I know it won't help, and it's certainly not good for her in any way. I'm just doing what I can though. If that's the only thing I can do for her, then so be it. It would've been a bad idea no doubt. I can't say no to her though."

Jungkook can't figure where the line is. Caring about someone so much that you would be willing to do things that could hurt them in the long run versus refusing to give them momentary happiness because you know it could hurt them in the long run. He doesn't know which is better. Is it better to risk hurting someone or prevent them from small happiness?

"I didn't need to know why. I don't need to know every little detail about what's going on in her life, to be honest. The things I do for her are enough, and I do them because I care about her. That's that."

He can't say no to you. Maybe that's the secret behind it all. Just not be able to say no, yet Jungkook thinks that would be an issue in the long run regardless. I wonder... does Y/N think the same about Yoongi? Does she want the same things he does? Jungkook clenches his palms around the fabric of his sweats, knuckles turning white from the pressure. She claims to know, she says she knows that it's bad for her. And yet Yoongi would still drop everything to give them to her.

Jungkook turns on his heel. It's not any of his business really. It doesn't involve him or matter in the slightest. In the long run, what is it going to do for him?

Selfish. Selfish. Why? Who are you? Why does it matter?

Jungkook shakes his head. The voice intrudes, pushing through logic and replacing it with emotion.

Think. Think. Jungkook. Think. Don't you know? Can't you figure it out? Stupid. Useless. Fucking idiot. Think. You're so useless.

Jungkook stumbles and nearly trips over his own feet. Grabbing for the wall, he steadies himself long enough to scoot towards the door.

Quit fighting. Are you fucking stupid? Just let it happen. Let me in.

Jungkook slams his head against the wall. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Fuck off. I don't need you right now. Jungkook hits his head a bit harder. The pressure helps alleviate some of the pressure for only a few moments before the voices are rushing back in, rushing to disturb Jungkook's peace of mind yet again. He slides the door open. I need you to leave me alone. Go away. Go.

Slipping back into the hallway, Jungkook slaps the side of his head with the flat of his hand as though that will help the voices leave. They are only relatively quiet when he's in the presence of other people, talking, chatting, listening, just doing anything other than being alone with his own head. He isn't wholly sure where he's walking to, but his feet take him past your room, Yoongi's room, and the one beside his. He stops before one of the white sliding doors and without thinking twice knocks on it.

It slides open with little effort seconds later, and the girl behind it blinks up at Jungkook with confusion gleaming in her brown eyes.

"Uh… hello?"

Jungkook stares down at her, an equal amount of confusion on his own features no doubt. Why… am I here?

"Oh, are you here to see Hyewon?" The girl asks, head tilting to the side as she looks back at Jungkook. "It's Jungkook, right?"

"U-Um, yea, yea I'm Jungkook. Is – uh, is Hyewon available right now?" Jungkook asks in response, a similar tilt to his chin.

"She is, yes," she answers. Jungkook can't quite place her name but knows that he's seen her sitting alongside Mingyu and Yesung with Hyewon before. "But… you aren't supposed to go into other patient's bedrooms without permission or accompaniment by a nurse?"

"It's fine, Hanuel." Hyewon steps into Jungkook's line of sight, her platinum blonde hair tied up behind her head in a high bun. Jungkook glances away from the girl in front of him – Hanuel – in favor of looking at Hyewon. "He already got permission from a nurse."

"O-Oh, I'm sorry for assuming." Hanuel shifts and steps out of Jungkook's path.

"Can you give a few minutes to talk one on one, Hanuel? It won't be long I promise."

Hanuel nods in response, her hair bouncing along with the motion, and slides past Jungkook to step into the hallway. Jungkook takes her place in the room, eyes still on Hanuel. The door slides shut behind him, the brightness from the hall dissipates and leaves Jungkook and Hyewon in a dark room.

"You can turn on the lights if you wish. Hanuel needs it to be dark in here, but if you'd rather turn them on, that's fine." Hyewon motions over Jungkook's shoulder towards the light switch. He just shakes his head in response, fingers coming back to toy at the material of his sweatpants as the black waters of anxiety lap at his ankles. "Why are you here, Jungkook?"

"Wh-Why did you cover for me and lie to Hanuel?"

"Oh? Did you not ask a nurse for permission?" Jungkook denies it with another shake of his head. "Then whatever you want to talk about must be important. I don't mind. It's not like you're breaking any big rules."

"Oh… yea."

"Why are you here, Jungkook?" Hyewon repeats. She doesn't move, still glued to the same spot on the carpet as before, and Jungkook doesn't move either.

"I-I don't kn-know. I guess, I guess I just need a distraction?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to – I don't know. I want to just get my mind off things for a bit. I'm sick of thinking so damn hard. I just want to stop for a bit."

A laugh breaks through the lingering tension in the room. Jungkook peers at Hyewon as though she's grown a second head, the laugh out of place in the hush of their exchanged words. She clutches at her stomach as she laughs, the crisp sound echoes in the small room, and she slides down to sit on the carpet a moment later.

"Well then… how may I assist you, Mr. Jeon?" Hyewon motions towards the space in front of her, the invitation clear. Jungkook moves forward with hesitant steps and falls into a similar sitting position across from her.

"I don't know. You can talk about anything, I guess."

"I doubt you really want to hear my life story, Jungkook."

He shrugs. "Try me."

"Hm, if I tell you a bit about myself, then I expect the same in return." Hyewon points at Jungkook with her index finger, a narrow to her eyes that Jungkook winces at. "Oh chill, Jungkook. It's not an attack, it's just a fair exchange."

"Okay, y-yea. That's fine, I guess."

Hyewon pauses at Jungkook's stutter and hesitance. The narrow of her eyes increases. "Is something wrong with you?"

"What? What – Why would you think that?" Jungkook blanches at her question, panic arising quickly in his gut, the black water swirling up to his hips, and his breath starts to leave him a bit quicker.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way but you seem… relaxed? Confident? Maybe not confident, but just weirdly out of character. No offense but you normally act like a blubbering mess and can barely speak without stuttering at every word. Not to mention how you freeze up whenever someone asks something personal of you."

"I'm just listening to your earlier advice," Jungkook says. It's a quickly uttered white lie but a good cover nonetheless.

"My advice? What do you mean?"

"A-About Yoongi, Y/N and Namjoon. Uh, I know – I know what kind of people they are now." Hyewon's eyes go wide, and her lips part at bit at Jungkook's words.

"Really? That didn't take much effort on my part. So, do you remember what really happened the night of Hoseok's episode now?"

The question catches Jungkook off-guard. He leans back, spine straightened and rigid, and blinks at Hyewon with no words coming out of his open mouth. I know what happened.

"You're doing a shitty job at distracting me," Jungkook hisses. Hyewon answers with a laugh, another clear and crisp sound that tears through the room. She throws her head back while laughing.

"Sorry about that." Hyewon clears her throat, tucking a strand of hair that's fallen from her bun behind her ear. "I could tell you a bit about my story. If that would help in any way?"

"Sure, yeah, that sounds… fine."

"Ha, don't sound so enthusiastic. Well, I guess I can start with my childhood? As a child, there was this – this sort of terrible accident in my life. I don't want to go too in-depth on it, and frankly, I don't remember all too much about it. But I know I lost some people who were very important to me. My struggles started there, I guess, but the remaining people in my life tried to brush it off as a normal reaction to tragedy. For a while, I believed them and wanted to brush it off the same way they did, so I tried shutting it out of my mind.

"Well as I got older, I tried taking away the pain with other things. Drinking all sorts of things, every drug in existence, sex – anything to try and block it out for even five minutes. After a debacle, I was stuck in here because they thought it was the obvious solution. I mean, what else could they do?" Hyewon pauses, looking up at the ceiling and focusing on something up there. Jungkook peers at her as a cynical smile crosses her lips. "It's funny, you know. It's funny how only when you start doing things for yourself and trying to help yourself, people think something is wrong with you. Taking care of yourself is equal to being crazy. They never believe you when you say something is wrong with you. It's only when you take control. When they disapprove of what you're doing with your life and how you're behaving, they take control. They make the rules. They lock you away because they don't understand.

"I was happy. I was enjoying myself, I was doing what I wanted. Free from pain and misery and the horrors I had to survive. Every damn day I asked myself, "Why did I survive and not them?". I didn't have control until I took control for myself. It wasn't until I did that I finally started living. And yet they told me that I didn't deserve to live. Sure, I would've ended up dead at some point from all the alcohol and drugs I was taking. At least… at least I was feeling something other than pain. At least I was living. They don't care about that one bit. They don't care about the pain you're in. All they care about is what image it presents. How it looks to people on the outside. The lack of control."

"Control…" Jungkook mutters to himself. The words strike a chord, bite deep at his skin, resonate so much in him that it physically hurts. His chest tightens, heart clenching at the walls around it, and he blinks at Hyewon with narrowed eyes. A mirror, but not. Same story, different telling. Same life, different paths taken. All leading to the same place...

"It stressed me out, to be honest," Hyewon says, voice falling to a broken whisper. Her chin dips to her chest. "Thinking about how no matter what you do, it's never enough for them. But at some point, you have to realize that… it's not about doing it for them. You don't owe them anything. It's about what you owe to yourself. The things you do for yourself are enough, and that's the truth of it. So, how about you, Jungkook? What were your juicy methods of taking the pain away? And how did they land you here?"

"I…" Jungkook trails off. He swallows roughly around the lump in his throat, the black waters of anxiety quickly rushing to lap at his feet in the moment of weakness. A mirror. A mirror. She's a mirror. Vulnerable. Trust. I can’t trust her. No, I can. I can trust her. "I just would work out and control what I ate. I needed control. Had to have some sort of control in my life. Those were the only things I knew how to control. Just work out until I couldn't even feel my body anymore. Control what I ate until – until I was perfect. It was just easiest to do."

Hyewon laughs. "Why did you never try alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, or sex? That would've taken care of the problem in an instant."

"I wasn't interested."

"In what?"

"I never wanted to do something bad for me or that I would regret eventually. I've never been interested in alcohol or cigarettes, drugs are off the table. I never wanted to put more drugs in my body than I'm forced to already. Didn't want to add to the growing list of issues I have with my condition. As for sex, I've never been in a relationship, so I didn't even consider it."

"I have never regretted a single thing I did. Besides, you don't have to be in a relationship to have sex." Hyewon smiles at him, and the expression sends a surge of embarrassment through his system.

"I-I know that. I know. I know but I would rather it be something meaningful and worth something. Not something to take the pain away."

"Don't knock it until you try it, Jungkook," Hyewon scoffs. A knock interrupts Hyewon's train of thought. The door slides open, Hanuel steps back in, and Jungkook leans away from the girl across from him.

"I'm sorry. The lights outside were bothering me."

"It's fine, it's fine. I was just leaving." Jungkook gets up, moving back from the carpet. "Th-Thank you, Hyewon. For talking with me."

"No problem, Jungkook. Drop by any time you need me."

"I'll keep that in mind." Jungkook turns away from Hyewon and heads for the door where Hanuel stands. He steps past her, moves into the hallway, and walks back to his room with heavy feet. He barely has time to think about his conversation with Hyewon, everything is moving quickly again. He has enough time to make it to his door and find it wide open. Again, he finds an unexpected sight. Again, he finds Taehyung sitting on the edge of his bed, something in his hands. Except this time it isn't Jungkook's journal. It's a small stuffed bear covered in dark dust.

...

a/n: okay first of all, so so sorry for such a delay in updates for my series!!! i’ve been doing requests for such a long time that i completely lost track of time! i hope you all like this chapter, please let me know what you think of it 🥺👉👈

tag list: @succulentjinkook @mxrzan

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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jungle321jungle · 4 years

Text

Ask No Questions (I’ll Tell No Lies): Part Three

An Agent and a Con Man.

With such conflicting backgrounds it almost seemed laughable for the two to be soulmates. Fate had chosen this, but Logan had chosen to arrest the man across from him no matter what.

Taglist: @hells-missing-a-goat @angels-and-dreams @ollyollyoxinfree @gattonero17 @chumo-cookie @dreaming-always @anxiety-ismy-name @mrbubbajones @janustheliar @simplyapannightmare @why-do-you-care

Ao3 - Masterlist

~~~~

Part Three

“Daniel! You look positively dashing.”

Janus forced a smile on his face as he made his way over to Remy. The two exchanged the standard kiss on each cheek before he spoke, “Evening Remy. You’re looking well as always.”

“Well?” Remy asked, adjusting the sunglasses he had no use for in this event hall, “I was hoping for a better compliment than that.”

Janus resisted the urge to gag and he instead gave Remy’s companions a nod, before he looked back to the man with a suggestive smile on his face, “Well you have company here, I don't think they’d like to hear what it is I am really thinking.”

~~~~

“I assume your true thoughts were more... colorful?” Logan interrupted.

Janus gave a smile in return as he stirred more sugar than necessary into his coffee, “I know multiple languages, Agent. There were rainbows of all spectrums in my mind.”

~~~~

Remy gave a laugh and Janus barely had time to mentally prepare himself before Remy had thrown an arm around his waist- and it was dangerously low. “Well feel free to whisper then.”

Janus gave a smile as he leaned in and whispered, “Any finger below the belt will be broken.”

Remy didn’t even have the audacity to acknowledge the words as a threat as he instead pulled Janus closer to him, “I like how you think babe.”

“Daniel Perez,” Janus stated, introducing himself to Remy’s friends given it seemed the man wasn’t going to do it himself.

“He helped organize things here tonight,” Remy supplied. “He’s gonna help me get some nice stuff.”

“I didn’t organize anything,” Janus corrected with a modest smile. “I just convinced my father that there was a good investment in sponsoring the auction. And then in return he sent me to oversee his investment tonight, but I’m not worried so I think I’ll mainly oversee the alcohol.” The words were simple ones, but they were enough to cause the small group to chuckle, and for him to get an out. He turned to Remy with a tad bit of mischief in his eyes, “Would you like me to get you a drink? Champagne perhaps?”

Remy didn’t give him a reaction at all as he said that would be fine and let go. While Janus was thankful to move away he couldn’t help but be a tad frustrated. What would it take for Remy to do something other than give a smile that made him want to punch it off? He forced himself to take a calming breath as he headed to the open bar pulling out his phone as he did. He was greeted with a text from Remus.

I like him

Janus didn’t bother with a reply.

“Things just seem to be going amazing don't you think?”

Janus barely looked up as empty glasses were set before him, “How are we looking?”

“The Target just walked in,” Virgil replied as he poured. “And the artist is stationed.”

“Good. Then do me a favor and make sure he follows the plan?”

“I don’t leash him.”

Janus picked up the two glasses of champagne and turned to walk back to Remy, “Maybe you should.”

~~~~

“What? You’re not going to ask what my marvelous plan was?”

Logan blinked at Janus boredly in return, “Was I supposed to? Wasn’t the whole point of all this that you were going to tell me?”

“Well yes, but I’m telling you what I heard, saw, and thought. Clearly I did not see my own plan go down. I had an alibi all night.”

“Fine. Then do tell me Blank, what was this plan of yours?”

Janus opened his mouth to respond before he closed it, a smile playing on his lips. “Well, why don’t you tell me? ...How would you do it?”

“I’m not a criminal, I would never do such a thing.”

“Humor me,” Janus requested leaning forward in his chair. “I did say I am interested in how you think after all.”

Logan paused taking in the face across from him before he set the notepad he had been writing in down with a sigh. “Do I get any more details?”

“If you need them.”

“A rich club owner trying to buy a present for the victim’s birthday... and from what I understand your forger, Roman, and your thief, Virgil, were there. Roman to do what I am still not sure, and Virgil to blend in if he was posing as staff. And I assume Remus, your hacker, was in a safe location monitoring everything. And this was all at an auction for the elite. That is the basic information correct? Oh and of course there’s the painting that was stolen from the victim’s home.”

“I believe that’s all.”

“Well I supposed the first thing you would need to do is convince the victim, Thomas Sanders that he wants the forgery.”

“Alright, how?”

“How?” Logan repeated in agreement. He paused in thought his mind lacing and weaving together Janus’ words until he came to an answer. “You’d make sure he overhears.”

~~~~

Janus was thankful to escape Remy for the little time he could. He crossed the room of guests still milling about waiting for the event to start keeping a pleasant smile on his face as he did. There was an art to walking through a party. Janus had learned that he needed to smile, make eye contact, and flow as the people did- it didn’t matter that the crowd was taking him in the wrong direction- in a space like this he’d reach his destination through patience. He had learned that as he went he needed to have a small presence by way of giving compliments here, pausing to ask someone about their life there. But he always knew where to draw the line. He needed to speak just enough for them to wonder where they had met before- but not so much that they would need to ask him, and certainly not so much that they would dare remember him.

As he neared the Target coming towards him, he found himself morphing into a group casually and directly the conversation the way he wanted.

“What am I interested in?” he repeated louder than necessary as the Target came closer. “The Crown Jewels, by C. I can't believe that such a painting lost to time has resurfaced.”

“I didn’t even know it was up for bid,” One of the women commented. “I can’t believe it's been found.”

“I love C’s works,” someone else put in. “The whole man is an enigma. He’s only known by a letter, and isn't it true that even a depiction of his face has been lost to history? That he destroyed his only self portrait?”

“Any work of his would be a reflection of his soul wouldn’t it?” Janus asked stepping back slightly- only to bump into a man. As wine spilled down his sleeve he hurriedly turned and apologized to the man.

The Target was apologizing profusely himself. “I am so sorry! I will pay for your dry cleaning Mr.... um?”

“Perez,” Janus supplied. “Daniel Perez.”

~~~~

“Let me stop you there.”

“What?” Logan asked, slightly annoyed. “Is that not how it went? Planting the idea of the painting in his mind? And I assume you most certainly had your hacker place images of The Crown Jewels all over his web searches.”

“While I won’t deny that, but rather I’d like to ask you something... What was it I told you when we first started this conversation?”

“Your real name.”

“Before that.”

Logan paused his eyebrows knit as he glanced over his notes, he didn’t have anything written prior to the man’s true name.

“It was back before we left my place,” Janus started. “I told you that I had...”

“You told me that you...” Logan paused racking his brain as he tried to run through their long conversation through his mind before letting out a curse. “You met the victim last night.”

“Ding ding! So, how do you think it went down if I didn’t interact with him on the night of the auction?”

Logan drummed his fingers on the table slightly as he thought, “Well... just because you usually take the lead as the grifter... doesn’t mean that you have to.”

“Go on.”

~~~~

Roman was itching for his chance to do something. Until now he had been flowing among the guests with ease, Janus’ lessons- lectures echoing in his skull. It was truly annoying, it had been years since he and Janus met, and yet he still couldn't get that nagging voice giving orders out of his skull. Roman gave a laugh as the rest of the group he was with did before he took a breath pushing memories of Janus away as he moved on to the next group. But unfortunately they resurfaced. “There was an art to walking through a party,” Janus would say. And quite frankly with that Roman couldn’t disagree. The flow of people were like the strokes of a brush. Each one different yet distinct and completely and utterly connected despite itself. And each one would interact with another and many different ways. So Roman followed the strokes of the painting he could not fully yet see. He could visualize it though, everything he wished to go right tonight and in the future, but Remy had already been one unexpected blemish and he hoped there wouldn’t be more. So to do his part, Roman smiled, laughed, and talked his way in and out of groups of people- out of swirls of paint until he found the portion of the canvas which would become his masterpiece.

And all it took was one intentional step back.

The Target was apologizing profusely. “I am so sorry. I will pay for your dry cleaning Mr. um?”

“It’s not important,” Roman told him with an easy going smile. “I’m no one of your status Mr. Sanders, and this blazer is almost out of season anyway.”

“Everyone is important in their own way,” the man disagreed. “But I couldn’t help but overhear. Is it true The Crown Jewels is up for auction tonight?”

“It is,” Roman nodded before he gave a slight laugh, “but now that I know you’re interested I’m not sure I have enough to buy it myself.” As the group laughed with him Roman felt his phone buzz in his pocket, Remus was right on time. He quickly apologized to the group he was with and the Target as he put his phone to his ear and fought the flow to head towards the back room.

~~~~

“Better?” Logan asked.

“Much. But I’m not letting you off that easy. How do you think we got the painting accepted? Or how we made sure Thomas didn’t buy it?”

“I’m still working on the first question,” Logan admitted. “But if you had Virgil handing out drinks he could easily slip something in the victim’s which would upset his stomach and cause him to leave.”

“Close, but I’ll give you one for free. Virgil also helped with the distribution of the small appetizers which went around and conveniently found their way to the majority of the people interested in the painting.”

“The ones you hadn’t used as plants.”

“Precisely.”

“So with them and Thomas Sanders gone, Remy was free to buy the painting. And as for getting the painting appraised and inspected... You could have just paid someone off, but that’s not your style.”

“You know me too well, Agent.”

Logan paused scenarios running through his mind as his fingers tapped on the table. There were options- many of them. Time seemed to pass incredibly slowly as he did. He could feel the sun beating down his arm given it had changed positions but he didn’t think to adjust how he sat. He needed to come up with an answer before Janus lost interest. But how was he supposed to come to a single conclusion with so little infor- “You told me your job was an appraiser at first didn’t you?”

Janus gave a satisfied yet surprised smile, “If you have an idea, then tell it.”

~~~~

It had been just over two weeks since Janus had started his job as the newest personal assistant to a man who seemed to have a revolving door of them. Two weeks were barely anything in the larger scheme of things, but they had felt like eternity. He had been sent off on so many pointless errands and he had been running all around the city so often that he seldom had time for what he had actually gotten the job to do. Not to mention the man called his boss was one of the largest assholes he had met (first Remy and now this man? Janus seemed to have terrible luck). His boss barely acknowledged his presence when he was around and when he did, it seemed Carlos was the hardest name in the world to remember.

“His assistants leave so often he doesn’t know any of their names,” a woman had told him pityingly once.

That Janus understood. It was part of the reason he had gotten the job. What he didn’t understand was why nine times out of ten he was called by a female name.

“Marta you're three minutes late.”

Janus attempted to keep his mask on, “I’m sorry sir. There was traffic.”

“Account for it next time.”

“Yes sir.”

“What’s next on my schedule?”

“Well given you canceled your meetings involving any gallery heads today, what's next is a meeting with a man who found an old painting in his grandfather’s home and would like it appraised.”

“Send to a grunt worker to do. Or hell, do it yourself for all I care.”

“I have not been trained in this sir. Also given if the painting is real it would be best to have your name on it.”

For the first time the man across the desk looked up from his computer to stare at the face Janus had put on. “What is it?”

“The Crown Jewels sir.”

The man leaned back in surprise and Janus could see the scheme forming in the man’s mind. His suspicions were only confirmed as the man said, “Does he know its worth?”

“I doubt it.”

“Keep it that way. And make sure we’re the only ones who know about it.”

“Yes sir.”

Greed would always be a fun thing to twist.

~~~~

“And then you’d have Roman come with the painting and the man wouldn’t really be too interested in if the painting was real or not. He’d be more interested in the amount of money he could make and the notoriety he could gain.”

“All true, but you’re missing something.”

“Which is?”

“Someone would notice if Roman carried that large painting in its frame. He had to roll it up to bring it. So if it is simply a painting... then how do we get a bug in Thomas’ villa?”

“The appraiser of art probably would know someone in framing...”

“I’d assume.”

“So you’d put someone there as well, to plant the bug in the frame.”

~~~~

“This one isn’t right either.”

“What about this one sir?”

“Hm? Oh Carmen you’re a genius! This one it is. I'm headed to my next meeting, you stay and coordinate.”

Remus bit the inside his lip as he tried not to laugh as Janus gave his boss a nod. Even from his spot across the room he could see Janus’ annoyance slipping through. It was always funny to him. Seeing the true Janus beneath the layers of makeup, wigs, and contacts. As much as he tried, he was always the same person- and yet Janus seemed to be the only one who couldn’t see that.

Remus sat the counter listening casually to their conversation as he awaited customers. Not like there would be many of them. There hadn’t been someone in at all yesterday, and yet his boss didn’t seem to have noticed. Remus of course had mainly because it just shined light on the fact that he was bored out of his mind. There were so many things he could be doing. He could be playing games, hacking people for the hell of it, watching something, or doing all of the above at once. And yet he was restricted to an old framing shop and his phone. His phone of course was the saving grace, he had recently bought the newest model when he and Roman had returned to visit their parents a few months prior, and since it had rarely left his hands for more than a moment. That had been an interesting trip... he had hung out at the marina, drank, partied, and hacked his father’s company for sport. But then he again aside from boring moments like now that’s all he ever did.

“I’m going to have you lock up today, alright? I have a few things to do.”

Remus gave the man his heartfelt promise that all would be in good hands. So when closing time came, and he had locked up Remus had nearly run for his backpack and pulled his laptop from it. He couldn’t stop himself from silently running his fingers over the keys in anticipation as he turned it on and signed in. When he had he got to work. First pulling up his secure servers before he pulled the bug from his bag and began to sync it. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he worked the colors he had programmed lighting up after each press of a key. This was what he loved doing, sure the rest of it was fun. But using the skills he had gained out of spite was the greatest thing. If only it had lasted longer. But when he was done he shut his laptop and put it back and took the bug with him as he went to the painting. It was already in the process of being framed, but as Janus had anticipated Remus’ boss wouldn’t be done until the following day due wanting to be extra careful and delicate given the nature of the “rare” and “one of a kind” painting. He ran his fingers gently across the wood and metal until he found the spot he had recognized and he pushed it forward before pressing it down. The small compartment opened inward and he dropped the small bug into it before he pulled the cover back into its slot.

~~~~

“While I am convinced that the bug was hidden in the frame,” Logan said, interrupting himself. “I don’t understand why the need to steal the entire painting last night.”

Logan didn’t miss Janus’ smile dip slightly before it was replaced. “We haven’t reached that part of the story just yet. But-” Janus stopped suddenly as the ringing of a phone could be heard. “Sorry.” He pulled it from his pocket and answered it in on motion. “Yes? ...What am I doing? I’m working. There was an-” his eyes looked over Logan’s form before he spoke again. “An unforeseen circumstance, but I am dealing with the predicament. What are you doing?”

As the conversation continued Logan couldn't help but analyze the man across from him as he did. Janus’ body language screamed he was relaxed, and he was incapable of lying in Logan’s presence, and yet somehow everything he was doing seemed to be for show. He wasn’t actively lying, but without hearing the other side of the conversation there was no way Logan could know the scale of this lie of omission.

“Well I do trust you can handle that yourself,” Janus was saying. “Or are you suddenly incapable? ...Virgil, despise is a strong word... You wound me. I nearly- he hung up on me.”

“Working?” Logan repeated.

“Well you seem firm in not wishing to romance me so yes, I’m working. Going above and beyond my usual methods, but given you have no warrant for my arrest and yet you’re here anyway, you’re doing the same. Anyway what was I saying?”

“Stealing the painting.”

“Right, right. But before I tell you about that, don't you want to hear more about how I dealt with Remy?”

“Quite frankly it doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

~~~~

“So everything is set for tomorrow then?”

Janus raised an eyebrow, “How many times do you plan on asking me that? This is my line of work you know.”

“Not really sure you should be using that as the basis.”

“Says the man who drugged me.”

“Oi, who’s fault is it really that you got drugged?”

Janus could only stare at the man seated across from him in disbelief, “Yours!”

“Run me through it again,” Remy ordered as he made himself comfortable with both legs thrown over the side of Janus’ arm chair.

Janus rolled his eyes, but ultimately he complied. “It's simple, you and I keep Thomas with the guests and out of his office, while my guy runs in, grabs the bug and leaves. And he’ll be under the cover of my hacker.”

“Why not leave the thing? You said it was sending you the audio already. Why retrieve it?”

“Because, once the blackmailing begins those people are going to go knocking down Thomas’ door and he’ll do the math that all this started after he got the painting. He can then tear it apart, but if there’s nothing to find and no way to trace us. The end.”

Remy didn't seem completely satisfied but given he was too busy typing away at his phone to speak, Janus took it as an opportunity. “Why do you even want to participate in this? Did Thomas do something to you?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn't.”

“Then keep it that way.”

“Did you decide what you want yet?” Janus asked to redirect the conversation. “I’m leaving soon and I rather finish everything before I leave.”

Remy paused before he turned in his seat to sit properly. He flicked his sunglasses up and his unsettling gaze fixed itself on Janus, “What if I told you want to stay?”

“That’s not of equal value,” Janus replied automatically. “You’re already getting a cut of the future profits.”

“But think of all the fun we could have, babe!”

“No.”

Remy gave a frown as he considered Janus before he gave a shrug, “Then I’ll have to keep thinking.”

“Please tell me things are set. Somehow each time I spend time with Remy my skin crawls more instead of less.”

“Everything is set,” Virgil confirmed from the other side of the line. “Roman got us each a ticket to different places and then from there we’re on our own and as agreed we will meet up in a month. Even different forms of transport.”

“Good.”

“But how do you plan on getting out without Remy knowing? The rest of us should manage but it's clear he’s uh... attached to you.”

Janus gave a sigh, “I plan to give him a little diversion of sorts. The day after next is when we leave. You all don't need to worry about me I’ll-”

“I’ve never worried about you once in my life.”

“Please remind me why I am friends with you?”

Virgil ignored him, “So how are you getting out? Remy’s clearly got connections based off of what Remus reported. Dangerous connections.”

“Well that sounded a tad like concern didn't it?”

“Janus.”

“Fine. I’ve been acting more distant to Remy later and at the party I’ll drop a rumor to his friends. I’m almost done spinning the silk around him, and then once I break it hopefully he should get stuck long enough that I have enough time to leave. It should take him about 18 hours after the party starts to get free and come after me, but my flight is in 19, and I plan to be at the airport past security long before that.”

“Don't fuck up then. I’ll talk to you after.”

Thomas’ villa was beautiful. That Janus already knew from all the pictures and planning done, but it was entirely different seeing it.

“Quite the place right?” Remy asked pulling Janus close.

His two friends eagerly nodded in agreement, and with that the four of them headed to the door. When they approached the door was already opening to allow them entry. And when they had it was clear the party was in full swing inside. People looked up as they entered, most likely wondering why Remy had bothered showing up this late when the party had started closer to eight, but then again most of them probably knew that Remy had a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps that was why no one commented on how late they were. Rather they hurriedly shoved drinks into their hands and absorbed them into the conversation.

“Remy!”

Janus turned with Remy and turned to look at Thomas Sanders. It was kind of strange, meeting the man he had come to the city for months after he had planned it. He had access to every detail Remus could dig up about the man’s life, and he had been listening in on Thomas’ conversations for weeks, and yet here and now was the first time they had ever locked eyes.

“Thomas!” Remy greeted with a slight slur as he greeted the other man. “How are ya?”

“I’ve been good. But how have you been? I have been trying to contact you for weeks to thank you properly for the painting!”

Remy gave him a dismissive wave, “See I ignored those because I didn’t want you trying to give it back to me. This is to make up for all the birthdays I missed in the past and those I’ll miss in the future.”

Thomas gave a laugh in response, “Of course. And oh, hello to your friends.”

“You already know those two, but this is Daniel Perez,” Remy introduced.

Janus gave the man a smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. But um, Remy?” Thomas asked. “Can I pull you aside to talk for a minute?” Thomas asked.

“Sure thing babe!”

Janus watched as they walked off to the side, and as he went back to the conversation happening in front of him he kept glancing over to the two. As time passed the friends finally noticed.

“Daniel?”

Janus turned from where he had been watching to face Remy’s two friends. “Hm?”

“I said you should join us next week at the network's party,” Sofia told him. Janus had been listening to their conversation of course, but Sofia and Manuel were co hosts for entertainment news, and if he wanted them to take up his story he’d need to up the drama.

“Oh,” he nodded slowly before his gaze flickered back to Remy. “I’m... not sure if I can make it.”

Manuel took the bait, “Is something going on between you two?”

Janus shook his head quickly, his eyes darting over the listening ears he amassed from neighboring people, “It's fine really. I shouldn’t...”

“You can tell us,” Sofia insisted.

Janus gave a sigh before he leaned in slightly, “I just don’t know if I can do this anymore. The hot and cold, I mean.”

“I know he’s a flirt but he's a good person.”

Her partner gave a nod, “He’s just trying to have fun before he settles down with his soulmate. Didn’t you say you were doing the same?”

“Well yes but...”

“But?”

Janus paused looking around before he leaned in again, “I found my soulmate.”

“Oh who?”

The woman beside him slapped him on the arm, “Idiot, he means Remy!” she hissed.

“Oh... oh... I understand. Wait, you said hot and cold?”

Janus gave a nod and let his gaze fall to the floor, “He... he dismissed me... I’ve been staying here trying to hope something will change but it never goes further than anything you guys see. He puts an arm around me and shows me off but he... he dismissed me.” Janus gave a slight sniffle and he forced himself to look up the ceiling blink repeatedly as if trying to hold in tears.

“Oh my God,” Sofia gasped. “He did? I am going to-”

“Don’t!” Janus told her quickly. “Please. I just want to enjoy tonight and then I-I’m actually leaving to go on a trip tomorrow. I just... I just need to-”

“Somewhere to think?” Manuel guessed.

“Yeah... but please don't tell him I told you. I don't want more drama. He’ll try to stop me from leaving and I just need to be alone. I’m only here tonight because I promised him weeks ago that I’d come.”

“You poor thing,” Sofia frowned, gently taking his face in her hands and wiping away the beginning of tears. “We’ll keep your secret. And give him a stern talking to once you’re gone okay?”

Janus gave her a thankful smile. “Okay.”

~~~~

“How long did they manage to keep the secret?” Logan questioned.

“Do you not watch the news?” Janus asked with a smile.

“I was more concerned about coming to arrest you.”

Janus gave a laugh in reply and Logan silently hated how much he tuned in to the pleasant sound. “They didn’t make it twelve hours, but Daniel’s name was kept out of it. And Remy is currently stormed by paparazzi, but he’ll make it out sooner than later.”

“I see. And you claimed you’re leaving today?”

“Is that a problem?”

“It might be... but what happened for the rest of the night?”

“I did my part, kept my alibi. Remy was talking to Thomas most of the night, so I left it to him to ensure Thomas was distracted and Virgil wasn’t caught. The end.”

“That’s it? Logan asked in disbelief. “There must be more.”

“Oh? Do you like my story that much, Agent?”

Logan ignored him. “What about the painting? Why steal it? What is to be gained? I highly doubt that you were suddenly feeling bad about lying about rediscorved art.”

“Of course not. No that was... a hiccup of sorts... as if the murder wasn’t already.”

“What do you mean?”

Janus gave a small sigh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if upset at the thought of it, but he told the story nonetheless.

~~~~

The moment Remus had altered the security footage he was moving. He left the staff quarters and headed to the base of the villa. He checked his surroundings to ensure he was alone twice, but then he could hear Remus’ voice in his ear.

“No one is watching you but me Virgie.”

“Something feels off,” Virgil whispered back.

“You’re always paranoid. I wouldn’t let you get caught. No! What? He deserves a red card for that, not a yellow!”

“Are- are you watching the game without me?”

“Hurry back and I won't have to. Oh do you want color commentary in the meantime?”

“No.”

The word was ignored as Remus began to describe the game going on, and Virgil did his best to ignore it as he began his ascent up the trellis. He bit his tongue as he climbed silently worried about whether it would hold his weight (despite the fact he had tested it multiple times previously) but even so he climbed it. The trellis came to a stop beneath the balcony so now came the next issue. He took a deep breath and pulled the metal spikes from his belt and stabbed one in above him before he did the same with the next. And then he was hanging. It was slower moving than he’d like to admit, but he had done this in harder locations higher from the ground. He reached the end of the underside of the balcony and reached up to begin the turn from underneath to the side. He just needed to keep his foc-

“Goal! Yes!”

Virgil jerked in surprise and quickly steadied himself as his heart rate spiked. “Remus?”

“That was such a good- hm?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You could at least say please, manners are everything Virgie.”

Virgil held in a retort as he climbed further and reached up for the railing. It wasn’t until he had both feet firmly placed on the other side of it did he calm even slightly. The halls were empty and Remus was monitoring, but that didn’t mean that Virgil was planning to move slowly. He hurried down the hall keeping his steps as quiet as possible and headed toward the office. He glanced back and forth out of habit before pulling out his lockpicks. The long pieces of metal were as familiar to him as his own fingers, and perhaps that's why in a few expert clicks, the door was open and he was on the other side of it. The room was dark and quiet, but that was to be accepted given the host was elsewhere in his home. Virgil took a step in turning on his headlamp as he did. When he did, the painting was easy to spot. It hung on the wall behind the small bar looking out to the rest of the room. He went to it quickly and ran his fingers over it looking for the compartment Remus had engineered, but he couldn’t find it.

“Remus, where is it? The opening?”

“Bottom left.”

Virgil frowned and put pressure on the spot once more only succeeding in deepening his frown. “It's not here.”

“Yes it is.”

“No its-”

“Just shove it forward then- Someone’s walking your way. Get it and get out.”

“I would if I could.”

What must’ve been a Greek swear echoed in the earpiece, “It's the Target, I don't know if he’s headed for the office or somewhere else, but he’s about to turn to the hall. Get out now.”

Virgil could hear the footsteps now. He bit his tongue in thought as panic rose in his chest. He hurriedly turned off the headlamp as they grew closer each one echoing on the floor as it came closer. But there was nowhere to hide in this room- not if he didn’t know what the man was coming in here to do. Damnit, what was Janus even doing? The idiot only had one job for the evening and it seemed he couldn’t do that. Would Virgil really have to teach him everything?

Virgil ran eyes over the room in the dark before a wardrobe stuck out to him and with no other choice he bit back a curse as he moved to the door- locked it- and ran for the wardrobe. He had just closed the door behind him when the office door opened. From his spot holding his breath amongst the rich man’s clothes (hell why did this man even have a wardrobe in his office? Did rich people change clothes in the middle of meetings?) Virgil could only see the light of the room, but he could hear. The Target had crossed the room and was rummaging through his desk. Time seemed to slow as Virgil’s body cramped at the uncomfortable position, he couldn't risk moving. He was already barely fitting in the space as it was, and movement could cause the door to open and he couldn’t have that even if the cramping on his leg could be due to his former injury. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the feeling. This was no different than any other challenge. Challenges were the breath of life. They were what inspired Virgil to move forward despite everything, because nothing came easy. His mom had taught him that, and even if she hadn’t he had realized it soon enough. Because what came easy wasn’t always deserved.

The closing of the office door and the click of the lock were like blessings. Virgil climbed out giving a sigh of relief as he did. He flexed his leg a few times before he closed the wardrobe and moved to stand in front of the painting once more. But he still had no clue how to access the planted bug.

It was another swear in his ears which distracted Virgil from his analysis of the frame. “I need you to stop talking about the game.”

“I...I think he’s dead.”

Virgil froze, “What?”

“I-I don't... I looked back to the game and when I looked back there’s a ton of blood on the floor!”

“What where?”

“At the end of the hall!”

“I’ve had enough,” Virgil decided, removing the large painting from the wall. “Drive the van as close as you can get.”

~~~~

“He was spooked by the victim’s death and took the whole painting then?”

“Yes,” Janus nodded tiredly. “Virgil has been doing this longer than me, but he isn't as skilled in keeping his emotions in check.”

“And the reason there is no footage of the murder is because Remus had already been looping that area because Virgil was due to make his escape that way.”

“Correct.”

Logan paused in thought as he squinted at Janus as the words settled in his mind. And just like that all at once, the riddle had an answer, “That would mean the killer had to know that the footage was being manipulated.”

“They would.”

“And the only person who knew what was happening that night, who was there, and who wasn’t you or Virgil was... Remy.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” Janus nodded.

“But why would he-”

“I’m sure you can figure that out yourself, Agent. My story was about what I am doing in this city. Not about the murder.”

“They’re connected,” Logan argued. “This means Remy has been murdering people for weeks! And-”

“Perhaps, but they also are only strung together by the word of a chronic liar and an Agent out of line.”

Logan faltered as he looked into Janus’ eyes. The man had let his confident mask shatter to reveal what was true because at this point it didn’t matter. Logan already knew the truth, he had known it since the conversation had started or perhaps even before then, in this situation, he was powerless.

“I’ll catch him,” Logan said anyway. “Remy will be charged.”

“I believe that you’ll try. But now, Agent... I think I should be going.”

No. “You can’t-”

“Why not?” he asked standing. “This is a conversation, not an interrogation after all. One happening off the record. Even if you were to arrest me one day in the future, this would all be more than circumstantial. So I need to leave the country before Remy catches up with me.”

No no no no.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to find Blank, get his answers and arrest the man no matter what. It didn't matter that Blank or Janus was his soulmate. It didn’t matter that he didn’t even have permission. All that mattered was that he couldn’t let Janus walk away. He had been doing this for too long. For so long he had been chasing the wolf in sheep’s clothing and his merry band, he had been running through countries and letting time pass. It had been over two years followed by six months of riding a desk hoping and praying for this moment. He had spent six months pretending he was satisfied as long as he had Patton but this moment here was what he had been yearning for so it couldn’t just- just end.

Emotions had never been Logan’s strong suit. Everyone who knew him knew that. But never more than now did Logan wish he could explain the passion- the anger- the fear- the joy- the sadness and more that filled him to the brim.

“Please remember that this case isn’t everything. I know you’ve devoted yourself to it kiddo- and you know I love how into your work you get but... but you’re more than the case.”

Patton had said and meant those words, but here and now Logan wasn’t sure if they were true. Because even if he could arrest Janus here and now what would come from it? He’d arrest the man, and feel better for what? A day? A week? A month? But it wouldn't change that he would still be chained down by his desk by his superiors. It hurt. More than emotionally it hurt physically. There was a pain in his chest and it hurt. It hurt more than he wanted to admit- even if it was just admitting it to his soul. It was hard to admit that he needed more than Patton- when he knew that Patton would give him everything if he dared say the word. He needed his job- what he truly loved more than any person. And the only way he could keep any grasp on his former position and the former case... was to let Janus go.

“I will arrest you,” Logan promised finally.

Janus gave him a smirk and a slight nod of the head, “Let’s see if you keep that promise Logan... And when we meet again, do me a favor and try to be more romantic. If you do... perhaps I’ll have another story for you.”

~~~~~

“Lo!”

Logan lifted his head to see his lover’s face.

“What happened? Are you okay? Did you-”

Patton’s words were cut off as Logan moved forward to embrace his fiancé tightly.

“Lo?” Patton asked softly as he hugged him back.

“I’m sorry,” Logan told him as he buried his face in Patton’s shoulder. “I should’ve been better to you.”

“Hush,” Patton chided. “What could be better than hugging you? Well I guess I prefer it when you’re smiling and hugging me. But this can lead to smiling Logan so it's okay.”

Logan couldn't stop the small chuckle which left his mouth.

“Oh I hear him already.”

Logan shook his head as he pulled back enough to wipe at his eyes, “I love you, Patton.”

Patton gave him a bright smile back, “I love you too. Now I’m going to start dinner and you can tell me about your day and if you met Blank some other time if you don't want to talk now, okay?”

“I met him,” Logan confirmed. “And... well, I got more than I bargained for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, have you ever considered the thought of having two soulmates?”

Patton’s mouth dropped open in surprise, “No way!”

“Yeah... he is.”

“Wow... well I know I just said I’d wait, but can I go back on it?”

Logan gave a laugh as he pulled Patton close to him again, “Yeah... you can.”

~~~~

This line of work was never something he had seen himself in. He had grown up thinking his only choice in life was to become a businessman and be better than those he was exposed to. And then he had witnessed a robbery, and he fell head first to a world he hadn’t known. And despite everything he had fallen in love with it. The art slipping his way into any group was something he had learned, and it was the art of the lie that he had perfected which allowed him to be such a notorious conman. And nothing could be better than that. Cons allowed him to meet amazing people, travel, and do something only he could. Others could steal, others could paint, others could hack, but only he could weave one another together to reach the goal. Only he was the one who could put things together- or he was supposed to be. But Logan was an anomaly, and even if Janus had the ability to lie to him he was sure the man would have figured him out on his own. “A long while,” that’s how long Logan claimed to have been tracking him. He couldn't help but wonder how long that had been. How long had it been that he had left behind enough clues to let his soulmate into his mind? He'd have to do better if he didn’t want to come this close to being caught again. But at the same time... the thought of Logan catching him wasn’t a bad one. Janus gave himself a quick and mental shake, no. He had other people to think about, and- and if Logan did catch up with him he was sure as hell going to make the other man earn it.

A soft sigh left his lips as he tried not to think about how uncomfortable the coach seats were as the plane moved closer and closer to the tarmac. It had been a longer flight than he had anticipated given the weather not allowing them to land, but now he was more than grateful for a chance to stretch his legs. Then it was off for a month of relaxation and planning before doing it all over again. As the plane landed and began to taxi he reached for his phone and pulled it out to turn it on and was greeted by a barrage of texts.

He didn't recognize the number having wiped off all personal data before boarding the plane, but reading through them it was clear enough who they were from.

What the hell Daniel!? WE HAD A DEAL

Bitch where the fuck r u

I will fkin find you!

What do uthink ur smart or someth?

I have ppl everywhre. They told me about u!

ANd when i tell them that u fkin destroyed me?

i’ll kill u

They went on like that for a while but Janus paid them no mind, and he did his best not to smile as he picked up his napkin and rubbed it over the phone. When it was his turn he climbed out and took down his carry on and moved to leave. He gave his thanks to the flight attendants as he did, ensuring he complimented a woman’s earrings as he did so he could drop the napkin- and phone in her trash without her noticing.

“One month to relax,” he breathed out as he left the plane. One month of no work... he wasn’t entirely sure he would survive that long without doing what he loved. But, perhaps it would make quite the prologue.

~~~~

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Sequel

The end! But as you see above I'm planning for sequel! So I hope you're curious about learning more about the history of Janus and crew and about Remy. So yeah, until then!

#the two workaholics love each other for loving work #soulmate au #loceit #logicality #murder mystery #character death mention #Janus Sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #c!thomas #ts remy sanders #agent #conman

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