#unfortunately the full image is lame so here's another close up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

127-mile · 4 years

Text

Colours :

Pairing : Chittaphon/Ten Lee x female reader.

Genre : soulmates!au, criminal!au / angst, fluff.

Warnings : flashbacks / characters’ deaths / hit and run / cursed necklace / mention of blood / alcohol / non explicit mention of deaths.

Word count : +9k.

Plot : Soulmates exist, and sometimes, they are hard to find. Meeting Cyan and her book of colours in broad daylight was unexpected. When she offered you the opportunity to find your soulmate, you said yes. It was quite simple : you only had to pick a colour. One colour, one alternate reality. And only one chance for you to find them, and bring them back.

You picked silver where soulmates have memories of each other from their past life.

A/N : This is part of a soulmate collab, please go read the other writers works, and feel free to give us feedbacks. I’ll add the link to the masterlist later, but you can find it on @neo-cult-ure who is the beautiful soul behind this collab.

"Why are we here ?" the boy ignores you, a small huff coming through his pursed lips. "What do they have that is important enough to put us both in danger ?" you start to run out of patience, your foot hitting the ground repeatedly. "Maybe we shouldn't do that. Everything has gone very well so far, maybe we shouldn't push our luck, don't you think ?"

Ten finally turns around, an expression on his face that you can't quite decipher. He grabs your hand to bring you closer to him, and with the way his chest presses against yours, you are pretty sure he can feel how hard your heart beats. "Come on, sunshine." he says, fingers brushing against your cheeks so softly that you are not sure if it is really happening. "We don't have anything to lose, and we will find each other again no matter what." He is right, you know that, but for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that it could be the last time.

"It took me 2 more years to find you this time. It's getting longer every time. What if I can't find you again after that ? What if I'm left alone for the rest of my life and the others ?" you take a deep breath, trying hard not to embarrass yourself even more in front of Ten. "You promised me I would never be alone." your voice is shaky, barely above a whisper and Ten laughs, at least until he sees your eyes filling with tears.

"And I plan on keeping my promise. No matter how long it takes, I will find you every time." He says, and his face is so close to yours that you can smell the faint and sweet smell of his cologne. You feel a sudden rush of helplessness when he kisses you, your hands gripping his shoulders to stay grounded. "It's now or never, my love."

He lets go of your face, and he turns on his heels to open the lock of the backdoor. "You know what to do, right ?" he asks, and you nod. Of course you do, especially after repeating the plan so many times on the way to the house. "Perfect. Let's meet up in thirty minutes in the soma (south marais)." He kisses your cheek, and you have to resist the urge to grab his arm, and to force him far away from here, far away from the life he has always known.

The hideout is only a few miles away from the house, which should be close enough in case anything happens. But there is no reason, right ? You sigh. "Please, be careful." you go around the house, and as soon as you see the door, you knock as quickly as possible. The burn of the wood against your knuckles helps you focus on the task.

"Help, please, help !" you scream, banging your fist against the front door. At first nothing happens, but after a few minutes, the lighs turn on behind the tinted windows on each sides of the door. When the door opens, you start to pants, your eyes focusing on the owner of the house, an old man wearing a red dressing gown. "Please, help me. I-my car broke down." you say hurriedly, with the most botched accent. "I- I was just tru-trying to go buy some medicine for my little brother. He-he is alone and sick and-and I don't know what to do, or who to call."

The man seems lost, but only for a minute. He grabs his keys, and steps out of the house. You wonder how he managed to understand and especially to believe what you just said because that was some lame improvisation you just did. "Which one is yours ?" he asks, and you lead him down the street, to a car Ten forced open a couple of hours ago, when he was sure that the owner would not leave his apartment again. "Open the hood, would you." you sit in front of the steering wheel, and you press the button for the hood.

You do not pay the slightest attention to the man who looks at the engine of the car, too busy looking at the old man's house. You are pretty sure to see Ten's shadow behind the window of the first floor, and you honestly wish it was him, and not another resident. "Start the engine." you hear him say, and you freeze. Ten never told you how to use the cables to start a stolen car.

"Alright, alright." You grab the cables, and you try rubbing them, but nothing happens. So when the man looks at you, you shrug and he goes right back behind the hood. One of the lights turn on and off a few times. The sign. It's time to get the fuck out of here. You get out of the car, to join the man who slightly jumps. "Would you mind calling a car repairer for me ?" you cock your head on the side, with the softest smile and he nods.

"Of course, follow me." you obey, and when he enters the house, you hope Ten found a way out in time. You see the man rummaging through the drawers to find a cellphone he probably hasn't used in weeks. When he turns around, you just run. You run for dear life, ignoring the burn of your lungs screaming for you to stop, to catch your breath, but you can't. Not right now. You only slow down when you catch sight of the fairy lights from one of the marais' shops.

"Oh fuck." You mutter when you feel bile going up your throat, clearly out of shape for such a run. Being in Paris is a fascinating experience because nobody watches you as you walk down the street, fingers pressing against your side, sweaty and breathless. You turn in the dark alley where Ten told you to wait earlier. It is really dark, no light in sight, but it is still comforting.

Twenty minutes pass, and Ten is not here. You try, you really try, but eventually, fear starts to invade your nerves. What if someone saw him and called the cops ? What if he had an accident on his way here ? You rub your eyes, and you notice how tears started to roll down your red cheeks, the adrenaline slowly draining away from your body.

"Yn ?" You turn your head in time to see Ten. He has the biggest smile on his face, and he holds a necklace like the most precious trophey he has ever had. All of that for a necklace ? You shake your head, getting out of your hiding spot to walk toward him. But before you can even reach the curb, a car rushes towards Ten probably after running the red light.

"Ten !" you scream at the top of your lungs, and then, everything seems to slow down. Ten's body hit the hood of the car, his torso and head smashing against the windshield while his arms and legs are flailing, searching for somewhere to hold and stop the movement. The only sounds that fill your ears are the crushing of glass mixed with the distinct crackles of his bones. The car stopps, only for a minute, and from the broken windshield, you can see the hesitation on the driver's face. The reality hitting him at full speed.

The person drives away from Ten's inert body. You suddenly find yourself on your knees beside him, you didn't even remember ordering your body to move. Blood is running down his nose, and mouth and his chest is barely moving. "Ten, Ten, please wake up. Open your eyes." You say, frantic. "You promised ! You promised goddamit !" Your body is shaken by your sobs when Ten finally opens his mouth.

"Wake up."

Suddenly the voice is completely different, and when you open your eyes, the boy, the street in Paris, the broken glass, everything is gone, and you are alone in your bedroom. Your heart beats so hard that it hurts, and your face is wet with tears. You are still shaken up by the obvious dream you had. Even if the boy's face starts to fade, his words, and the sound of the crash still cloud your mind. You wince at the sound of your phone ringing on the bedside table.

From Mother : Today is the last day before I throw out all the stuff, hurry up.

You never had that kind of dream before, it felt so real, so comforting to be with him, so painful to lose him. It was almost like your body remembered something your brain couldn’t. His words had stuck with you in the shower. “I plan on keeping my promise. No matter how long it takes, I will find you every time.” For some reason, it made your heart ache. You thought that like every other dream, you would forget about it, but you didn’t. You even found yourself rubbing at your hands to wipe away the blood you had in the dream.

As hard as it is to stop thinking about your dream, you unfortunately have to brush it away to look for your older brother. As per usual, he was in his bedroom with his headset, and his game controller glued to his hands.

“Could you drive me to grandma’s ?” He barely looks up from his game, and he shrugs. “Please ? Grandma said I could take some of the old books she had, and mom is ready to throw everything away.”

In no time, Hansol is on his feet, he would never miss an opportunity to piss off your mother. The latter was way too happy when your grandmother passed away, too happy to be the new owner of the house she had be longing on for years.

“Let’s go.” He says, and you follow him out of the apartment to the parking. The ride to the house is pretty quiet, except for the weird noises coming from the old’s car engine. Hansol is the quiet type of guy, and you don’t mind as much usually, but today you feel restless. Probably because of the images of the crash playing in your mind.

“Can I ask you a question ?” When he nods, you take a deep breathe. “Have you met your soulmate already ?” Hansol freezes, hands still on the steering wheel, you know it is a sensitive subject because Hansol is going to be forced in a marriage by your parents to someone he had never met before. To the daughter of some chairman who promised to help the family’s struggling corporation, but you really need to know. Seeing him nod hurts you. “How does it feel ?”

“As soon as I met them, I understood how vital they are for us. Why they exist. A soulmate is.. it is everything you always wanted and more. They become the better part of you. Suddenly, everything seems brighter. And when you think about the years you spent without knowing of their existence, without having them by your side, you wonder how you did to survive.” He explains in a low voice. “You have the memories of your soulmate from your past life, yes, but it is not enough to fill the void inside your heart. You need them with you.”

He met his soulmate, and now he has to live with the fact that he will never be with them. And it breaks your heart. “Have you met your soulmate ?” He asks and you shake your head. “It’s probably for the best.” You want to apologize, to say something, but it is not your fault, and he knows it. It is your parents fault.

“Wait a minute !” You say suddenly when the boy parks in front of the house. He turns to look at you with a frown. “Memories of your soulmate from your past life ? What ?” Hansol rolls his eyes, and gets out of the car. “What is wrong with you ? Have you suddenly forgotten everything?”

You go up the driveway to the front door, Hansol muttering under his breath about how dumb you had to be to forget about the most important part of the whole soulmates thing, especially after hearing your parents talk about it for years. The door opens on your mother, and she looks at you and sighs.

“You have an hour, after that, everything is leaving.” You nod, and she takes a step out of the house, and you enter. It feels weird to be in the house after your grandma’s passing. No cooking smell, no crackling sound coming from the old turntable, just an odd silence.

The door to the reading room is ajar, which is weird. Your mother particularly hate this room, so she wouldn’t have come inside. You push the door completely open, trying to ignore the weird feeling of being watched, and the faint smell of smoke. The room consists of large bookcases against the walls, frames on old pieces of furnitures and a whole lot of trinkets your grandmother loved so much.

A box on the armchair catches your attention, it is open. You take a step toward said box to put it on the floor. It contains a lot of pictures, yellowed by time and burnt at some places. Under the photos, you find letters, you notice how the ink started to disappear, the paper seems to be stained with dried tears. Everything is covered in dust, and blowing on it only makes you cough hard enough for your lungs to burn. And under a bunch of old books, you find a silver colored pouch, a medaillon is inside but it is broken. Either by time, or by the weight of the books.

“My one and only.” You read on the back of the medaillon, and before you can try and open it, the sound of broken glass makes you jump, reminding you of your dream. You put your hands on your ears to cover the noise, and it takes you a couple of minutes for your heartbeat to calm down. Finally, you get up, medaillon still in hands, and you find Hansol in the living room. “What was that ?” You ask, and he shrugs. The floor is covered with sharp pieces of glass from an old vase. “Isn’t that the vase mom wanted to sell ?”

“Well, guess she won’t have that !” Of course, you think. “Now get out of the room, I know you, you’re going to hurt yourself.” He knows you, so you go back to the reading room. You gather a few trinkets and more books into the opened box. It is sad to think it is the last time you will see this room, the last time you will smell the dust mixed with the roses. But it’s life.

“We can go.” You tell your brother who also has a box in his arms. The way back to the apartment is quiet, and it gives you the opportunity to think about the dream you had the night before. It was scary, and it felt like some sort of déjà-vu. But it was not possible, because to this day, you have never seen a car accident, and especially, you never went to Paris. And the boy.. that boy, just thinking about it brings tears to your eyes.

"Are you okay ?" Hansol asks, and you shrug slightly. "You can always talk to me, you know ?" you nod, of course you know. Your brother is the only person in your family that will always be there no matter what.

"I just had a weird dream last night, and I can't seem to forget about it. I mean, not all of it." You say, and he encourages you to continue. "Like, I can remember the details of the dream, what happened, the sound, and weirdly enough even the smell. But when I try to remember the boy I was with it's just..foggy." He laughs softly, and you turn to look at him. "What's so funny ?"

"What you had was not a simple dream." he starts. "It was memories. And the boy you can't remember ? It was probably your soulmate." It makes sense. But it was the first time you had one of those, why now ? What changed ? Your eyes widden when you remember one tiny detail. The old lady the day before. The one who asked you to pick from her book of colours. Are you in the alternate reality she told you about before you chose silver ?

"Oh my god." you whisper, and Hansol doesn't try to understand what is going on. He rolls his eyes, and he parks the car before getting out, so you follow him with the box in your arms. You feel silly for not thinking about Cyan before, it was so obvious. Especially after spending so many years without finding any kind of trace of your soulmate.

Once in your room, you put the box on the bed, and you sit opposite to retrieve the pouch with the medallion that you did not have time to watch in detail apart from the fact that it was impossible to open and the engraved words. It seems old, and it is rusty on the edges but still beautiful. You close your eyes, and you see him. You see the boy from last night.

He is smiling, his fingers brushing against the medaillon around your neck. “It is gorgeous.” he whispers fondly. “But not as gorgeous as you.” you feel the heat go up to your cheeks, and you find yourself unable to hold his gaze. He is not tall, nor muscular but he is intimidating.

“As beautiful as the medaillon is, you shouldn’t have done that.” You hear yourself say and he shrugs. Ten hasn’t been allowed to enter the Ji family’s property for several years, frankly, since you discovered he was your soulmate. Your family always hated him, that’s why this morning he entered by the window, scaring you, like the thief he is, to offer you the medaillon. “I just want you to be safe.” You whisper.

“I am always safe, the proof is that I’m here.” If at first it was hard to believe that a thief could be your soulmate, you were used to it by now, and you could no longer imagine your life without him, his loud laugh and obnoxiously bright smile. "With you here, on this earth at the same time as me, and all mine, I would never do anything that could potentially endanger me." you tried to ask him to change his way of life, but you quickly gave up. It is what makes him, him. And maybe changing your decision had something to do with the fact that it was bothering your family.

"But I can take it back, you know, if it's bothering you ?" He says in a low voice, and you shake your head covering the medaillon with both your hands.

"Hands off ! That's mine now." You take a step back, and Ten laughs. Stolen or not, it's a gift and you intend on keeping it preciously. If you knew it would cause you so much trouble, pain, you would have thrown it away without a second thought.

When you open your eyes again, you are back in your room and once again, the boy’s face fades right away. The medaillon was the same as the one you are holding, even if it was in a better state and seemingly brand new. “Why are you here ?” You mutter to the medaillon, trying to ignore the ponding headache who settled in while your eyes were closed. It was fate for you to find the medaillon in your grandmother’s room, even though you do not remember ever seeing her wearing it or even showing it to you.

You don’t really know how to take it from here, what to do or where to look. You take the silvery pouch to put the medaillon inside, but when you open it, you notice a little card. A business card. “Le bazar des rêves, antiquarian.” with the address of the shop which is not so far from your apartment. So you get up, to once again, burst into your brother's room. "Can you driv-"

"No ! Take your legs and walk." He answers before you even have time to finish your question, so you sigh. You grab your jacket, the pouch and the shop's adress. Weirdly enough, you have never seen this shop before, maybe it is just a change from the alternate reality. The surprise does not come from the objects in the shop, but rather from the person behind the counter.

"Cyan ?" You ask, and the lady turns around with a bright smile. In your memories, her hair was jetblack but now it is gray and it shines under the neon lights of the shop. It is honestly mesmerizing.

"I'm glad to see you, y/n." she begins to say, arms crossed against her chest. "I was scared you wouldn't find the medaillon in your grandmother's box." You take a step towards the counter. Is that why the door was open ? Why you felt watched in a room where you used to feel so safe during your childhood ?

"Did you put it there ? Why ? And why do I have memories about this necklace ? About the memories, is that the consequence of the alternate reality ? What am I supposed to do now ? How do I find my soulmate ?" Cyan laughs softly, so many questions in so little time. She turns around to lock the shop, and she beckons you to follow her into the back room. A wooden coffee table is in between two leather armchairs. You sit in one of them, your eyes following Cyan's every moves. "So ?"

“Let’s start with the beginning, shall we ?” When you nod, she takes a seat and starts to play with her bracelet. “The medaillon you are holding was stolen many many years ago. Unfortunately, the thief didn’t know back then that whoever would take it without the permission of its original owner would be hit with what you could call a curse. In a world where soulmates find each other in every life, they would be cursed for eleven lives."

Right now, it does not make a lot of sense to you, you wonder why she tells you all of it ? What is the connection between you and the medaillon ? "And why was I supposed to find it then ?" Cyan sighs, clearly annoyed to be cut in the middle of her explanation. "Sorry, keep going."

"If you have memories about this necklace, it's because your soulmate stole it for you. Because you are the couple cursed by it. You've been coming to see me for ten lives now. Every time, I find a new way to put the medaillon on yours or your soulmate's way, to have you come to me so I can explain once again what is going on." you get up and shake your head, muttering under your breath.

"Wait wait ! You said we would be cursed for eleven lives, right ? And now you said I came to you 10 times. It is the last life with the curse then ?" Cyan nods, finally back to her peaceful smile. "What is the curse about ? Like what is supposed to happen for eleven lives ?" She seems hesitant to answer, which is weird. You hit the ground with your feet. "Please, I need to know what to expect."

"You are not going to like my answer." she says. "And I understand, I really do but please, don't break anything this time, it's not my fault." she takes a deep breath. "You'll have a perfect life, but you or your soulmate are destined to die before the happy ending." Your heart stops instantly. It is cruel. So much death, and so much pain for a stupid medaillon !

"So the car accident." You mutter and Cyan nods, she knows more than what she says and you are grateful for that, you are not sure you can handle more. You swallow dryly, and you sit down, suddenly dizzy.

"What are you doing ?" You ask the boy in front of you, a knee on the ground. "No seriously Ten, come on, get up !" The boy shakes his head and he takes a silver velvet case out of his pocket. He opens it on a beautiful diamond ring, and you find yourself completely mute. The piece of jewlery is stunning, and it shines under the rays of sunshine coming through the curtains of your bedroom. "Where did you steal it this time ?"

The question could break the mood, but Ten laughs out loud. "You may not believe me, but I didn't steal this one." His smile slowly fades, for a more serious look. This is the first time you have seen Ten like that, and it is different from his usual playful self. "I know I should have done this earlier. I also should have done this during our previous lives, but I guess this time I'm a little less stupid." You doubt about it, but you stay quiet.

"I understood how lucky I was the very first time I saw you, the first time my gaze landed on you. So when I learned that we were soulmates, and that we were going to find ourselves life after life? I was ecstatic, because you would be mine for eternity and nobody is as perfect as you are for me. I know, I messed up eight lives ago, but I'm trying my best every time to make our lives better, to improve myself." He says in a soft voice. "We'll find each other again and again, no matter what happens or the time it takes, I know we'll be each other in the end. But I still feel the need to ask you the question. Would you make me the happiest man on earth by marrying me ?"

Ten is a bit shy about his feelings. So hearing him speak takes your breath away, and makes your heart beat so hard in your chest that it could fall at your feet that you wouldn't be surprise. You cock your head, nodding slowly. "Of course I want to marry you Ten. In this life, and in all of the others." Ten rises and kisses you like there is no tomorrow, and it is true, you do not know how long you'll have with him each time.

"I love you, I love you so much." He whispers against your lips in between two kisses, and you smile, cupping his face. "I never thought I could be happier." He grabs your hand, and he puts the ring on your finger. The ring is gorgeous, but knowing that he didn't steal it makes it even more beautiful for you.

“I love you even more.” You say, and you open your eyes when someone clears its throat in front of you. Once again, Ten has disappeared and this time, it’s Cyan who took his place. She is handing you a cup of tea with an apologetic look, probably used of seeing you passed out. “Where can I find him ?” You ask, before sipping on the cup. Your head is pounding, you feel lightheaded and tired, but you need to know how to find him. Your body is craving his presence.

“He hasn't come yet. If you have the medaillon, he has the ring, and he probably hasn’t found it yet.” She explains. As important as the medaillon is because of the curse, the ring is important too because of its sentimental value.

"Did he come every time ?" You ask, and Cyan shakes her head after a couple of minutes.

"Sometimes he needs more informations, sometimes he does not bother and figure the situation by himself, and once even I couldn’t find the medaillon to give it to either of you. But you always found each other no matter what, so don't worry too much." It is hard not to worry. What if this time, you can't find him, then what ? Are you stuck in the alternate reality until you find him ? Are you sent back to your usual world without a clue of how or where to find him ? "Go home, have some rest." She hands you a bottle of pills she found in one of the drawers of an old dresser. "Take one, enjoy at least a night without dream, it's for your own good. I think your brain has had enough for the day."

You get up, but before leaving the shop, you turn around to ask. "What does he look like ? How am I supposed to recognize him ?"

Cyan smiles softly. "You'll know it's him, trust me."

In the two weeks following Cyan's revelation, nothing happened. No dreams, no flashbacks, nothing at all. Just a feeling of emptiness and sadness. Fortunately, you had other things to do to avoid thinking about this boy whose memories are increasingly erased as time goes by. To avoid feeling this intense fear of completely forgetting the existence of your soulmate. Because what if you did ? What if one day you woke up with nothing left of him ? What if one day, the medaillon on your bedside table was just a piece of jewelry you found at your grandmother's place ? What if one day, you were back to your usual reality with nothing ? That's a lot of scary thoughts you are trying to run away from.

Preparing for your brother's wedding was taking up a lot of your time, and you have never been more excited to go home than at that moment, the key in the lock. "What?" You whisper in disbelief when the key does not turn. Pushing the door is enough to open it, which is strange, since Hansol is getting to know his future wife on the other side of town.

Your first thought is a burglary. So you expect to find things all over the floor, and maybe broken things, but none of that. On the contrary, you hear music, and footsteps in the kitchen. You close the door silently behind you, and you walk to the kitchen where your gaze is placed on a boy cooking, a cloth on his shoulder. He hums, indifferent to what is going on around him. "Who are you ? How did you get in here ?" You ask, and he jumps, the spatula falling on the ground and he curses under his breath.

He doesn't turn around, still focusing on whatever he is cooking. "Well, you know how good I am at lock-picking, and you only have one lock on your door and I just happened to have my lock-picking set with me, so you know." He says with a shrug, and you shake your head. Who the hell is he, thinking it is alright to pick your lock. He turns around and he sighs at the frown on your face. "Fine, I'll knock next time.. but in my defense, you were not there, and I was starving."

"Who the fuck are you ?" You ask and he rolls his eyes. He turns one more time to put the pan out of the stove, and you take the time to watch him. Dark gray hair with strikes of pink, a ripped denim jacket, a pair of white jean and he is rather small. He is handsome, that's for sure, but that doesn't take away the fact that he's in your apartment, and that you don't know him.

"I'm Ten." For him, it's obvious, but it doesn't seem to be for you, given the way you look at him. He joins you, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans and he smiles, admiring your face. As beautiful as in his memories. "Your soulmate ?" From beneath his t-shirt, he pulls out a necklace with a ring in place of the pendant. The ring of your dream. The one your soulmate used to ask you to marry him.

"Oh my god." You are at loss of words, you didn't think he would find you that fast, or at all. "How ? How did you know it was me without seeing me first ?" He invites you to sit down, and you oblige.

"I found the ring, and the shop's business card. Cyan explained everything to me, and maybe I found a way to get your address. Afterwards it was quite simple. I only had to wait for someone to come out, until I could find the right person. Until I could find you. Like Cyan said, as soon as I saw you, I knew. I could have come sooner, but I wanted us to be alone. So when I saw that the boy you seemed to be living with had not returned for a few days, I took advantage of the situation and you know the rest, I broke into your apartment when nobody answered the door."

"And what would have happened if my brother had been the one finding you ?" You cock your head to the side, and he winces at the thought.

"Well, guess that my eleventh life would end before officially meeting you." You laugh, not because of the situation, but because you can't imagine your brother being mean to anybody. "But because I'm lucky, you are here. And he is not." He sighs, eating from the plate of food he made. "So, what do you think about everything ? About the curse ?"

"That it was really idiot of you from stealing this necklace !" Ten lowers his head, but he knows there is no bite to your words. "But there's no way you could've known about the curse. The curse it's cruel, and to be honest, I'm glad I can't remember everything. I had one dream where you died hit by a car, and it took me a while to forget about the pain I felt at that moment. I don't want to live that again." You say in a low voice.

“I have seen a couple of your deaths, and I agree, it’s not a pain I want to feel ever again.” Ten lost his cheeky smile at his own words, and your heart aches at the thought of having to live more than one death again. “But I guess we don’t have the choice, as we still have a life to live before our happily ever after.” You almost forgot that you still have to die once before you two can fully be happy. That’s a bummer, really.

"Is there anything we can do to change our fate ?" At your question, Ten sighs, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess it was still worth asking."

"I asked Cyan," Ten starts, "but she said that unfortunately there was nothing we could do to change anything. I guess all we can do right now is to be extra careful with our surrondings, and try to stay as safe as possible."

You get up from your chair, Ten's plate in your hand to put it in the sink and you turn, back against the counter. "I mean, I'm always safe, but can I say the same for you ? You will have to keep your thieving hands to yourself." Ten laughs, and it sounds like music to your ears, and you begin to understand what Hansol had told you in the car. "Stay here. I'll keep your ass in lane."

And keep him in lane is what you did.

For a full month, you found things to keep Ten occupied so that he wouldn't fall back into his bad habits, so that he would not regret agreeing to move in with Hansol and you. It was complicated at times, but Ten always found a way to cheer you up, or make you think of something other than your terrible fate.

And today will be no different.

You wake up in a room that is unknown to you, after a night full of bits and pieces of memories that are forgotten as soon as you open your eyes. The rays of sunshine warm the bare skin of your legs in a pleasant way, but it is not as pleasant as Ten's body heat. His chest against your back, and his arm around your waist, you can't move but you don't mind. Ten and you are polar opposite but you didn't need a lot of time to adapt to him, to his presence, to his antics. You couldn't imagine your life without him anymore.

"Good morning, my love." Ten whispers, lips against your ear. Chills run down your spine, and you turn around to nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his sweet scent. "Come on, your mother is going to murder me if you don't get down on time." He rubs his hand up and down your back under your shirt, and you huff. Until today, you would have never thought it was possible to love someone as much as you loved Ten.

"But I want to stay here." Your whine only makes Ten laugh and he hugs you tighter. Your heart feels warm, and so so at peace. In his arms, you forget about everything. Nothing matters except Ten, and the amount of love he has to give.

"You don't have the choice. Go, we'll find each other in a couple of hours." He kisses the top of your head and you get out of bed reluctantly. You put on the sweater he wore the day before and you leave the room, blowing him a kiss.

Today is an important day. Not for you, but for your brother. It's his wedding, and after months of preparation, you're happy to see the end of it. Even if you are apprehensive of seeing your older brother leave and spend the rest of his days with someone he will have to force himself to love, you are happy at the idea of having the apartment for you. You find your mother in one of the many rooms of the country house, and she doesn't waste a minute getting you to work. Between going back and forth to the other rooms, and your own preparations, you can't see the past two hours, you don't even have time to think about Ten or check your phone to see if he tried to contact you.

Ten is already seated in the church when you enter, followed closely by your mother who makes sure everything goes well. He rises when he sees you and your heart stops. He looks absolutely perfect with his expensive black suit, and with his blond hair. He smiles when you approach, whispering a few compliments that you can barely hear over the conversations around you. He takes your hand to give it a kiss, noticing the ring that you haven't removed since he gave it to you when you met. Not that your are engaged or anything, it is only a small reminder of your history, of your love.

“You look stunning.” He says, and you sit beside him, already feeling your cheeks burning. You nudge him in his side, and he huffs softly.

"Shut up, idiot, that's not the place." He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing, but fortunately enough he does not have time to answer because the bride enters the church. You get up, and instead of watching her, you focus solely on Hansol. He looks uncomfortable in his suit, his bangs sticking to his forehead from the sweat, and he moves from one foot to the other.

"He looks like he is ready to pee himself." You could have whack him behind the head if your mother was not watching you, and if you weren't in a church.

"You would be in the same state than him if you had to marry someone that was not your soulmate because your parents are selfish assholes." you mutter, and you feel Ten's arm around your waist. He knows how much the situation bothers you.

"It'll be fine, don't worry. We'll find a way for him to meet his soulmate, and maybe his wife wouldn't mind having hers too." You nod, maybe you could do something for the both of them to be happy. Maybe it could be another project for Ten and you to avoid any kind of imminent death with any kind of dangerous situation Ten could bring to you.

"Yes, we'll find a way." You whisper as you sit down to watch the rest of the celebration. The vows are beautiful, but they are not sincere, and you almost expect Hansol to run out of the church but he doesn't. He kisses his bride, and they leave with the applause of the guests. "Come on, let's go pretend to be happy for them, and maybe get drunk."

Ten is more than fine with that, so he takes your hand and gets out of the church behind your family. The party takes place in the garden of the country house, and the least you can say is that it is magnificent. Well it is normal with the amount of money invested in a single marriage. A forced one at that.

The toast is rather quick, with a few memories shared by the bridesmaid and the groomsman. "Well that was awkward." Ten says, a glass of champagne in hand. You wonder how much your mother had paid your brother's best friend to keep his speech pg13. Because you know how bad and nasty some of their memories together are.

"She looks stupid when she forces herself to laugh. And Hansol looks like an imbecile standing like that. Poor kids." You sigh, gulping the rest of your own glass of champagne. "It's really sad. Especially now that I have you, that I know how good it feels to be reunited with your soulmate. I don't even want to think how they are feeling."

The boy makes you turn, cupping your face in his hands. You've never seen so much love in someone's eyes, and it makes your heart beat so much faster, so much stronger. "I love you so much y/n. The curse sucks, but do you have any idea how lucky I feel when I think about all of the lives we had together, and the lives we'll have in the future ? I could never have asked for a better soulmate, you are everything I ever wanted and even more." Ten looks like he has more to say, but he closes his mouth.

"I love you even more, Ten. Curse or not, we are lucky enough to be on this earth at the same time, every time and that's all that matters to me. Don't think about anything else." Of course, he doesn't know about the book of colours, or the alternate reality. The less he knows, the better. Right now, you content yourself with his presence. "Enjoy the moment."

Ten smiles back, hand reaching to run through your hair and he kisses you gently. Every time he kisses you, it's like a fire lights up in the pit of your stomach. It's addicting. He licks your bottom lip, and you are ready to oblige when you feel a hand on your shoulder. "Have a little decency. You'll kiss Ten at your wedding." As much as you are annoyed at your mother for interruptiong the kiss, you don't mind her comment one bit. It is actually nice to think of yours and Ten's wedding. The one you never had the chance to have even after so many lives together. Maybe the next could be the good one ?

"She hates me. She is always here when I'm trying to be a good boyfriend by showing you my love." You roll your eyes, taking a step away from him, and he backhugs you right away, watching as the newly weds dance for the first time together.

Ten never leaves your side all day, except to go and grab you another glass of champagne, or wine. And yes, maybe that by the end of the evening, you are feeling warm and tipsy. Ten is as tipsy as you are, laughing out loud every time he sees Hansol with his phone under the groom's table, or when he tramples your feet every time he lures you onto the dance floor.

The hangover is going to be long and painful, but you don't care. You bath in the warmth of Ten's body, and for the first time ever, you feel happy, truly happy. And you don't want the night to end. But it has to.

"Let's head to bed." Ten smiles, lips against the skin of your neck.

The way to the room is pretty dangerous and long, mostly because of the stairs and your lack of sense of direction. Ten clings to your arm, laughing softly, complimenting everything from the walls to the frames, and even the door handles. You try to open several doors before finding the one of your room, and you scream, victorious.

"Oh shit." You mutter when you hear the guest in the next room groaning. "Sorry to whoever you are, it was not me." You enter the room, and without even taking the time to undress, you drop on the bed. He lies down next to you, turning on his side to put his face on your chest, and you thread your fingers through his blonde hair. You want to open your mouth, say something, but the silence is comforting. And soon you hear his breathing calm down. Ten is asleep. You close your eyes, and fall into a deep slumber fairly quickly, probably because of the alcohol.

When you wake up the next morning, you are surprised to feel the comforter covering your body, and the cushion under your head, because in your memories, you fell asleep across the bed, Ten against you. When you open your eyes, a sob leaves your lips. The light is too intense, but it is nothing against the migraine that keeps you from thinking.

"Ten ?" You swallow, your mouth is dry and feels like cotton. You turn your head cautiously, and you smile softly. A bottle of water is placed next to a bottle of aspirine on the bedside table. You straighten to swallow one of the pills, your eyes focusing on the note next to the lamp.

"My love, first of all, I want to apologize for the words that you are about to read. And I really hope you can understand. The last two months with you have been incredible, I could never have asked for more. I do not know if I have ever been as happy as I am since I met you. Last night made me realize that even if I love you more than anything in the world, we cannot be together. We will not have our happy ending in this life, that's why I decided to leave. I can't imagine losing you, seeing you die before my eyes without being able to change the course of things. And I don't want to have to think about the pain you might feel if I died in your arms. I only ask you for one thing: don't look for me. Be happy, don't put yourself in unnecessary danger, because we both know we will find each other again. I don't know where, or even when, but I know from the bottom of my heart that you will wait for me as much as it's needed, as I would wait for you until the end. Don't be mad, please. I love you. Ten."

The paper is stained by the tears running down your cheeks, and the ink is already starting to fade. Is that the pain of losing someone you love that you are feeling? The pain of a broken heart? Because if that's it, you refuse to feel it any longer. It's too much for you. You get up, unable to breathe. The room is too small, and too hot, it's stuffy. Everything is too much.

"I cant. I can't do it. Please take me back. I don't want this life if Ten is not in it. Please." You fall on your knees, not even blinking at the burn of the carpet. It hurts, it's unbearable. "Please, please." You close your eyes, lying on the side with your knees against your chest. "Bring me back !" You scream, your voice breaking into a painful sob. You are overreacting, you know that, but you can’t help, it hurts so much.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," Hansol says with a sigh. "living with her." You stop dead in your track to look at your older brother who came to visit you. It is not something you thought you would ever hear from him, but you are glad. Even if it's not the happiness he was expecting all his life, he still deserves it.

"Really ? That's good then." The older boy nods.

"Mostly because I took your advice. I had a talk with her about our respective soulmates." you lower your gaze on the ground for a second but you tell him to keep going, no matter how much it hurts to hear anything related to a soulmate. "We decided to stay together for the parents, to do what they expect us to do whilst trying to make things work with our soulmates. And so far, it's been great."

You turn to the door of the shop, key in your hand as Hansol puts his hand on your shoulder to force you to look at him. "He'll find you." You told Hansol about Cyan, and her book of colours, the time you had in the alternate reality, and even if at first he had a hard time believing you and your words, he finally came around after a few months.

"It's been a year already.. I don't know, I wonder if having hope is not as bad as losing it." When you woke up that one morning after you brother's wedding in the other reality, on your own and full of memories of Ten, you ran to the shop to ask Cyan if the life you had there was counted as one, or if you still had to see him die before your well deserved happy ending. You remember crying to the point of passing out when Cyan told you that yes, the time you had in the alternate reality was indeed counted a full life. You being back meant that you could finally have your happy ever after. But when ? You didn’t know.

And since then, you had started to see him everywhere. At the corner of a street, waiting in front of your apartment, but it was only your mind playing tricks on you every time.

"Don't lose hope. He promised, remember ?" You nod, and he kisses the top of your head. "I have to go, but I'll come back next week, alright ?" And with that, the boy leaves.

You finally open the door of the shop, and you open the lights ones after the other, inhaling the familiar scent of dust. A few months ago, Cyan contacted you to offer you a job in her shop. She thought that maybe it would be easier for you to find Ten. You had doubts at first, and yet you come to work every morning. Sitting behind the counter, you watch the passers-by behind the window, hoping that one day it will be Ten. But so far, no success.

Working at "Le bazar des rêves" is interesting. You like hearing stories behind some of the objects people are bringing in, even if most of them are heartbreaking, maybe you need that sort of pain to help you stay sane. You turn the pages of an old book when the door opens, but when you look up, no one is there. You shrug, the wind likes to scare you sometimes. Or maybe it is a spirit using an object as a vessel, who knows. Cyan told you some crazy stories.

"Excuse me, I found this ring with the adress of the shop ?" The voice makes you jump, not because of how familiar it sounds, but because you weren't expecting anyone. Your face break into a smile when your eyes land on a boy with long pink hair, and brown eyes ready to turn into a sunset of its own with the slightlest ray of sunshine.

"Oh, this ring is really special, would you like to hear its story ?" The boy seems incapable of taking his eyes off of you, you can practically hear the conflicts inside his heads as he tries to remember if he ever met you before, and why everything about you feels familiar. Like his body remembered something his brain couldn't.

"I'd like that, I guess." You beckon him to follow you in the backroom of the shop.

Hansol was right. Ten did promise.

#cznnet #wayv #nct #wayv imagines #nct imagines #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #ten scenarios #ten imagines

274 notes · View notes

ahsnewsupdates · 3 years

Text

Exclusive Interview with Xander Smith: ‘AHS’ Concept Artist!

Xander Smith, the über skilled and talented concept artist who worked on four seasons of American Horror Story (Hotel, Roanoke, Cult, Apocalypse), was generous enough to answer some of our burning questions about the designs that he created for the show!

Throughout this interview, we will attach images of Xander’s work that pertain to the questions asked. You can check out his full, expansive portfolio by clicking here.

Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview! How did your involvement with American Horror Story begin? Were you a fan of the show beforehand?

Thanks, it's one of my favorite projects to have been a part of, so happy to talk about AHS!

I've loved the genre of horror my whole life, to me it's the one genre that you can push all emotions to their limits, and explore the human experience on a much deeper level than other genres. I think this accounts for some of the greatest stories being so horrific in nature: because it's innately human. This also accounts for the genre having the most lame movies too, haha, because it prompts storytellers to try to push boundaries, and oftentimes there's no reason to push a boundary if there's nothing substantive behind it. I think with American Horror Story though, that's not the case. It's deep, it's intricate, and it's very culturally significant.

I had seen the first season on television, and I remember thinking beforehand, 'this is going to be lame, you can't go as deep with TV as you can with an R rated film...' man was I wrong. It pushed boundaries and asked dark, human questions, all while staying relevant and mysterious. I never once thought that they were holding back due to it being on television.

As for the beginnings of my involvement with the franchise, that actually starts with my parent's love of genre films. When I was a kid they would take me to conventions, like Comic-Con, to learn more about film making and meet the cast and crews of various films. That's where my love of design came from. When I was in college, my Dad met Heather Langenkamp at a horror convention, and told her about my pursuit of concept art when I was going to school in Los Angeles. Heather was really kind, and said that when I graduate, I should send her my portfolio; her and her husband, David Anderson, own the legendary special FX studio, AFX. When I graduated in 2014 I did exactly that, they loved my work, and they hired me to work on American Horror Story: Hotel which would come out later that year. Since then, they've hired me to work on the next 3 seasons, I've also been hired by 20th Century Fox on 2 seasons, and by legendary Costume Designer Lou Eyrich for 2 seasons. I'm very fortunate and always have a blast working with the diverse teams that bring AHS to life.

Starting with American Horror Story: Hotel, you were part of the design process for the Addiction Demon [see above]. Can you talk about that? It was such an obscene being, but at the same time so true to form for the show.

Ah yes, the lovely Addiction Demon. That's one hell of a design to have worked on, ha.

I read that part of the script with David Anderson at AFX Studio, as they would be building the prosthetics, and the infamous 'drilldo'. He looked at me and just, 'alright, do your thing, make it horrific.' And that's what I did. I've seen people in the throes of addiction, and actually lost a good friend in my teen years to drug addiction, so when designing the Demon, I wanted it to be really visceral, painful to even look at. In the script, the Demon rapes a character, and as horrific of a concept as that is, I knew that it's one of those concepts that fits with AHS; pushing the limits, but for a good reason. That's exactly what addiction is: you think it's going to be like great consensual sex when it starts, but quickly the Addiction Demon materializes and it has its way with you whether you like it or not. Truly disgusting, but that's what I thought the design should encompass. So I sketched about 20 different versions, and 1 of those versions stuck, and we decided to take that one further. I sculpted the final design in Zbrush, and that's the concept that Ryan Murphy picked. The brilliant team at AFX brought it to life, and that's the demon you see in the show.

You also produced fantastic concept artwork for Lady Gaga’s character’s chain mail glove [see above], alongside costume designer Lou Eyrich and designer Michael Schmidt. How did that design develop? Was it fun designing for Gaga?

Thanks! Yes that might actually be my favorite piece I worked on. Lou Eyrich and Michael Schmidt were awesome, I think we came up with an iconic piece that's uniquely elegant and fit for a horror queen. It was very motivating knowing that it would be worn by Gaga, so as I was translating Michael's sketch, I wanted to maintain a balance of stylishness and darkness, something that both Lady Gaga and American Horror Story is known for. It was incredible to see it in the posters. Definitely a highlight for me.

Moving on to American Horror Story: Roanoke, you produced terrifyingly good concept art for another one of the show’s iconic villains, the Piggyman entity [see above]. Since that same figure was also featured in the first season, did you look back for inspiration?

Great question, because for Piggyman I was back at AFX Studio, working on the design with David Anderson, and we certainly had a lot of the same inspiration and ideas on how to do the design justice for such a horrific piece. There was a lot of shocking content surrounding him, like pig fetuses and butchery, and we just went all out on letting the character bathe in so much debauchery. It was also really fascinating to be designing while their FX team was sculpting the prosthetics (the production schedule was very intense), and I got to see sculptor Glen Eisner working on the pig head and stomach pieces in clay, only a few days after I had worked on the concept art. Incredible process.

On the same season you collaborated quite closely with the makeup department to design concept art for some of the season’s makeup looks, including illustrations for Kathy Bates’ and Finn Wittrock’s characters [see above]. Wittrock played incestuous hillbilly Jether Polk and the final product was quite frightening. How did that process go?

Also a really fun process, I got to meet some of the actors as they came in for face castings, while I was deforming their faces in the concept art- I almost felt guilty! We pulled a lot of inspiration from medical journals relating to birth defects, and we stayed pretty close to reality, as we saw fit for the Roanoke season. I was also busy terrorizing Kathy Bates image while designing what the character's demise would look like. Since there are a lot of complicated practical effects involved in the gory scenes, we spent time illustrating what the wounds would look like ahead of time. By the end of it, I had like 2 full pages of various gory ways Kathy Bates could meet her end that we presented to production, and they chose one of the most horrific ways that fit with the script (of course). Hopefully Kathy is used to it after so many years as a horror icon!

Arguably your most prolific designs for the show were for season seven, Cult. You produced some stunning concept art for the clown masks and general appearance [see above], some of which weren’t seen in the show but absolutely should’ve been. They look slightly ‘mechanical’. What was Ryan Murphy’s pitch there?

Completely agree, I really love the final designs. Unfortunately, for as much art as I did for this season, none of my designs fit the script well enough, I just couldn't hit the mark, and so my work did not make it to production. It happens, and that's why there are many artists on a project! I appreciate you saying they should have been in the show though! I think I focussed too much on the clown/mask angle, and less on the political/cultish angle, which is where the magic of that script was. In true American Horror Story form, it is a cultural commentary on the times, and I feel I was not paying as much attention as I could have. That being said though, I had a blast working with the crew at AFX Studio again, and we worked on a lot of pieces that at least helped move production forward. Sometimes it's useful to see a design that's not quite right, just to move the production in the right direction.

The last season you worked on was of course the crossover season, Apocalypse, for which you designed the Outpost Three hazmat suits [see above]. The plague doctor influences in those designs was a stroke of genius. How was it blending dystopia with 17th century Europe? Also, were you aware that Apocalypse was the crossover season when you started work on it?

I think I got my mojo back on this season, since not only were my illustrations on those hazmat suits finalized for the script, but I was also able to do some of the 3D modeling for the Plague Doctor masks that were 3D printed and worn by the cast as props in the show. That was a really rewarding experience, and I was working under Lou Eyrich again who is the genius behind the blend of dystopia and 17th Century Europe that characterizes Apocalypse. We did probably about 50 different sketches of those suits, and explored such a wide variety of directions and blends of dated technologies, medieval influences, hazmat suits, and gas masks. When we had a solid direction, I did a tighter illustration of a generic suit that could be worn by any one of those characters (one of the keys to the design was that they could be worn by several different body types, as per the script), and then did a final piece that showed Kathy Bates wearing the mask. I'm really pleased to have come up with the idea of the 'plastic plague doctor' design, and thrilled to see it on screen.

I wasn't aware that it was the crossover season either, I wasn't given that part of the script, but that let me watch the revelation in real time with the rest of the world!

Lastly, would you like to design for American Horror Story again in the future? What is your “dream theme” that you’d like the show to explore?

Absolutely I would love to return some day and help flesh out some new designs. Some of the later seasons have been less concept-heavy, but I've also had to pass on the work as I've been involved in other projects, and of course have been busy helping found my current company, Aliza Technologies.

But you never know what the future holds!

As for a 'dream theme', that's such a good question because I feel there are so many interesting directions the show could take. They've built such a rich world where stories can take place across a range of time periods and genres, and that's a real gift to horror fans. One of the elements I really love about AHS is that when it delves into the supernatural, it does it in a really measured way. I've always found ghost stories to be a little bland and heavy-handed, but since AHS is so nuanced in its supernatural material, especially in season 1, I think it would be really interesting to see them go the heavy handed way, lead the audience down a super super-natural route for half a season, and then absolutely pull the rig from underneath them halfway through, and have a natural explanation for all the 'supernatural' elements. It would be a complete mind-f**k, like 'wait, there were no ghosts at all??' and have that realization be even more horrifying. I'm no writer, but I think a concept like that could be really interesting... Also set the mystery across several different generations so that the supernatural explanation is more appropriate for an older generation, and is busted open by the modern take. Image what the flashback reveals could look like, and imagine the types of 'ghosts' I could illustrate...

Thanks for the questions, now I'm off to do some script-writing myself...

(Also, special mention to Eryn Krueger Mekash and Mike Mekash who designed the makeup looks!)

Xander’s links:

Official Website: https://www.xandersmithdesign.com/

ArtStation: https://www.artstation.com/xandersmith

Behance: https://www.behance.net/XanderSmithDesign

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/xandersmith_design/

#xander smith #ahs #american horror story #art #concept art

8 notes · View notes

unmanageable-day · 4 years

Text

By your side | 07

previously ➺ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | intermezzo 01 - 02 | 06 | intermezzo |

Jung Jaehyun was not always seen as a confident guy. He can only be cocky when he was with his circle of friends, which you were clearly not excluded. Yet. This was the perfect time for Jungkook and Sia to prove their loyalty to their dear friend in need. To boost the best friend's confidence, Jungkook and Sia were actively brainstorming to find the most effective way in the most natural state possible to be integrated in Jaehyun's effort to get closer to you. This had been mainly his strategy as well—after intensely consulting with Minhyuk and Naeun and basically following their advice; start from being friends. More like, very close friends. Jaehyun knew he couldn't do it alone. That was why he kind of begged Jungkook to help him, which he and Sia gladly agreed to do so. And actually this couple had more ideas way than Jaehyun did.

Today was an example, which Jungkook successfully dragged you out to accompany him having brunch with a lame excuse saying Sia had some errands to run and would join later. Sia never came. Instead, there were Jaehyun and some dudes called Yugyeom and Mingyu joining them.

"Dude, you don't need me anymore. You have your dudes here," you snapped at Jungkook, not really care about your image anymore.

"My dudes are your dudes too, you know?" He innocently grinned, looking at you and your squinting eyes.

Jaehyun smiled at you and Jungkook bickering non-stop, practically ignoring the other 3 guys. He liked this side of you. It felt more natural, genuine, and strangely it exuded a warm personality. There was definitely summer inside covered by a windy, cold winter.

"Jaehyun, I'm craving fried chicken in your neighborhood. Let's go to your house and have it delivered there. Haechan is not home yet, right?" Mingyu suggested.

You became more alert when the guys started planning something else. This should be your chance to escape and go back to your house, having your sleeping beauty moment.

"Ah, right. I left my jacket too," Jungkook added. "Yeoreum, come with us."

Your eyebrows curled as you couldn't comprehend your bestfriend's mind. "I think it should be 'Yeoreum, do you want to come with us?'"

"You will say no." He knew you better, indeed. "But I'll still take you with me though."

You blinked in confusion.

"Please, do come with us," the house owner spoke up, making you turn to face him. The dimples were on full display. His eyes were actually quivering when you made eye contact. So he kind of looked everywhere. Att you, at his friends. "We're just gonna chill a bit. I promise we'll be quiet. The chicken tastes great, you know? You won't regret it."

Did he just lure me with a freaking fried chicken?

"Yeoreum, come on. We don't take no as an answer." Jungkook stood up as his hand gripped your upper arm, dragging you again for the second time on that day.

Now there you were, sitting on the passenger seat in Jungkook's car with the other 3 giant guys, feeling lost and confused. The trip to Jaehyun's house was mostly filled with this Mingyu guy talking non-stop, while the others responded to him with relatively short answers. At least he was not loud. But still, how can one talks so much? Sometimes you were reminded of Johnny, who you finally could tolerate after weeks of him trying to get close to you. You smiled a little reminiscing those old days.

"What's funny?" asked Jungkook suddenly. He must have caught you smiling like an idiot. "Don't tell me you find Mingyu hilarious."

"What? No. Nothing." You cleared your throat.

Jungkook had to drag you again to enter Jaehyun's house. He sat you on the sofa, turned the TV on for you, and even provided you a pillow to hold. Meanwhile, the guys were all over the fridge checking out what was available. When you thought they will join you in the living room, the plot twist that Jungkook never planned just happened. This was when Yugyeom decided to pass because he got an important call, and Mingyu who was the one suggesting to go to Jaehyun's house had to leave early just when they arrived at the house, leaving the three of you. You didn't even say a proper good bye to Yugyeom and Mingyu.

Jaehyun and Jungkook silently exchanged looks. 'You got this!' Jungkook mouthed to his dude when you were not looking.

You were sitting awkwardly alone on the sofa, trying to not fidget too much. It was the second time you visited his house. The first time was when Jungkook and Sia, as usual, kidnapped you for a late night movie with Jaehyun too and the other dudes, and ended up in Jaehyun's house, playing games all night long.

"Yeoreum, I'm sorry I have to go. Sia just called."

You abruptly got up. "I'll go with you. You can drop me off at the bus shelter."

"Why don't you stay longer and accompany Jaehyun? He will take you home."

"What? No, I..."

"That would be nice." Jaehyun quickly responded as he locked his eyes on you. "To have a company. I mean until my roommate comes back home," he continued as his sheepish smile appeared.

Jungkook firmly nodded at his same age friend. He pat you on the shoulder before really leaving. You couldn't believe your friend who left you in a man's house all by yourself.

"Just think of this house like the cafe you usually go to on weekends. Unfortunately I don't have tea or cake in this house, except coffee." Jaehyun began to break the silence. At this rate, he was so going to talk about whatever comes to mind. "Chilling at home is still the best, right? I mean, for a homebody like you. Well, it's not your house though. But still, a house instead of cafe, or restaurant, or even shopping center."

"You know, if you never mentioned that you're friends with Jungkook in our first meeting, I wouldn't trust you this much."

He chuckled. You've got a point though.

"I thought you can't stand staying at home and would prefer going out, shopping and everything."

Jaehyun chuckled again as he invited you to sit on the high chairs in the pantry instead of the sofa in the living room. "Yes, you're right actually. But since you're here, I'm good, I guess." He wished his reddening ears were not too obvious. "Let's see what we've got here beside coffee and cola," he sang as he opened the fridge and started scanning the whole compartment. "Lucky you, I've got milk and ice cream."

You were frustrated looking at Jaehyun being lost in the kitchen, trying to find anything else that goes well with milk and ice cream. He was running out of snack yet didn't want to bother going out to the convenience store. Eventually you just had to push him away. After asking for permission, then it was your turn to scan the fridge. Luckily, you found some strawberries and decided to make the hot trend of strawberry milk.

"I saw that in Youtube," he commented with his eyes fixed on the pouring milk onto the glass filled with your homemade strawberry jam.

Before you could respond, a loud, high-pitched voice was heard from the front door, making Jaehyun flinched from his seat. "Jaehyun hyung, I'm home," the younger guy sang, calling 'hyung' non-stop until he found Jaehyun and you in the kitchen. His doe eyes instantly filled with sparks and curiosity, along with his mischievous smile.

"Oh, Haechan, welcome home," Jaehyun greeted him.

"Who is this pretty Noona?" he asked with his cheerful tone, stomping approaching you.

Blushing, you laughed at the way he said pretty noona.

"Haechan, Yeoreum." Jaehyun's hands gestured pointing at you and the pudu-like boy back and forth. "Yeoreum, this cutie is my roommate, Haechan."

"Hi, nice to meet you." You were already being affectionate knowing that he was younger and ready to be babied.

"Wow, our names match very well, Noona. Full sun and summer. How's that?"

You chuckled at how vocal he was. Your eyes can't stop following whatever he did, particularly when he stood in front of the opened fridge, like he was pausing himself to find something he could eat right away. You just had to offer the freshly made strawberry milk, which he joyfully accepted.

"Hyung, can I have a friend come over?"

"Sure." He turned at you. "That's okay with you?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

"Is he the one from the dance academy?"

"Yes. Oh he's already here."

Soon, Haechan's voice was met by a contrast of a deeper yet firm and fruity voice. You could hear Haechan's friend nagging him over a group chat matter. Both you and Jaehyun smiled listening to their conversation simply because you found them adorable. Their voices got closer to the pantry, so you started preparing another glass of strawberry milk you made for Haechan's friend. Beside you, Jaehyun was being helpful as he cleaned up everything yet still kept you company and talked to you.

"If you're uncomfortable, I can take you home now." He looked concerned. It was supposed to be a chill, quiet, and perhaps a bit romantic home date just the two of you. Earlier that day, he should have ensured that Haechan didn't go home this early.

"It's okay. I think he's nice. His friend should be nice too." You smiled, reassuring him.

"Meet my roommate." You heard Haechan coming. But the one who he was with was definitely a surprise.

"Summer noona, why... what are you doing here?" His face was as shocked as you were.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Haechan asked.

"Sort of.." Mark answered in hesitation, his eyes were still on you.

"Interesting. What kind of mutual relationship do we have here?" Haechan sang innocently. Meanwhile Mark kept glancing at you and Jaehyun, and the little interaction you kept having with him. Jaehyun had been more quiet as it just came to his mind that Mark was one of Johnny's close friends. Of course you would know Mark.

"Jaehyun hyung, remember me? I'm a friend of Johnny, your partner for that night radio program 2 years ago," Mark initiated speaking.

The dimply man showed off his dimples again. He had to control his perfect smile to disguise his sudden insecurity. "Of course."

"How do you know guys know each other?" Mark asked, cautiously looking at you. He tried to read your expression but he failed. He can't tell anything from the signature poker face you were wearing, along with that practiced smiley expression.

"I'm a friend of her bestfriend," Jaehyun answered for you. He noticed you being silent suddenly as Johnny's name was mentioned.

"So now you guys are... friends?" Haechan spoke very brightly. "Or, is it more than friends?" he teased Jaehyun.

"It can't be decided yet," Jaehyun managed to throw a joke to melt the intense microexpression of yours. He also glimpsed at Mark who was staring at you, waiting for your response. "Despite the things we share in common, we still disagree about many things. For example, she's against gopchang which I like the most. How can I be friends with someone who doesn't understand the delicacy of this country?"

"It is disgusting to eat blood," you defended yourself. Jaehyun was finally relieved to have the usual you back.

While you and Jaehyun argued over little teeny tiny things, it was an unfamiliar sight to see for Mark. It was his first time to see you very lively and being vocal to speak your mind even if it was only simple stuff like milk-based drink was better than coffee. Beside him, Haechan kept throwing questions that kept rising a heated yet fun discussion between you and Jaehyun. This time about 16 personalities which you got ISTP and Jaehyun got ESTP. Mark had been silently observing how you and Jaehyun agreed and disagreed about one stuff and another. This Jaehyun guy seemed... compatible for you, he thought. It was interesting for him to see this side of you. To see a new side that probably would never emerge to the surface if you were still with Johnny. Basically you would let Johnny decide everything, making him dominant yet in the sweetest way possible in your relationship. When you were the girlfriend of Johnny Seo, Mark saw you as a calm and graceful, quite reserved, but you still knew how to have fun.

"It's great to see you today, Noona," Mark said before departing. He glimpsed at Jaehyun who was busy washing the dish in the kitchen. "Anyway, I know it's none of my business. But... does Johnny know?"

"About?"

"You and Jaehyun hyung."

You let out a chuckle. "What's with me and Jaehyun?"

"You guys definitely have something."

"Really?” You smiled, pretending to be oblivious. “Well, I believe this is something that I'm not obliged to tell him. Or maybe Mark could tell him for me?"

He quickly shook his head. "I'll let you guys figure things out."

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct au #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct fluff #nct angst #nct jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fluff #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #post by yourblinkies

36 notes · View notes

lilsherlockian1975 · 4 years

Text

The Nose Knows

A little soulmates AU, mostly fluff. Here’s part one. This is NOT beta’d, sorry for any mistakes. Huge thanks to @mel-loves-all for helping out with editing the images since I’m an ignorant goose penis when it comes to all that business. Blame me for the quality of the pics... it’s what I picked out for her. ~LiL~

-o-o-o-o-

He catches it on a breeze. It hits him like a physical blow and he instantly knows what he’s smelling, if not... who.

He and his cousin Daven are sitting on one of the few available benches on the Quad. Addam, his best friend since childhood, is talking about some girl he’d met at a sorority mixer the night before but as soon as the scent drifts his way, Jaime pretty much tunes out the sordid tale of sloppy, near-anonymous sex. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, not a cloud in the sky and no hint of rain for the first time in at least two weeks. This fact alone has driven most of the student population out of doors, making it almost impossible for him to quickly assign the scent to its owner.

Jaime is instantly ill at ease, which is unfortunate as moments ago he’d felt entirely in his element. He and his twin sister had celebrated their twenty-second name day the weekend before and prior to the scent, he’d been feeling at the very top of his game. Now he’s... confused and excited and anxious all at once.

Less than two months and he will be finished with this gods’ forsaken town and its massive university. He’s already been accepted at Crakehall School of Art & Design for his post-grad, which is, incidentally, where he originally had planned to study. His father’d had different ideas, forcing Jaime into the business programme at KLU. Thankfully, he had managed to slip a minor in Architecture into his degree by selling Tywin a load of shit about wanting to ‘propel Castlery Corp. into the modern era’. The minor had added a full year to Jaime’s studies and without a major in his chosen field, he will have to take supplementary classes at CSAD but he’s certain it will be worth it in the end.

None of that matters now. Tywin Lannister had died of a massive stroke seven months ago. Jaime supposes he should feel worse about that; should feel some kind of loss or sadness, and maybe he does, though not for the reasons most sons would for the death of a parent. But the old man was never a real father. He’d been indifferent toward Tyrion, dismissive toward Cersei - though he could occasionally be somewhat warmer to his only female child - and constantly demanding that Jaime ‘live up to the Lannister name’. Jaime can feel sympathy for their mother, of course, she did love the old bastard, but neither he nor his sister are overly damaged by the old man’s death. Oddly enough, their father’s death seems to be affecting his little brother the most.

The scent assails him again and this time he stands, walking towards it, leaving Addam sputtering objections and calling him names. Jaime doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is the originator of that smell.

He passes small groups of fellow students, all equally excited about the respite from the spring rains. The Quad is packed, of course, so it’s no easy task. Not to mention that he probably looks like some kind of weirdo, walking around, nose first and… sniffing. But he’s being driven by something entirely out of his control.

Though he’s never really given much thought to the idea of soulmates, he knows they exist - his Uncle Gerion and Aunt Briony are soulmates, for instance, but it’s rarely talked about within the family, almost as if it is some dirty secret. Actually, for some unknown reason, talking about soulmates seems to be taboo in ‘polite society’. Uncle Gerion - his favourite uncle - however, is quite outspoken against Lannister Family tradition and societal norms. The phenomenon, as far as he knows, is very rare these days and Jaime has never once even considered the possibility for himself.

Now… Now there's no doubt. He can smell her - them? - whoever! Jaime’s never been attracted to men, but somehow he knows that if the gods have seen it fit to match him with a man… so be it!

Shaking himself, he chuckles as he moves to another group of students. It won’t be a man, he thinks. Surely the gods would have given him some kind of inclination towards his own sex if… Suddenly, he’s engulfed with the scent. They’re close, they must be! He turns, following his nose like a damn toucan.

The crowd thins a bit; it’s the top of the hour and people are rushing off to class. Jaime’s eyes and, yes, his nose, zero in on his target. Shit! It is a dude! He’s taller than Jaime by maybe an inch or so with short, straw-like blond hair, broad shoulders and… He’s just about to resign himself to a future that he’d never even considered (okay, so he’s maybe had the odd thought here and there about other guys - everyone has, right?! Right?) when they turn around and…

“You’re a girl,” he says without thinking.

She (oh, thank the gods she’s a she!) narrows her eyes, straightens her spine and glares. “Yes, I am. And you’re not very original, I’m afraid,” she says coldly before stalking past him.

What?! No! She’s… she’s supposed to know. She’s supposed to smell him too. What in the seven hells is going on?! “Wait!” Jaime calls out but she doesn’t stop. He can’t give up, he just can’t. Sprinting to catch up, he reaches out for her, wanting to stop her, to talk to her. He doesn’t make it that far, though. Just before he touches her arm, she jerks back - maybe she saw him in her peripheral vision, maybe it’s some strange side effect of their connection, he doesn’t know - but when he sees the look in her unbelievably blue eyes, he’s the one flinching away.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she practically growls, “but you can’t just go around insulting people, chasing after them then touching them as if it’s your right!”

“But it is,” he replies lamely because... how doesn’t she know?

Her responding laugh is mocking and he can’t deny that it hurts him in a way he never imagined being hurt. Shaking her head, she sneers as she looks him up and down. “Guys like you are all the same…”

There are no guys like me, he thinks but luckily, this time he holds his tongue.

“I know I’m an easy target - hard to miss, low hanging fruit and whatnot - I’m just not in the mood for this nonsense today.”

Jaime knows he should give up, regroup and try again later, but patience has never been his strong suit. “I wasn’t… It wasn’t an insult. I was…” ‘Surprised’ sounds insulting and really, how does she still not know? His mind scrambles for a word to properly describe his condition. Finally, he settles on, “Confused?” though it unintentionally comes out as a question.

This seems to only further enrage the girl. She takes a step back, draws a deep breath and, once again, shakes her head. “Find someone else to help you figure out your sexuality!”

Okay, there’s a story there, Jaime’s sure of it but he doesn’t have time to ask. “No-no, you’re misunderstanding me. I know I’m not gay.” Although the fact that he considered it for thirty seconds or so is something he’ll deal with later! “I’m saying that…”

“I really don’t care what you’re saying.” Again, her eyes travel over him and Jaime has never felt so judged in his entire life. “It’s nothing new, it’s nothing I’ve not heard before. Do you really think you’re the first prick to want to screw with me? I’m guessing it’s another bet. Who put you up to this? Red? Bushy? If it was Hyle, I swear to the Seven...”

“None of them! I don’t even know who you’re talking about!” When he thinks about her words, an intense feeling of protectiveness overcomes him. “What bet? What did they do?”

Her pale, freckle-covered cheeks turn an interesting shade of pink as she hitches her messenger bag higher on her shoulder before crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing. Never mind. Just… Just leave me alone. Please.” The last word comes out softly, pleadingly and it just about breaks Jaime’s heart. Turning, she starts to go.

“I’m not a creep!” he calls out, managing to stop her escape. Looking around, he notices that, miraculously, the Quad has pretty much cleared out. If their fellow students hadn’t been in such a rush to return to class he and the angry girl would have surely drawn a crowd. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself before continuing, “And I’m not a prick. I am sort of an arsehole, but not - I think, not like those guys you mentioned. Whatever they did... hurt you enough to make you make that face…”

She whips around. “What about my face?”

With a sigh, he says, “It looks sad. Too sad. It’s not supposed to.” And what does that even mean? he wonders as the words leave his mouth.

She’s surprised for a split second, then all emotion seems to drain from her features. “I don’t know why you’re doing this but please just… leave me alone.”

So he does. For now.

-o-o-o-o-

There is a very good reason that Brienne doesn’t know ‘who’ Jaime is. This is just the first part, I’m working on the next bit. Please let me know what you think. Thanks ~Lil~

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #uni AU #modern AU #game of thrones

42 notes · View notes

phykios · 3 years

Text

the marble king, part 7 [read on ao3]

A rare show of contrition, Annabeth conceded that she had been wrong. There were not, in fact, seven rapids to traverse; in total, there had been nine. Unfortunately, Percy could not enjoy this little victory nearly as much as he wished.

Annabeth had been clearly rattled by their encounter several days prior. Once more she retreated into muteness, passing the time by fingering the edges of her shorn hair, a permanent frown delicately carved into her face. He did not like to take pleasure at others’ pain, but he knew that, short of either producing a sign from her mother or tripping and falling into the river, there was not much he could do to make her smile. Hopefully, a real bed on which to sleep in a real inn with an actual roof over their heads would lift her spirits somewhat.

They sailed into a thriving river port city which Annabeth had called Kiova. He rolled the word over and over again in his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the odd sounds. It was a slippery sort of word, he thought, softly repeating it to himself under his breath as though it would fall from his lips entirely if he did not keep it close.

To his great dismay, it seemed as though the people of this city did not speak Italian. Nor did they appear to speak Greek, nor Latin, nor any other language with which Percy was familiar. Though she would not show it, it was plain to anyone who knew her to see that Annabeth was struggling as well. Her conversation with the innkeeper was slow and awkward, stilted, involving a great deal many strange gestures and repeated phrases in both Greek and another several languages he did not comprehend, which clearly made sense neither to Annabeth nor her conversation partner, and Percy was afraid the whole thing would collapse until a bystander, apparently moved to pity, was able to cobble together their shared knowledge of languages in order to rent Percy and Annabeth a room for the night.

She thanked the stranger profusely for his assistance, and he smiled at them, his blue eyes sparkling, something familiar in the curve of his lip.

“It was no trouble,” he said to her, the words colored by his thick, dark voice. “You and your husband--take care.”

He wanted to correct the man. But if he and Annabeth were to share a room, then it would be better for her reputation for her to be a married woman.

When they entered their room, a small, cramped thing with a single lit candle, fairly decent for the amount of money they still possessed, which was not much, she collapsed on their one bed, quite exhausted. “How mortifying,” she groaned, her voice muffled by the thin pillow. “It was like I had forgotten every bit of language I had ever learned. And when he called you my husband!” She huffed, turning over. “It appears as though you were correct; even without my hair, I will never pass for a man. Then what, I ask, was the point of its removal?”

Percy did not say much, distracted by the single bed. He stared at it, equal parts anxious and excited, which was rather silly of him--he had slept close to her several times before, had shared sleeping quarters with her plenty of times, and all of them strictly platonic. Why should this time be any different?

And yet, it was, for reasons he could not name. Perhaps the bed was smaller, and they were so much older. Perhaps it was those terrible, wonderful dreams which plagued him every night, dreams of soft fabrics and softer skin. Perhaps it was just his foolish heart, awakened once more by love.

At his silence, she continued. “Well, it is no matter. It is gone, and I am glad to be rid of it, truly.”

Still, he said nothing.

Perturbed, she looked at him, sitting up on the bed. “What is it? Is something wrong? Is there a monster nearby?”

“No,” he said, quickly, to dissuade her from any fears. “No, nothing of the sort.”

She gazed at him, a queer look in her eye. “What do you think?”

“Of what?” He asked, cautious.

“Of your handiwork.” With a shake of her head, she disturbed her golden crown, some curls falling down her forehead, framing her large, large eyes. “You are not usually one to hide your thoughts, therefore--please, share.”

“Oh.” He was quite certain she would not want to hear his thoughts, yet he sensed that continued silence would be the wrong choice. “You look… well, you look very… comely.” he offered, eyes tracing the line of her neck, and the curves of her ears, so sweet, that had previously been hidden from his gaze. Had he been a more poetic man, he would have the compulsion to dedicate several sonnets to those ears.

Whatever answer she was seeking, it was clear that Percy did not provide.

She scowled, her lips pursed.

“I--”

“Well, I happen to find it very freeing,” she said. She reached up and felt at the ends, for the hundredth time in the last few days, her lips tightening, as though she were unhappy with what she found. “Without all of my hair, I feel as though I could outrace even Atalanta herself.”

Then, she did something he did not expect; she shivered.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Of course,” she sniffed. “I just--I had forgotten--it has been so long since I cut my hair, that I did not realize.”

“Realize what?”

Her fingers once again reached up to play with her short curls--then, midway through her gesture, she caught herself, and brought her hand down again, faintly embarrassed. “Well,” she said, almost shyly, “it can be… quite cold, without so much hair.”

“Indeed?” That was never something he had considered before. Of course, he had spent the vast majority of his life in the warm embrace of the Aegean Sea, where the cold was largely something of a far off myth.

She nodded, drawing her thin shawl tighter around herself. “I will grow used to it with time, I had merely… I had forgotten.”

Though she had not asked him for anything, he made to take the blanket on the bed and hand it to her first, before he remembered. “One moment,” he said, crossing to the corner where he had placed their dwindling amount of supplies, crouching down to rummage through them.

He could not believe he had forgotten this.

Well, on the one hand, he could. It had to have been several months since that day in Athens, since they had ended their little feud. He had seen so much more of the world since then, had traversed farther than anyone he had ever known, save for her.

The color was still as lovely as he remembered, the cool, deep blue of a starless sky. He held the parcel out for her to see, felt the smooth threads between his fingers, spun in a tight, graceful weave. “Here,” he said, pulling out his prize. “This is for you.”

In his search, he had not noticed how she came to stand behind him, peeking over his shoulder, so he was quite surprised when he turned to see her looming over him.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, grey eyes turning silver. Her brows rose up to a point, almost joining together at the wrinkle of her forehead, lips parted in a prolonged, silent gasp. He might have thought she had been turned to stone, were it not for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. “This…” she faltered, licking her lips. “For me?”

He nodded.

“How…? When?” she asked, shocked beyond all language.

It appeared he had accomplished yet another feat worthy of the greatest epics; he had rendered Annabeth Fredriksdotter speechless.

Flushing further, he stood. “In Athens,” he admitted. “I--well, I was walking round the old agora, and I saw it, and I thought to myself, well, I imagined that this color would look rather fetching on you, and I had some money to myself, so I… purchased it. For you,” he finished, lamely.

He had nearly forgotten how enthralling it was to be so close to her, to see her stormcloud eyes as they reflected the candlelight, to see every strand of the soft gold of her hair as it ringed her face. He wondered if she should hear how quickly his heart was beating, as it strained to free itself from the confines of his chest and place itself in her hands.

It was like they existed in a glass bubble, a whole world unto themselves, so beautiful. So fragile.

“May I?” she asked, no louder than a puff of wind, and he nodded.

Taking it from his hands, she rubbed her fingers against the thread grain, her eyes taking on that familiar calculating expression. “It is very well-made,” she murmured, rolling it out to its fullest extent.

“I’m told it was for a noble lady,” said Percy, possessed of a sudden coyness he did not know he had. “I received it for a good price, but I had thought it should go to the kind of client for whom it was intended.”

The look she cast him nearly made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Still, she drew it around herself, layering it round her neck and her head, and Percy barely had the time to imagine his hands in its place, before he was struck by the full, glorious image which presented itself to him.

He had been correct in his assumptions; the dark blue fabric looked lovely against her tan skin, but her short curls ringed her face in a halo, like the mosaics of the lords and ladies of St. Sophia, like the depictions of the holiest men and women on the walls of every church.

Percy had never considered himself to be a religious man. He performed the sacred rites and made his offerings to his father and his extended family, but not out of any true sense of theological devotion, and certainly not with the same passion as the Christians or the Ottomans whom he had seen. He did not throw himself to his knees at the thunder and lightning, nor the many miracles he had witnessed in his time, for he had come face to face with the king of the heavens, and had, sadly, found him wanting. He had met and known the gods and goddesses of earth, sea, and sky, and had discovered that they, too, were plagued by the million petty disagreements of mortal living. In some ways, it was a comfort, to know that even those who were all-powerful could be laid low by the simplest of deceptions, that they required great heroes as much as the heroes required them--and perhaps even more. Yet, of course, in other ways, it was quite the disappointment. After the war, after Lukas, after all that he had suffered, it had been difficult not to look at his fellow soldiers, at their prayer ropes and golden images and holy words, without mild distaste.

Looking at Annabeth, though, at the halo of her hair and the dark blue of her shawl, her large eyes, her lips so close, the heat of her body against him… well. Looking at her now, he thought he could teach them a thing or two about devotion.

She felt even closer than before, somehow. Perhaps he had moved towards her. Or perhaps she had. Between them, Thalia’s lightning.

She had kissed him once before, many many years ago, caught in the grip of a volcano, and he would be lying if he claimed he had not thought of it often since then.

Then, she leaned back.

“It seems my siblings were wrong about you,” she teased, her voice half-strained.

“How… how do you mean?” he asked. His head felt as though it were full of air, soft and hazy.

“They all swore up and down that you could never be so thoughtful.” Then she smiled at him, so sweetly, gazing up at him from beneath her honey-colored lashes. “Thank you, Percy.”

His mouth curved upwards in a smile, though he did not think to do so himself. “It was no trouble,” he said, wobbly and weak.

The glass had broken. The moment had passed.

Without further discussion, they prepared themselves for bed. Extinguishing the solitary candle, he laid himself down beside her. The bed was too small for them to be at a respectable distance, unfortunately, and he hoped she would forgive him.

Their room had one small window, shuttered close. Not even a hint of moonlight penetrated the slatted wood. Through the door, he could faintly hear the sounds of the tavern under them, a cascade of footsteps here, a sudden bark of laughter there, the whole of this strange, strange world beneath their feet. Eyes opened, eyes closed, it made no difference. Were it not for the noises of the people below, he would have thought they could be under the very earth itself, once again descending into the darkness of the underworld.

All of twelve years old and sent on a fool’s errand to retrieve Zeus’ weapon, contending with the notion that he might not return, that he might fail and bring war upon the world, that his mother would be lost to him forever, he had braved the halls of Hades with this woman at his side, just as afraid as he.

In the darkness now, as he drifted off to sleep, he nearly jumped back to wakefulness at the brush of her hand against his. He turned his head to her, but he could not make out her features, could not see her eyes to determine if it was conscious or not, if she had reached for him for comfort or if her hand had simply moved of its own accord.

On their first quest together, in the land of the dead, she had slipped her hand into his, desperate for a friendly touch, for assurance that there was someone else alive with her. Swallowing, closing his eyes against the blackness, he laced his fingers with hers, squeezing. I am here, he thought, sending it to her through the pulse of his hand. I am here.

After a moment, she squeezed back.

***

Percy was tired.

No, that did not entirely sum up precisely how tired he felt. Percy was exhausted. He was so exhausted, it was as if he had participated in a week’s worth of war games without any rest. His body ached as though Thalia or Iason had struck him with lightning, a constant, thrumming pulse of pain throughout his whole body. He felt as though he had been emptied of his vital insides, hollowed out and replaced with naught but a deep, deep fatigue.

It was, he knew, due to the endless days of sailing they had undertaken.

He did draw his power from the water, this was true. However, they must have been sailing for at least several months by now, day after day after day, Percy commanding the Empress through the tides, headed against the current, traveling ever North on the windiest road known to mankind. So far from the ocean, not even the Danapris could sustain him for as long as they had been traveling, and he could tell that his strength was wearing thin.

And it was not just him. The Empress wobbled beneath his feet, her hastily made bark splitting along the seams. If they did not stop for a rest, and soon, it was very likely that their canoe would capsize, taking both Percy and Annabeth with her.

Thankfully, Annabeth seemed to understand his exhaustion without him having to explain. “Just a little further,” she assured him. “Miliniska is close--not more than a mile or so.”

Percy could not even reply, so depleted he was.

It certainly did not help that a storm was about to roll in.

The clouds above were black, heavy with rain, the wind buffeting their poor little canoe, tossing it this way and that. The sail was nearly useless at this juncture, Annabeth’s stitches slowly unraveling, the fabric whipping in the growing gale.

Though the river flowed wide and steady, Percy felt as if they were sailing through a lake of mud, a thick, sticky marsh which impeded their progress to the point of death. His eyes burned, the harsh wind stinging; his spine could no longer hold his weight; he panted, open-mouthed, like a dog in the height of summer.

Perhaps he would break alongside his boat. He would not mind so much. Even a week spent unconscious at the bottom of this foreign body of water would most likely do him some good.

But he could not do that to Annabeth. She had trusted him with her safe return, and by all the gods he no longer knew, he would see her home.

“Che cazzo, how much further?” he asked through gritted teeth, letting slip a sailor's curse.

“Not long,” she assured him. “Just a little more.”

“Is it possible,” he gasped, “you could be a little more specific?”

The Empress rocked from side to side.

“Percy!” called Annabeth, grasping the sides of the boat.

“I know!” he shouted back. He squeezed his eyes, poured all of his thought into keeping them afloat.

The waves themselves seemed to fight him, the water striking the sides with such force as to send Annabeth careening from one edge to another.

He could not hold it for much longer.

“Percy!” Annabeth shouted over the roar of waves. “Port bank!”

The ship turned sharply. With a yell, he shot his hands out, splitting the water before them, steering the Empress towards the shore like a shot out of a cannon.

It wasn’t enough.

The canoe tore wildly beneath them, the seam of the tree coming apart with an almighty crack. As he had done in Constantinople, he summoned a great wave from the depths of the river, wrapping it around Annabeth, and hurling her the rest of the way to the river’s edge, onto the sandy shore.

Then the Empress split apart under his feet, dropping Percy into the water.

So drained he was, he could not even enjoy it.

He was in no danger of drowning, of course, but he was in danger of losing all consciousness, a terrible idea even when one was not in the middle of an unfamiliar territory. Who knew what sort of spirits lurked in this river, so far from the ancient sea? The water nymphs of the rapids had recognized him for what he was and had made no attempt to hide their distaste; he did not wish to try himself against further unknowns.

If he did not make it to shore, he would not die, no, but only the Fates knew where he might wash up, and he would be lost. He would be lost, and Annabeth would be alone.

Summoning the last of his strength, the blackness of exhaustion flickering at the corners of his vision like smoke, he reached deep within the core of himself, to that place that pulsed with the pull of the tides, that place which shook apart the very stones. With the last of his muster, the son of the sea god, the former Praetor of the Twelfth Legion, the lost little Hellenos issued but one command to the northern river: Take me to shore.

Then nothing.

***

When he woke, there was solid ground beneath his back.

The sky had cleared, the stormcloud grey giving way to a fiery sunset, a smooth, slow gradient of orange and purple and blue. No longer was the air thick with the scent of rain, but now cleaner, and bright.

And, he realized with a jolt, he was starving.

He groaned, a purposeless noise, yet it would prove to be a useful one all the same.

“Percy!” cried a voice to his right.

A form scuttled over to him, crowding his vision, and he had to blink through the fog of his eyes to realize that it was Annabeth. Her hands patted him up and down, from forehead to neck to chest, and she was babbling a mile a minute, far too quickly for Percy to comprehend. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re awake, I knew that you were not capable of drowning, but you have been asleep for so long, and I was so worried--”

“Ungh,” he said, most intelligently.

Annabeth hauled him up from the ground, her strong hands clutching at his shoulders, crushing him to her chest. He felt her hitched sob against him, then, just as he was thinking to bring his arms around her, she pulled back, and did something very, very strange.

She kissed him. Chastely, just a press of her lips to his, but desperate, her fingers still digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Had he been more awake, he would have opened his mouth to her in turn. As he was now, he could not even pull forth the strength to deepen the kiss, or even to react to it in a positive manner.

Then, her eyes widening, she dropped him back onto the ground.

“Oh, forgive me!” she cried at his sudden grunt of pain.

“Guh,” was his eloquent response.

“I--I am sorry, I did not--I would never--”

“Urgh,” he said, his lips tingling, the phantom feeling of her mouth on his potent enough to draw him the rest of the way from his unwilling slumber.

There must have been water lodged in his ears. Or he was still sleeping. Or perhaps his brains really had turned to seaweed. Because there was no way, no possible way, that that had just happened. She did not just kiss him. No.

He tried to sit up, only for his head to spin in a sudden vertigo. Curling onto his side, he shut his eyes until the sky above him stopped swirling in such nauseating patterns. “Easy,” said Annabeth, calmly, with the air of someone who has done this many times before. “Do not strain yourself.”

Hissing in effort, for his muscles still felt stretched and thin, far too overworked and overused not to ache, he sat up, raising himself on unsteady arms. “Are you alright?” he asked, casting a quick look up and down her person for any injury.

A respectful distance away, she blinked at him. “You have been asleep for near on a day, and you are concerned for me?”

He--he must have imagined it, the kiss. She did not look on him any differently than she had before. She did not linger at his side, forlorn and desperate. She did not shed any tears for his safe return. So he had to come to the conclusion that he had almost certainly fashioned the whole incident in his memory from thin air.

Then, of course, Percy replied to her question without considering the ramifications of his words. “Yes.”

She was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “Ridiculous,” she said. “Truly ridiculous. Come, phykios. I’ve got a fire going.”

With all her considerable strength, she was able to half-carry, half-drag him closer to her campsite. “You say,” he grunted, doing his best not to wince with each step, “that I have been asleep for a day?”

“Nearly two.”

She deposited him near the small fire, and he shivered as the warmth washed over him, enveloping him in its comforting embrace. It was a meager display, her rumpled bag of supplies propped up against a rock, a few thin, little fish, blackened by smoke and ash resting on a flat stone by the fire. “I apologize,” he said, bringing his arms around himself, rubbing the feeling back into them. “I did not mean to tire myself out so.”

“You apologi--” Cutting herself off, she stalked to the other side of the fire, angrily stoking it with a stray branch. “You apologize, when I am the one who forced you to sail every day, nonstop for over two months, dragging you all over the world on a handful of hazy memories of a road long which has since fallen out of use--”

“Annabeth--”

“You have no reason to apologize, Percy. None at all.” She stood behind the flames, the blue shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “It is I who must seek forgiveness from you.”

“I do not require--”

“I know that you cannot drown,” she said, watching the smoke rise, “but I--I knew that the road would be long and hard, and still I pushed you, day after day, watching you wear yourself thin on the river, and when you would not awaken, I was afraid that… that I had forced you to give too much.” Taking a shuddering breath, she threw in a bit of fish to the fire. He thought he saw the flames leap a little higher--though his vision was still a little fuzzy, and he may very well have imagined it. “I apologize, Percy. My pride had taken precedence over your health, and in return, you nearly died for my sake. If you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me,” her eyes squeezed shut and she turned her face away, “of course I will understand.”

“Of course I forgive you,” said Percy, without hesitation. “There is naught to forgive, Annabeth.”

“You could have died.”

“A little exhaustion is not enough to rid you of me.”

“Percy--”

“Enough,” he said. “You have done nothing which requires any absolution. I promise.”

When she finally turned back, there were tear tracks, clear as day, streaking down the grime of her beautiful face, and he just barely held himself back from confessing that to die for her sake would be the easiest thing in the world for him to do.

“I swore that I would see you safely home, and I shall. Though perhaps I should be insulted,” he teased, “that you think so lowly of me. A mere river, overcome the son of Poseidon? Come now, skjaldmær. You of all people should know better.” This line of banter, how familiar it was to them. His head still spun from earlier, and he longed for the solid ground of their partnership to steady him.

But she would not rise to such taunts, not this time. “I would rather that you stay by my side and we never make it home,” she said, so serious, “than return to my father without you.”

Oh, how her curls moved in the evening breeze, the golden-copper shine of her hair stark against the encroaching night sky, her mouth set in a stern line, the delightful little divot on her forehead when she frowned a whorl of shadow against her skin. He loved all Annabeths equally, but this one, who so casually and easily spoke truth from her heart, he liked this one very much.

“Where are we?” he asked, rather than pursue that line of thought any further. “You said we were approaching Mil--Milani--”

“Miliniska,” she said. “And we are not far; a few hours’ walk at most, by my calculation.” Though she did not seem pleased at this assessment.

“What is it?”

Lips pursed, she sat down heavily upon the stone. He could not see through the smoke, but he imagined her playing with the edges of her blue shawl, the way she did when she was anxious. “I… I am unsure of our next steps.”

“We continue along the river, do we not?”

“I had thought so, yes.”

“Then once we have reached the city of--of--” he cursed as his tongue tripped over the strange sounds, his mouth not at all fit for this slippery, slick language of the North, “Holmgarðr , then we turn West to Svealand. Is this not the way?”

“Well, yes,” she said, “but I do not--I mean, I am uncertain--oh!” She raked her hands over her head, mussing up her wild hair even further. “I do not know where to go from here.”

He frowned. Her words made no sense to him. “But you know everything.” This was no mere romantic declaration; it was a truth that he had carried ever since he was twelve years old. No matter what questions he had about this strange, strange world, Annabeth would have the answer, or she would be able to seek out the answer, precisely because she was Annabeth, and because she did, indeed, know everything there was to be known.

She turned red beneath the dirt on her face. “Would that were true, then perhaps I would not have led us here.”

“How do you mean?” he asked, a cold, sinking pit in his stomach, despite the warmth of the fire.

Sighing, she slumped even further, the point of her chin nearly level with the flames. “There are many river-roads here,” she said, haltingly, though the flood of words could not be stopped, “and--and they get all jumbled up, in my head, you see. When I--when I ran away, my plan was to trace the Dúna to--to--” she screwed up her face, stamping her foot in frustration. “Oh, even now I cannot remember the name in Greek! There are so many names, Percy, in Greek and Norse and this strange, strange language that I cannot speak, and Lukas was the one who spoke them all when I was little, and I fear that I will have brought us to ruin, for I cannot make sense of it all.” She gazed at him, her large eyes glistening once more with tears. “I know not where I am, and all my faculties have deserted me, and I have dragged you here with me, into the unknown, and now our ship is gone, and--and--”

Then she performed the action which Percy had come to fear most: she began to weep again.

“Annabeth,” he said, as gently as he could, “you cannot blame yourself for what happened to the Empress. She would have given out eventually; it was merely our misfortune that it happened to be now.”

Still, her shoulders shook, her head dropped into her hands.

“We can find our way North again,” he promised. “We still have the stars, do we not? And surely we can craft another vessel.” Though it would take them much, much longer, as they no longer had any of the tools which they had left behind at Sigeion.

She did not respond.

“Annabeth, please.” He was not above begging or pleading, if only she would cease her weeping, if only she would smile again. “Please, it will be all right. Annabeth, my lo--”

Percy very nearly slapped a hand over his mouth, for he had almost let slip a sweet little endearment from his lips. However upset she was now, she would certainly not appreciate a declaration of romantic affection at this moment. She was in no position to accept it, and he would not wish to take advantage of her emotional upheaval.

“Oh, Annabeth,” he said, keeping a close watch on his words. “I do not blame you. I do not blame you one iota. Everything will be all right, I swear it.”

He could not reason with her to draw her out of her despair. All he could do now is wait for this to pass, and pass it would.

And pass it did.

Her sobs weakened, eventually, short, painful little things giving way to long stretches of quiet sniffles. Through the flames, he observed her shoulders still, the tension in her hands fading away, her whole form collapsing in on herself as all her sorrow deserted her. For some time, there was no sound but the crackle of flame, the gentle rush of the river, the whispering noises of nature which surrounded them, birds and insects and the breath of the land itself. What a boon, for Percy and Annabeth so exhausted, for there was nothing left but peace. Tranquility. Time for rest, healing, and safety, things the absence of which they had long since felt.

“I apologize,” she said, after a while. Her voice was rough, as though she had swallowed a mouthful of earth. “That was… I did not expect that.”

“Think nothing of it.” All warriors had limits, and all warriors had a point at which they could take no more. There was no shame to be felt in such a release.

Though as she continued to avoid his gaze, he wondered if perhaps she was not ashamed of the act of grief, but at the simple fact that he had been present to bear witness to it, that even though they had traveled together for so long, had endured so much together, there were still parts of her she did not feel comfortable baring to to him. The thought made him profoundly sad. He trusted her with his life--and he always had. At the close of the second Titanomachy, she had leapt in front of a poisoned blade which had been aiming straight for his unprotected flank; after such a debt owed to her, did she think he would still find any part of her shameful?

Then, she surprised him yet again. It was starting to become a pattern, it seemed.

“I know you must be angry with me,” she said, her eyes hidden from view.

It was only with the greatest strength of will that he kept himself from bursting out laughing at the sheer absurdity of such a statement. Percy, angry with her? For showing emotion? “What ever for?”

“For getting us lost.”

“We are not lost,” he chided. “This nearby town, Mal--Miliano--”

“Miliniska,” she said, a weak grin gracing her features.

He shook his head. “Yes, that one, surely someone there will be able to point us in the right direction.”

“And if there is not?”

“Then we put our teachings to use,” he said. “We have been trained for this, have we not?”

“For battle, yes. For wandering around the northern wilderness, less so.”

He waved a hand, carelessly. “I am certain some skills will overlap.”

But she would not stray from her course. “I had thought you would be displeased with me,” she said. “I know you were concerned about the agoge, about your mother, but I convinced you to accompany me instead. Would you not rather be searching for her, instead?”

Annabeth knew firsthand how he adored his mother. Though clearly it had been the right decision, sending her away from Constantinople had been one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. Hardly a day went by when he did not think of his mortal family. To be parted from them in this manner, so precarious, was a kind of agony he had not known existed. And yet, he could not very well admit to Annabeth that he would rather be here, now could he? “Wherever she is, I know that my mother is safe.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I have faith.” His mother was a resourceful woman, always had been. She had survived for years under the thumb of her hateful first husband; to pack up, flee the city, and then begin anew with a man who truly loved her would be no large undertaking.

“I wish I could believe as you do,” said Annabeth, softly.

Percy would never quite describe himself as a man of faith, but he had his moments. “It is not so difficult if you choose the right people to believe in.” A simple truth, yet Percy had been blessed with such wonderful people in his life, such ample resources. People like his mother and Paul, Chiron and their friends. People like Iason and the Legion.

People like Annabeth.

“I suppose, then, I have a bad habit of choosing the wrong person.” Through the fire, her eyes turned dark, bitter, sad. “Everyone I have ever believed in--my father, Lukas, my mother--they have all of them left me behind.”

He wished he could refute her claim, but he found he could not. He had seen the temple of Athena, cannibalized for Christian men, and the court of Poseidon, a cold, dark ruin.

Still. “Surely not everyone?” he asked.

She lifted her gaze to him, locking eyes from across the blaze. “No,” she said, thoughtfully. “No, I suppose not. Not everyone.” Then she frowned, as though something had suddenly occurred to her. “You said… you named our ship the Empress?”

Oh. He had hoped she had not heard that part. Flushing lightly, he nodded. “I did.”

“I see.” And she blushed in return.

The moment felt big, somehow. Large, like a fork in the road, or the moment before sunrise, where the world held its breath and anything could happen. Endless possibility.

Perhaps now was the proper time. At such a declaration, had he the strength, he would have gone to her at once, taken her in his arms and demonstrated just how deeply his affections ran.

Alas, he did not.

He yawned, hugely.

She huffed a laugh. “You are still tired?” she asked.

Nodding, he rubbed at an eye. “Though I do not see how. I feel as though I could sleep for yet another day.”

“Perhaps you should rest a while longer,” she said.

Roughly scrubbing his hands over his face, he said, “No, no, we should not waste much more time, if we are now relegated to walking.”

“Tomorrow,” she insisted. “The hour is late.”

“I would like to sleep in a real bed for a change.”

“We do not have enough money to rent a room for the night.”

“Then I can pay in manual labor, or--”

So faint, he nearly missed it, the slight tickling in the corner of his mind.

Noting his pause, Annabeth stood up, her hand automatically going for her weapon. “What is it?”

Slowly, he turned towards the woods which bordered the river. “I am not sure,” he said, slowly. “It… it sounds like…”

It was not sound, not as men typically understood it. The voice did not travel through the air, into the ear. Rather, it seemed to emerge from within his mind, a thought that was not his own. The tone, the timbre, sincerity behind the words, it was all so familiar, so comforting. This voice belonged to a simple kind of creature, hardy and tough, and what was more, it belonged to a creature Percy knew.

“It can’t be,” he said.

And yet, it was.

From the forest emerged a horse, a beautiful, brown thing, who trotted over to them without hesitation. Bypassing Annabeth entirely, the horse came to a stop next to Percy, dipping her head--for she was a mare--and with a start, Percy realized that this was the very same horse which had carried them to the safety of Prosphorion Harbor, in the thick of smoke and battle.

“How are you here?” he breathed, one hand coming up to stroke her nose.

“What?” asked Annabeth. “What is she saying?”

In astonishment and wonder, he could not help but smile. “She says she heard your call.”

“What call?”

“And,” said Percy, turning to her, “she says she will take us wherever it is we need to go.”

Her eyes widened, mouth open in shock and delight. “Truly?”

As if to answer Annabeth’s question, the horse nodded in assent.

“Can she take us to the Dúna?”

He relayed the question to the horse, and then translated for Annabeth: “She does not know the name, but if you can direct her to the place, she would be more than happy to carry us there.”

“Oh, oh, magnificent!” Annabeth rushed over, throwing her arms around the horse’s neck. “Oh, you blessed animal!”

The horse--whose previous rider, several months and hundreds of miles past had named her Theophanu, as she had told him--gave a short huff, pressing her head against Annabeth’s.

“We haven’t a moment to lose,” said Annabeth, releasing Theophanu with a pat on her nose. “Let me grab the supplies; you can sleep on the way.”

He had thought to assist her in dismantling the camp, but, truth be told, he was simply too exhausted still, and the thought of sleep was a welcome one. Seated as he was, he felt himself swaying gently, a leaf caught in the wind, succumbing to large, painful yawns as often as his body could produce them.

Theophanu swiveled her gaze to him, large and piercing, and asked him a question.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She asked again.

His cheeks flushed. “Of course not.”

The horse looked at him, unconvinced.

“We are only traveling together for the time being,” he said, weakly. “She is not my w--”

“Did you say something?” asked Annabeth, turning towards him.

If possible, Percy flushed even further. “Ah, no! Nothing to report.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugged.

Before he knew it, they were all packed up and ready to go, Theophanu loaded down with their meager supplies. “Here, Percy.” Annabeth came round to his side, taking his arm and slinging it over her shoulder, using his own body as leverage to lift him up from the rock where he had nearly made his bed again. “Allow me.”

Together, they clambered onto Theophanu’s back. Annabeth sat before him, clutching the makeshift reins she had cobbled together out of what remaining rope they had left. Overcome with fatigue, his head bent forward until it rested against her shoulder, his nose pressed into the joint of her neck, her short curls brushing against his skin.

So tired was he, he could do barely more than mumble an apology into her shirt.

“It is fine,” she assured him. “Here, put your hands round my waist so you do not fall off.”

Her skin was hot. Or perhaps he was merely cold. He could no longer tell.

Drawing himself closer to her, he draped himself against her back, following her instruction. “Sleep, Percy,” he felt her murmur to him. “I’ve got you.”

Rocked by Theophanu’s gentle movements, the scent and feel of Annabeth all around him, there he fell asleep, a stray lock of her hair inching its way towards his mouth.

When he awoke the next morning, he would swear it was the greatest night’s sleep he had had in quite some time.

***

The nearer to the city they were, the stronger Percy felt.

Certainly, they were much too far from the port, but still Percy swore up and down that he could smell the sea. “I promise you, I can smell it!” Cresting the little mound, he thrust his arms out to the sides, taking in a large, large sniff. “The smell of salt, of fish, wet wood and smoke--” he sighed, full of ardent passion. “Thálatta, thálatta !”

“We still have quite a ways to go, phykios,” Annabeth grumbled, though he could see her fighting down a smile. “Are you certain what you smell is not your own most tender perfume?”

But her taunts could not bring down his mood on this day. After months of travel by river, from one end of the world to another, at last, at long last, they had returned to the sea.

Annabeth had called this city Riga, another strange word, but at least one that he could say without much trouble. They had let Theophanu free a few miles back, choosing to make their way into the city on foot, as Annabeth did not think they could bring her with them to Svealand, and she did not wish to sell their friend to some heartless man who might treat her poorly, despite the fact that Theophanu could, most likely, fetch them quite a handsome price. For services rendered, two weeks of her time and who knew how many miles, she deserved to be set free once more, to roam in peace and contentment, and thus, Percy had sent her off with the blessing of the little Horselord, as she had so fondly called him.

But now, now--the sea was within his grasp once more. The city of Riga rose up in the distance, the castle towers dark against the late afternoon sky, like trees rising above the red slanted roofs.

Even to his untrained eye, the difference in architecture was stark. The towers, thin and spindly and sharp, seemed to be reaching towards the heavens. The tallest had a cross placed on the very top of the spire, and Percy wondered how a man could even reach such heights so as to take care of it. Clearly this tower rested on top of a church, though it was the oddest church Percy had ever seen before. He supposed he had grown too used to the domes of St. Sophia and its ilk, yet to him it was still stranger than the church in Athens which had once been the mighty Parthenon.

By the time they entered the city proper, the sun hung low in the sky, a slight chill in the air. Percy shivered beneath his cloak, marveling at everyone around him who seemed unaffected by the cold. “Nothing like an unseasonable bit of chill, no?” he asked, hoping to spark some conversation after such a long silence.

She raised a brow. “This is not cold.”

“Of course it is,” he scoffed. “It is barely mid-September. Surely the seasons have not yet changed.”

“Oh, Percy,” she said, almost pityingly. “We are in the North, now. To those that live here, the coldest nights of Sigeion would seem the height of the summer heat.”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “It can be colder than this?”

With a sad, mockingly sorrowful shake of her head, she pressed on, leading them through the crowded docks.

“Annabeth,” he near-pleaded, jogging lightly to keep apace. “Please. Tell me it does not grow colder than this, I beg of you.”

She put her hand out, stopping him in his tracks. “A moment.”

They had come before a little cargo ship, her captain speaking at length with another man. Annabeth narrowed her eyes, her lips moving slightly as she whispered to herself in that expression Percy had come to recognize as the one she wore when she was concentrating very intensely on any given task, usually a war game strategy of some manner or other, before grabbing a hold of his hand, and dragging him with her as she stepped up to the captain, before engaging in a lively conversation with him.

A conversation that Percy could not follow, naturally. He could pick out a few words here and there, just by virtue of having known Annabeth for so long, things like “farbror” and “pengar” and “Grikkir,” but they flew by so quickly, he could not be sure if he had truly heard them.

A far, far cry from the stilted, unsure exchange she had shared with the gentleman in Kiova, Annabeth was well and truly in her element as she spoke with the captain. The words flew back and forth between them, faster than he thought would be possible with such a liquid, languid tongue. Occasionally, she would refer back towards Percy, and he would straighten his spine, lifting his chin in an attempt to look more dignified. There was not much he could do about the unfortunate length of his hair, nor the travel-worn state of his clothing, but he did his best to take on an air of importance, following Annabeth’s lead as she spoke, most haughtily.

Yet the conversation dragged on. It was several minutes of increasingly heated exchange before Annabeth turned away from the captain, bristling with anger. “Percy,” she said, imperious, “do you think you can sail this vessel?”

He flicked his eyes to the ship. It was small-ish, double-masted, well taken care of. “Most likely.”

“Very good.” She turned back to the captain, sneering, and said, “I trust you’ll help me steal it, then?”

Percy started. “Perhaps it would be best not to discuss this with him present?” It wasn’t that he was not agreeable to a little theft--quite the contrary, he would be happy to assist--but, well, the man was right in front of them.

But Annabeth just scoffed. “He does not speak our language; he cannot understand us.”

True to her word, the captain merely blinked at them, uncomprehending.

Very well. “Your orders?”

“On my mark,” she said. Then, she turned back to the poor man whose livelihood they were about to overturn, and, quite theatrically, burst into tears--great, heavy, cacophonous wails, which drew the attention of every man who surrounded them. So pitiful were her sobs, the good men of the port stepped up to comfort her, to see if there was some boon they could give or act they could perform to ease her sorrow, and so taken were they with her, a feeling with which Percy could certainly empathize, that none noticed as Percy quietly backed away, slipping onto the docked ship.

***

It was very early in the morning, but Percy had not felt so awake in months. Even in such a foreign place as this, the sea filled him full of power, sharpening his senses and lifting his spirits. They were making excellent time, the breath of Notus firmly at their backs, propelling them ever northward, and Percy felt so fine, he could not help but sing. Now, if only it had not been so damned cold. “Hýdōr thélō genésthai, ópōs se chrō̂ta loúsō,” he hummed, a song for a young girl he had heard once upon a time, “ópōs, ópōs, ópōs se chrō̂ta loúsō.”

“I do not know this one,” Annabeth commented, her hands curled around the lip of the wood as she kept a lookout--for what, she would not say--but her face was not turned out to the sea, rather, she looked at him so curiously, her head tilted. “From the Anacreontea?”

Percy shrugged. “I know it not, but heard it from the docks in Constantinople.” A lesser known talent of his, he seemed to have a nearly limitless memory for sea songs. If it were able to be sung on the water, then Percy would remember it perfectly. He could sometimes forget the shade of his mother’s hair, but he could remember these silly little sea songs. “If it is not to your liking, I am certain I could find another. Or, I could cease entirely.”

“No, no, it is very sweet,” she said. “You can sing to your heart’s content.” Then she sighed, wistful. “My father tried to teach me sea songs, once.”

“Oh?” he asked, delicately. The subject of her family was a sensitive one, he knew, but he confessed a deep curiosity for the man who helped make her into who she was. “Songs for when you went a-pillaging the coasts of Gallia and Anglia?”

Her pretty face twisted, the familiar frown she wore whenever she felt he was being particularly stupid. “You are aware that the age of the Vikings has long since passed, yes? Svealand is now as Christian as Constantinople. As it was,” she corrected.

Sensing that they were about to embark on a very sad road, he sought to change the subject before they did. “You mean to tell me,” he said, injecting as much of a teasing lilt as he dared, “you were not once the littlest of the shieldmaidens? You did not sleep on the longboats, with the dogs of war, ready and eager to fight?” He’d seen visions of Annabeth as a little girl, traveling the world with Thalia and Lukas, already such a fierce fighter, and though he knew what kind of pain she had borne, the picture in his head still made him smile, a pretty little girl with golden curls and a fierce gaze, brandishing a knife entirely too big for her. “

“How I wished I could,” she sighed again, near-dreamily, seeming as if she had been struck by Cupid’s arrow. “I used to dream of the great shieldmaidens of yore, of Freydís Eiríksdóttir and Brynhildr Buðladóttir, of fighting alongside them, but alas, it was not meant to be.” The smile slipped from her face, and she grew pensive once more. “My step-mother put a stop to those dreams once she deemed me to be too old to have them.”

“She did not appreciate the honor of shieldmaidens, then?”

Annabeth snorted, entirely unladylike. “Certainly not. She sought to bleed that part of me fully, as leeches to a festering wound, until I was sufficiently empty to be made full of the Christian god. When I was little,” she said, staring out to sea, “she brought me with my brothers on a business trip of sorts. She told my father that she was taking us on a pilgrimage to the great churches of the continent, but when we sailed into Riga, she…” Trailing off, she tightened her hands on the wood of the ship, her gaze hardening. Percy adjusted his grip on the rope, easing them more into the direction of the wind. “She attempted to leave me there,” Annabeth said, each word as heavy as a stone, dropped into the great, black deep. “She thought to consign me to a convent.”

A convent? “Rachel studied at a convent for a time,” Percy said. From what she had told him, it had not seemed so terrible. “I, however, cannot possibly imagine you in such a place.”

“Neither can I--I never actually set foot in it.” A small smile graced her features, then, barely visible in the dim light. If he had not been so attuned to her every move and muscle, he would not have seen it for himself. “As soon as I realized what she had tried to do, I ran. I took off, following the length of the Dúna for a fortnight, until I crashed right into Thalia and Lukas. And, well… you know the rest.” She looked at him, so fondly it made his heart skip a beat.

“You--” he swallowed, his tongue numb, his mind somewhat in pieces. “I remember, after our quest for the Master Bolt, you mentioned you were going to write to your father?”

She looked away. “I did.”

“And?” He prompted. “Did you ever receive a reply?”

“I did not.”

“Oh.”

“Not, I think, for a lack of trying,” she conceded. “You know as well as I how difficult it can be to send a letter. You were very fortunate to have your mother so close by.”

“I was,” he said, for there was no reason to deny it.

“But I suppose if you did not like your mother, that could have been a burden.”

Such a concept was unthinkable, truly. Percy paused for half a second, weighing his words, and then asked, “Would it have been a burden for you to be closer to your father?”

Pursing her lips, she blew out a hearty breath. “To tell you truthfully, I do not know. After… after our little adventure with Atlas, I should very much like to have gone home even for a short while, even just to tell him that I forgave him, and Mary, for all the perceived wrongs of my childhood. But, as you can see,” and she gestured South, “it would have taken far too long.”

She was not incorrect. War had been brewing, and they simply could not have spared their chief strategist for months on end. There had only been a handful of weeks in between that adventure and their journey into the depths of the Labyrinth; without Annabeth, he was certain that particular quest would have gone up in Greek fire.

“Tell me about him,” he said. “Your father. You know so much of mine, and yet I know so little of yours.”

Another small smile lifted her features. “You have forgotten already what I have told you of him?”

“I know he is a scholar of some renown,” said Percy, “and that he must be a singularly clever man in order to attract your mother’s eye.”

“He is,” she nodded. “He is… was… very dedicated to his studies, something which I always admired about him. Unfortunately, it left him little time to tend to his family.”

“Hence how you found yourself in your stepmother’s care.”

“Yes.” She faltered, tapping her fingers on the wood. “I… I do not know if he knew of her plan to send me to the convent. If he approved of her plan.” Her shoulders hunched. “If it was his idea in the first place.”

Percy shook his head, letting go of his ropes, commanding them to stay their current course. He stepped up to her, boldly knocking his shoulder against hers, pleased when she did not stumble or crumble before him. “Now, that cannot be,” he said, “for no man, no matter how wedded to his letters he may be, could consider you to be anything but the finest of warriors. If your father is as clever as you claim, surely he could not have authorized such a mistake.”

She stretched her lips in an attempt to smile, but that was all she could muster at this time, it seemed.

The dawn had yet to break, yet Percy could make out every line and angle of her face, indelibly marked, as they were, in his mind and heart, bathed in some otherworldly light that turned her more radiant than any goddess he had ever romanced.

He swallowed.

“I must confess,” he said, “something that has been weighing on me heavily.”

She turned to him, eyes wide and expectant. Her hair had grown out some since her unfortunate haircut, coming down to dust at the tops of her shoulders, nearly obscuring her gaze, and he had to grip the wood of the ship in order to keep himself from brushing it from her face.

“Why…” he trailed off, distracted by the flecks of silver in her eyes. By the gods, man, pull yourself together. “If you and your father did indeed have such a contentious relationship, why did you want to see him now?”

For a brief moment, he felt she looked… disappointed, almost. But it passed, more quickly than a thought, and he put it aside for the moment. “Despite it all, he is my father. My mother, the agoge, Constantinople--they are all gone, yet still he remains. He may be the only thing I have left in this world,” she said, glumly.

Something in his heart tugged at her words. “Not the only thing, surely,” he jested lamely. “Have I not been sufficient company on this odyssey of ours?”

“You have been,” she said, looking him square in the face, “the greatest companion I could ever have asked for. As long as I live, I shall never forget the thousand kindnesses you have paid me over these last few months.”

She was so close. He could feel her breath, hot against the freezing air, see the upturned tip of her nose. “It was my pleasure,” he mumbled.

There was no sound, save for the wind, the creak of the wood, the beating of his heart, so loudly he was certain she could hear it--or perhaps it was hers, throbbing in return. One, two, three heartbeats in succession, she twitched, he jolted, they moved imperceptibly closer, then--

Annabeth gasped. “Percy, look!” she cried, pulling back.

“Huh?” he blinked, lagging a few seconds behind.

Her outstretched finger pointed upwards towards the heavens, but all he could see was the open, naked wonder on her face, her dropped jaw, her eyes as large as the extravagant pendants of rich nobles, the way her curls seemed to bounce of their volition, charged up in awe and in wonder. Only after he had taken his fill of her visage, a seemingly impossible feat, yet one he accomplished nonetheless, did he follow her finger to the object of her fascination.

And he gasped in turn.

High in the sky, ribbons of light and color swam about, mixing and mingling with the clouds and stars, as if Eos and Iris had joined forces, the rosy-fingered dawn and the golden-winged messenger entwined in a magical dance. “Oh,” he breathed, “oh, how beautiful!”

“I can’t believe it!” she laughed, delighted. “The bridge! Percy, look! The--” Then she said a word which Percy must not have heard correctly.

“The what?”

And then she said that word again.

He frowned. “Bee-vroast?”

“No, the Bifröst.”

“Is that not what I am saying?”

“Most certainly not,” she said. “It is the road between Heaven and Earth, connecting Asgard to Midgard.”

“Asgard?” he asked. “Midgard? What do these things mean?"

She gestured around them. “This. This is Midgard, everything you see before you, the land in the middle. Asgard sits up above us, at the top of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. It is a long, long way, passing through Alfheim , and… well, regardless, it is quite the journey.

“I see,” said Percy. “Similar to how Olympus was perched on top of St. Sophia, yes?”

Annabeth tilted her head, considering. “A little. Though, rather than a staircase or a mountaintop, there is a bridge.”

He looked back at the display--unfortunately, all he could see were hazy, formless colors, stunning, but about as solid as the mist itself, nothing nearly so weighty as a bridge, yet so sublime and unfathomable still. “A bridge?”

She pointed again, leaning in close, so as he could better see the angle of her finger. “There, do you not see the three colors?”

He could, indeed, see three colors: hot reds, cool blues, otherworldly greens, like streams of pure light floating down from on high. “I do.”

“And there,” her face was nearly pressed to his, the heat of her body welcomed only in that it helped to ward off the cold somewhat, “see you not the point where it vanishes?”

He squinted. The lights seemed to disappear beyond the horizon line, trailing off above what surely must have been Ultima Thule. “I… I believe I do, yes.”

“There,” said Annabeth, her face all lit up, “there is the home of the gods of my father’s family: the Aesir.”

“Aesir,” he repeated. Aesir, Asgard, Midgard, so many strange sounds. “Well, then,” he said, taking a step back. “Shall I follow this Bifröst of yours?”

How strange to think that, merely a few months earlier, they had set out from Piraeus, nearly antipodal to where they were now, surely. It seemed near a lifetime ago. Even now, he found that the streets of Constantinople had faded from his memory, somewhat, the towering churches and ancient squares no longer quite so towering in his mind. How he longed to return to that place, that time, before his gods had abandoned him, before his family had vanished into the air, before he realized that he was in love with a woman who despised him, and before he realized that, sooner than he would have liked, he was about to lose her forever.

“Not quite so far,” said Annabeth, taking a step back in turn. “We go to seek my uncle, Randulf.”

“Not your father?” he asked, once more picking up the ropes which had not gone slack.

She shook her head. “My father is but a scholar; on the contrary, my uncle is… well…” Flushing lightly, she bit her lip, looking away. “He is something of a local lord.”

“Really.”

She flushed further. “He does possess certain titles and lands.”

“You really are a princess,” Percy concluded, a smile growing on his face. “And all this time, I thought that you simply detested to be compared to the fairest of the fairer sex.”

Harrumphing, she crossed her arms. “I am not a princess,” she pouted.

Holy Aphrodite, surely she must not have known the effect that she had on him. “Oh, of course,” said Percy, “I had forgotten. Your majesty.”

“Enough.” But, as the lights of the Bifröst gave way to the breaking dawn, he could see a smile on her face, as plain as day. “Be ready, captain, for there are many islands between here and Stadsholmen.”

“Of course, your majesty.”

“Percy!”

***

When she related to him the news, she seemed oddly calm regarding the situation. “It appears,” she had said, “that my uncle has since passed away.”

“My deepest sympathies.” Percy did not have much in the way of an extended mortal family--his mother had been a single child, and his step-father had not spoken much of his own family--but he could imagine the kind of loss she must have felt.

“It seems that his title and holdings were transferred to my cousin, Magnus.” She had had a sort of faraway look on her face, as though she were lost in some kind of waking dream. “He and my father have gone to Birka, to see to his properties.”

Goodness; they had docked the boat from the poor man whom they had thieved in Riga not just this morning, had barely been in Stadsholmen a day, and once again they were setting off. “How far?”

Blinking, she had seemed to physically pull herself together before his very eyes. “Not very,” she had said. “I can find us passage.”

Now they floated serenely on the waters of Lake Mälaren, as she had called it, inching ever closer as the nice captain brought them to the island in the middle of the water. It felt odd not to be in control of the vessel for once, and Percy could not stop himself from fidgeting, his leg bouncing up and down incessantly.

The captain shot him a dirty glare, and Percy looked away. “So,” he said to Annabeth, desperate for something to fill the weighty silence which had descended upon them. “Your cousin, Magnus--what is his character?”

“I wish I could say.” Staring straight ahead, Annabeth focused all her considerable attention on the island which was slowly coming into view, emerging from the mist. “I have not spoken with him since before I ran away.”

“I see.”

“I remember,” she said, softly, “that he loved nature. That when I told him of my plans, he did not go and report them to my father. In that way, I know that he was a stalwart friend, and I cannot imagine that much could have changed him.” Tossing him a glance, he thought he saw her lips turn imperceptibly downwards. “If he has not changed much, I daresay that you will quite enjoy his company.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked, awaiting further explanation, yet she did not provide any.

Before very long, they had arrived at the shores of Birka, and Annabeth had given the kind boatman the very last of their coin. They stood at the bottom of a little hill, the dirt path before them winding its way through the tall grass, like a snake, yet Annabeth made no move to go forward.

“I cannot believe I am here,” she breathed. “It has been so long, I… I never thought I would see it again.” What ‘it’ could have been, she did not specify, though he could guess.

Though the house on the hill was now within their grasp, he found that his feet seemed to be as heavy as hers. “Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow,” he said, “and find somewhere to rest for the night.”

But then he observed as Annabeth summoned all her courage, drawing herself up to her full height, squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes, a little goddess of war here on Earth, and began the long march up the hill. Percy was powerless to do naught but follow her.

The house was built with dark wood, a deep, nutty brown, an inkblot against the soft blues and greens of the land which surrounded it. As they grew closer and closer, it seemed to multiply in size, as though stories and wings were added to the existing structure before his very eyes, an ever expanding sculpture of rough-hewn wood and grey, slanting roofs.

As Annabeth stepped up to the great, wooden door, and knocked, Percy stepped back a ways. It would not do, he thought, for him to hover over her, not during such a precious moment of reunion.

A handful of heartbeats, then the door opened, with a great, creaking groan. “Ja?” asked the man who popped his head out, a mop of drab, grey hair on his head. “Vem är det?”

“Jag heter Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter,” Annabeth said, “och jag är här för att träffa min far, Fredrik Randulfsson.”

The man looked her up and down, before retreating into the darkness of the house.

There, on the grass outside of the door, they waited.

Not a minute later, the door opened again, nearly coming off its hinges as another man barreled forth, his wild, grey hair shooting off in all directions, glasses perched delicately on his nose. “Anja!” he gasped, as though he were in pain. “Anja, är det verkligen du?”

Annabeth gave a single sob, then threw herself at the man, who wrapped her up in his arms, squeezing tightly. “Jag är hemma nu, papa,” she wept, muffled by his shirt. “Jag är hemma.”

As one, they crashed to the earth, their knees striking the packed dirt, and despite the chill of the afternoon air, Percy could not help but feel warm at the sight of Annabeth--Anja--as she embraced her father for the first time in fifteen years.

#this one is a doozy #marble king #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #my fic

5 notes · View notes

theskyeandsea · 4 years

Text

A Little Melon-choly || Orion & Skylar

Location: The Common & Skylar’s Apartment

TW List: Chronic Illness and Abuse Mentions

Notes: Just happy fun times at the farmer’s market! calcifires Today at 2:44 PM watermelons wouldnt be in season in Maine but YA KNOW swampfoxx Today at 2:45 PM Listen they're vampire watermelons so its DIFFERENT

The farmer’s market. It wasn’t exactly Orion’s style, but Orion had been sent off by the family to grab groceries. Since he was spending more time at home than usual due to the whole sun not rising ordeal, he was available to be sent off for errands. This seemed like a purposeful ploy. His mom was constantly on him to cut out all the soda and snack foods that he indulged in. So she made up a list and sent him off with strict instructions to return so she could start dinner. Admittedly, he preferred this over being forced to ride along with his parents to something like this. He was happy to hear that she had other plans. So instead, Orion found himself moving from cart to cart, smiling awkwardly at each vendor as he marked his mom’s list off one by one. As he fell into the groove of it, he was almost able to forget how cold it was outside, but every now and then a breeze would blow through and he would get the painful reminder. He shuddered, rubbing at his arms to create some friction against the long sleeves. Unsurprisingly, the list was in order with the setup of the farmer’s market. His mom was way too prepared. He was practically done with his list, only two things left when he spotted a familiar face. From the looks, she spotted him too. His heart immediately began to race, and Orion’s breathing get heavier and faster. He should probably just keep walking on. Give her some space. Clearly she wanted nothing to do with him. He didn’t blame her. But the two were close enough now that it would have been even worse to not saying anything at all. “Uh…. hey there.” He mumbled nervously and waved, “How’s it going?” This couldn’t get any more awkward.

While Skylar didn’t typically go to the farmers market, she figured that it was about time for her to get out of the house and do something, anything to stave off the impending bout of… seal symptoms. The endless night was wearing thin on her and it would be for the best if she went outside, got some fresh air, and talked to some people. So, she took one of her reusable grocery bags and headed out to look at a bunch of produce that she really couldn’t eat. The nice thing about the farmer’s market was that it meant a lot of people were out and about, with plenty of floodlights to spare. Safety and numbers meant the little bottle of holy water in her pocket would probably go unused. She’d started keeping some on her ever since Nic had dropped off his ridiculous shipment of holy water at her apartment. If he thought things were dangerous now, she was going to listen to that advice. Walking from stall to stall, Skylar smiled politely as she looked at the bundles of vegetables and things that she… couldn’t eat. This wasn’t one of her better ideas. As she looked over a few of the stalls, her eyes locked with someone familiar-- her breath caught in the back of her throat. Rio. As he walked up, Skylar’s back straightened and she stared at the weird fruits in the stall in front of them. “Hi. It’s going.” She said stiffly, “What about you?” She asked, not looking him in the eye.

Well this was definitely awkward. Orion should have listened to his gut and skipped the stand. He needed a few things from the same stall that Skylar was currently at. He figured it was better to get the pleasantries out of the way now. As awkward as this was, Orion felt it would be more awkward to just remain silent and continue to run into each other throughout the market. So Orion would bite the bullet and just say hello. What was the worst that could happen? “That’s good. Or well.. It’s alright. I guess.” He muttered, readjusting the hat on his head. He didn’t normally wear baseball caps, but the brim helped to hide the fading black eye. Not that he had much to hide about it. The story behind how he got it was more embarrassing than incriminating. “But uh I’m fine. I uh- didn’t know you shopped here often.” The translation? He didn’t know she could eat any of this stuff. But maybe in smaller doses and if paired with enough meat she would be fine. From what Orion had learned, Selkies were mostly carnivores. “Sorry- I am just here to grab a few things. Then I’ll be out of your hair.

“Mhm.” Skylar hummed, her lips pressed tightly together as she stared at the fruit in front of her. Wow, they looked really weird… like she didn’t normally pay attention to how fruits and vegetables looked, but these definitely seemed a bit odd? She couldn’t quite put her finger on why they seemed odd. Glancing over at Rio, she saw the way he shifted the hat on his head, and her eyes widened as she saw the slight discoloration around his eye. Gasping, she dropped her cold facade and stared at them. “Are you okay? What happened to you?” She asked, glossing over his pleasantries. They both knew that she didn’t belong here, in the farmers market. They didn’t really need to beat around the bush. “No, you’re fine. I’m just looking anyways.” She said, the words earning her a scowl from one of the vendors not far away.

Orion was all too aware how Skylar could barely make eye contact with him. She was focusing way too hard on the fruits on the stand, apparently trying anything to avoid looking over at Rio. He understood why. It was best now to just swoop in awkwardly next to her, grab the selection of fruits and then disappear and stop bothering her. But unfortunately, Skylar risked a glance at him and noticed the eye. “What? Oh, this?” Orion laughed nervously, pointing at the bruise and wincing slightly at the pain. He tried to keep a calm and collected demeanor. At the end of the day, it legitimately wasn’t that serious of an injury. “Yeah I’m fine. Seriously. I didn’t even get it in a cool way.” He admitted, readjusting his baseball cap again more on reflex than anything else, “I uh- tripped…. Down a hill.” He shrugged, “And I realize that sounds fake. But like legitimately. I was with someone who could vouch for me. I was walking backwards and I tripped and rolled down a hill and smacked my face against a tree root.” He started laughing, for real this time at the hilarity of his own ineptitude, “Pretty lame, right?” He moved closer in her direction, careful to move slowly. “Right, right. Sorry. It’s not my business anyways. I just gotta grab a few things.”

“Are you sure? That sounds…” Skylar’s voice petered off before she could finish the thought, but Rio had already answered the question. It sounded like a convenient story, but the way he was laughing seemed like it was real? Maybe? Glancing at his body language, she pursed her lips-- she wasn’t familiar enough with him to get a good enough read on him just yet, but he seemed like he was telling the truth. And, if their experiences at the failed anime night was anything to go off of, he wasn’t a terribly calm liar. “No problem, I’ll get out of your way.” She said, walking away from the stand. But, before she left, Skylar stopped and looked at some particularly odd items in the stall. For one thing… what were watermelons doing here? It was March, watermelons couldn’t be in season yet. For another-- “Uh, Rio…” She said, eyes widening as the fruit appeared to move and shudder. “You should get away from there.” Before he could respond, Skylar watched as the watermelon began to growl and rolled menacingly out of the stand. “Shit!”

Skylar didn’t seem to believe Orion, but he could hardly blame her. It wasn’t like Rio had a squeaky clean image of honesty to go off of. His entire life had been spent lying. Honesty was definitely a virtue of his. “Trust me, it was way more embarrassing in person than it is telling the story, and that’s saying something. I ran into this guy in the woods and we were attacked by this… I don’t know.” Okay that part was partially a lie, but Skylar had been freaked out enough during anime night. He didn’t need to go into detail on the vampire creature that had attacked them. “And I freaked out and fell down the hill.” There we go, full story out. “Oh- Sorry I didn’t mean you had to like leave or-” But Skylar was already walking away. Orion sighed and cursed himself for being so. Dang. awkward. But all he could do was try to shake it off and grab what he needed from the stand. But then he heard Skylar’s voice again, shakingly saying his name. He glanced over, seeing her staring pretty uneasily at a group of watermelon. “I can’t imagine that would be very good right now. Not in March.” But then he noticed it, the thing moved. And… did it just growl at Skylar? “Holy-” He began only to be interrupted when the watermelon began rolling towards Skylar. And along with that, it looked like more started to wake up as well. He eyed Skylar nervously, “Uh Skylar I think we should go. I don’t really need zucchini that badly anyways.”

“Yup, one hundred percent.” Skylar nodded, backing away. But, as she started to move away from the stall, another watermelon, then another, began to fall off the stall and roll towards her. Oh god. Why was this happening, why did this sort of thing always happen to her? Before she could continue her mental pity party, one of the watermelons lunged at her, the widest part opening up to reveal rows of teeth and a bright red center that seemed to be almost… bloody? “No, no, no, no, no!” She shrieked, running away from farmers market, pursued by a small fleet of rolling watermelons that followed her across the open grass of The Common. “Rio! What are these things?” She shouted over her shoulder, hoping that he was still with her. She hadn’t really bothered to check to see if he was running behind her, what with the awful watermelons hot on her heels.

Orion followed quickly behind Skylar. The things weren’t incredibly fast, but there were a lot of them. And they seemed to come pouring out from other booths to join the group. Others around the market were screaming, the collective noises stinging at his ear drums as they all flooded against his senses at once. Curse hunter senses. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to find some way to drown at the noises, but that only succeeded to distract him long enough that he lost his footing and fell forward, crashing into the grass and rolling. He pushed himself back up pretty quickly, but had noticed a distance growing between himself and Skylar. And some of those things were still following right behind her. He began running again, “I- I don’t know!” He screamed over to Skylar. That was the worst part of all this. He didn’t know what they were. Or where they come from. Only that they seemed to have fangs and clearly had a thing for humans and seemed to have red spots dripping from their centers. Was it blood? The smell of the food from the farmer’s market made it too hard to narrow down any particular scent. And he was too busy running to stop and touch the red liquid for himself. “Where’s your car? We need to get somewhere safe!”

Why were there always weird, terrible things trying to eat her or drown her or just kill her? Skylar didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought as she continued to run away from the rapidly rolling watermelons. And this time, it wasn’t even something that could legitimately be called scary-- these were just watermelons with giant flipping teeth. “You don’t know?” She shrieked, incredulous. He knew about selkies but he didn’t know about demon fruit? Great, just gr-- One of the vampires snapped at her pant leg, tearing a chunk of fabric from the cuff of her jeans. Stumbling forward, she did her best to keep her balance and continue running. Jesus. This sucked, this sucked, all of this sucked. “My car? It’s-- it’s over there!” She said, point to where her Honda Civic was parked across the way of the Common. “Run!”

Orion hated not knowing what these things were. He didn’t like not knowing things in general, but it seemed especially bad when those things he didn’t know about tried to kill him. “I- It’s not something that-” What was Orion trying to say there? He couldn’t tell Skylar that his family only made him study things that they wanted him to kill. That’s where all of his former knowledge came from after all. Since then, Orion has been studying what he could at the Scribe Headquarters but fruit wasn’t exactly something that he had been trying to read about. Apparently he should have been. “I didn’t know fruit could attack people!” He yelled again, eying the watermelon open itself up, exposing fangs and chomping down at Skylar’s leg. Orion’s heart jumped and he gasped before realizing that it had only gotten her pants and not her leg. He breathed a short sigh of relief and eyed the area where she pointed towards where her car was. He veered towards that direction, heading off towards the car when his foot caught into something on the ground. Maybe a hole, maybe a bump. It didn’t matter much. Only that he could feel his ankle twist and he fell forward. He raised his arms to try to cushion the fall, but his elbows hit the ground hard and he rolled forward. His face, down in the grass, the next thing he felt was a searing pain in his arm. He yelled out, looking up to find his right arm with a watermelon biting into it, and hard. Blood poured from his arm and his jacket was torn. Orion’s fist clenched as he cried out in pain and he pulled his left arm free from under his body. With one strong blow, Orion brought his fist down onto the watermelon and crushed it entirely, watermelon guts and presumably Orion’s blood splattering off from it. Orion pulled his injured arm free and pushed himself away. His breath catching in his throat as he processed the pain. It was a watermelon. It doesn’t matter that he crushed it. He hadn’t murdered a freaking watermelon. “Keep running!” Orion yelled, hoping that Skylar wasn’t going to try to help him. He pushed up again and began running towards the car again, cradling his injured arm in the other.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, her lungs felt like they were going to explode out of her chest, and she honestly felt sick to her stomach from the combination of adrenaline and running. Panting heavily, Skylar was dimly aware of the loud thump behind her, but she thought it was just one of the watermelons-- maybe it had decided to stop chasing after them? But then she heard Rio’s yell of pain. Looking over her shoulder, she was startled to see a watermelon latched onto his arm, fangs embedded into his flesh. But, what caught her even more off guard was when Rio brought his hand down and obliterated the watermelon. Chunks of watermelon flesh and possibly real flesh soaked the ground. Before she could comment on it, Rio had already gotten back up to his feet and was running her way again. Bolting to the car, she grabbed her keys from her pocket and clicked the unlock button, the lights flashing to alert her that the car was open. Throwing open the side door for Rio, she jumped in the drivers seat, slamming her door shut. A heavy thud slammed into her car door as a watermelon threw itself into against the metal. “Get in, get in, get in!” She said to the man, as she jammed her car keys in the ignition.

All Orion could think about was the pain shooting through his arm. He tried to ignore it, as his feet hit the pavement and drew closer and closer to Skylar’s car. The pain was temporary. He was luckier than many. His arm would bleed for now, but it would quickly slow down. And before long the only evidence that he was ever injured in the first place would be dried blood and a torn hoodie. He ran towards the car, a watermelon rolling smashing into the door as Skylar jumped in. They were surrounding the driver’s side now, and Orion leaped, hitting the trunk of the car and siding over it, and throwing the door open. He pulled his hoodie over his head and used it to wrap around his bleeding arm, careful to avoid dripping any in Skylar’s car. He didn’t speak for a long moment while he tried to regain his breath, but finally looked over at Skylar. “Thank you. Oh god. What the heck were those things?”

As soon as Rio was inside, Skylar threw the car into drive and pressed the gas pedal, urging her Honda Civic down the road. Her front tire smacked into something that gave with a loud popping noise-- she must have squished one of the weird watermelon things? Glancing back in her rear view, she saw that Rio was clutching his arm into his chest. “I-- I have no idea. Demon watermelons? Evil, cannibal watermelons?” She guessed, adrenaline still coursing through her veins as she tried to calm her nerves. Checking the road behind her, Skylar was relieved to see that no rogue watermelons were chasing after them. At least there was that. As she took another look back at Rio, she noticed… scars. Lots of scars, bruises, some faded, others fresh, covering his arms. Those couldn’t have been from just now, right? Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she focused on the road in front of her. “Are you okay? Did they get you? Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Or, I-- I’ve got a first aid kit at my apartment, would that be enough?” She offered, hoping Rio would take the offer for help. That wound couldn’t be good.

Orion was trying to hold back tears from falling down his face. The last thing he needed to do was cry in front of Skylar too. Hadn’t he caused enough stress in her life? He thought after all these years that he would have at least built up a tolerance to pain, but apparently that wasn’t true. The only thing that helped him get his mind off of it was theorizing about the watermelons. “I wonder if they were watermelons at all.” Could they have been some kind of shape shifters? It didn’t seem likely. Watermelons may have been a good disguise at a farmer’s market initially, but it hardly seemed effective to stay in that form while hunting prey. It seemed more likely that Skylar was right. They were some kind of cannibalistic watermelon. Which begged another question. Were they alive? That… thing that Orion had smashed. Had it been alive? “I mean- they obviously were watermelon I just… I don’t know. I wish I knew.” He had been staring up at the roof of the car, his eyes closed as he tried to not dwell on the pain or the situation. He heard Skylar asking about his arm, the concern apparent in her voice. Or maybe it was just fear. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on Orion’s part. “Huh? Oh no. This is fine. He didn’t bite very deep. It’s just a surface wound.” Orion lied. But he had no other choice. He couldn’t let Skylar try to treat him or take him to the hospital. How would he explain it when the bite marks closed by the end of the night? “I just wrapped it to make sure that I didn’t bleed on your car.” Orion forced laughter, trying to make himself sound more light hearted than he felt. He raised his hand into a thumbs up towards her to prove just how great he was. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized what he had done when he took the hoodie off to stop the bleeding. His arms. His scars. Out in public. He quickly moved to bury his free arm under the wrapped on, trying to hide as much of it as possible. “You can just uh- drop me off. If you could. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“If they weren’t watermelon at all? What, like some kind of magic illusion?” Skylar asked, trying to process what that could mean. Whatever it was, it had felt pretty real to her, between with her ripped pant leg and Rio’s arm. Those were some pretty scary illusions if they weren’t real. “It’s, it’s okay. I mean, I don’t know any of this at all. I just-- I’m just trying to figure things out.” She said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. As she spun the wheel in a less than controlled turn, she realized her hands were slick with slime. Grimacing, she wiped her palms on her jeans. They were already ruined, she might as well. “If it’s just a surface wound, why are you wrapping your arm like that? I’m not-- I’m not going to just ditch you.” She said, shaking her head. “At least let me get some neosporin and a bandage on it. Please?” Skylar asked, making eye contact with him through the rearview mirror, hoping that it would convince him. Ultimately, if he said no, she would let him leave. But… as much as she hated what Rio had done, she didn’t hate him. She just hated the way he’d gone about things. She wasn’t going to punish him, that wasn’t who she was. “It’s your choice, but, please, Rio. Let me help.”

“No- no. I think they were definitely real.” Orion answered Skylar, still trying to theorize. Pull anything from his brain that may help him connect some dots and determine what those things actually were. But between the pain and his arm and the now near panic attack that may or may not be building up in him, nothing was coming to mind. He wasn’t good under pressure, never has been. “You deserve your answers. Whatever they are. I’d like to help.” He tried to find a moment of peace within this conversation. But right now he was stuck. He needed to get out of this car, to make up some excuse to get away. But he didn’t want to push Skylar any farther away than he already had. He just wished that he could be normal. So that none of this was an issue in the first place. “Yeah- F-fine. But I don’t want to bleed all over your apartment.” She didn’t mention the scars. Honestly, he didn’t know which was more awkward. But he was pretty sure he would prefer it if they never spoke about it. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t tripped this wouldn’t have been an issue.”

“Mmmmmmm.” Skylar hummed, tapping her hands anxiously against the steering wheel. Now that she was away from the watermelons, that she’d had the chance to catch her breath, her shoulders began to shudder, slight shivers running down her spine. Nope, nope, no. This was fine, this was okay, this was… it was gonna be okay. When Rio relented, she let out a sigh and nodded. They could go back to her place, get his arm treated, and then she could freak out. No freaking out right now, nope, nope. She was going to be calm. She didn’t even get hurt, Rio was the one who’d been hurt. “It’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.” She said as she pulled down the road to her apartment. Zipping through the parking lot, she pulled in and shut off the car, hurrying out to open the door for him. Her fingers slipped off the door handle on the first time, still covered in slime, but she managed to get the door open on the second try. Hoping he didn’t comment on that, she nodded. “C’mon, let’s get inside. I think my roommate’s at work, so we should be okay.” She said, praying that was the case. She didn’t need to deal with more questions…

Orion didn’t realize that they had arrived at Skylar’s until he heard the passenger side door being opened. He perked up immediately, realizing it was Skylar opening the door for him. He had blacked out? That seemed a bit over the top, considering Orion was plenty familiar with pain. Though he didn’t have a lot of experience with being bitten by a watermelon. His vision was blurry at first and he had to force himself to move so that he could see again. He climbed out of the car, mumbling a “Thanks” to Skylar and eyeing the slime on the car handle. Despite how fuzzy he felt, his hunter senses were working overtime to keep him aware. He could hear the slime dripping from the handle onto the pavement. “Cool. Cool.” He nodded, following Skylar inside. He remembered her place, almost fondly. It had been at least. At the beginning. He followed behind Skylar, following closely behind to make sure that he didn’t stray anywhere she didn’t want him. He owed that much to her.

When Rio stepped out of the back of the car, Skylar’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. He didn’t look good-- how much had he bled? Looking at the sweatshirt wrapped around his arm, she saw that there was quite a lot of blood. Much more than he’d let on. Oh god. How was he even standing? “Here, wait.” She said, lifting his good arm over her shoulder. He was a little shorter than her, but that made it easier for her to help him up the stairs to her apartment. Just one step at a time. Her keys were already in her hand and she managed to fit them in the lock on the first time. At least she had that going for her right now. Moving inside, she shut the door with her foot before walking Rio over to one of the chairs in the kitchen. “Sit tight, okay. The first aid kit is in the bathroom. Give a shout if you start to feel, um… worse?” She asked before hurrying down the hall.

The second she stepped inside, Skylar let out a shuddering breath, shoulders shaking. Rio had gotten hurt. Rio was badly hurt. This was, this was the first time since the Karkinoid attack on the beach that she’d seen one of her friends get hurt like this. And that had happened far away from her-- she hadn’t fully seen everything that had happened to Remmy. Gripping the basin of the sink, Skylar stared at the drain, trying to steady herself. “This is fine, this is fine, this is fine.” She mumbled to herself. Except none of this felt fine. Splashing some cold water on her face, Skylar looked up in the mirror, catching sight of the exhausted, strained young woman that stared back at her. Had she always looked this tired? Or was this just the toll White Crest had taken on her. She swallowed thickly before grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet. Walking back into the kitchen, she offered a tense smile. “Hey, how are you doing?”

Orion didn’t argue when Skylar stepped in to help guide him into her home. It was pathetic, how he was acting. It was an arm wound, it was hardly anything that serious. It hadn’t even hurt that badly when it first happened, though he may have adrenaline to thank for that. His family would be laughing at him if they knew. Oh god. The thought of his parents reminded him that he was out in public, with a short sleeve shirt on. That wasn’t good. But there was nothing to do about it now. The damage had been done. Skylar had seen them, and Orion needed to figure out what he was going to say when the time came.

He fell into the chair that Skylar offered and rested his injured arm on the kitchen table. After Skylar left, Orion pressed his forehead against the kitchen table and stared at the darkness that remained between himself and the wood. The tear dripped from his eyes before he could think to stop them. It wasn’t much, just a few stray tears. But it was enough to force him to start sniffling and it was enough to embarrass himself to death. He could hear the water running in the bathroom, could hear that Skylar was talking to herself, though he tried to force himself against listening to the words. Eventually, he heard the water stop and Skylar making her way back into the kitchen. When she asked how he was, he raised his good arm up and gave a thumbs up as an answer. When he could manage it, he finally sat back up and looked at Skylar. “I’m super fantastic. I don’t want to get blood on your kitchen.”

When Skylar saw the tears that had trailed down his cheeks, her heart broke for him. He was just as overwhelmed by this as she was, wasn’t he? And there wasn’t anything she could really do to help. “Mhmmmm. Well, do you mind taking the sweatshirt off? I don’t really know about first aid, but I know that you should clean a wound out just so it doesn’t get infected.” She said as she opened up the first aid kit. Her hands were shaking as she undid the latches, but she did her best not to let the slight tremors show. Pulling out a couple alcohol swabs, the neosporin, and a roll of bandages, she set them on the kitchen table and waited for him patiently. Now that they were face to face, she could see that the scars and injuries that covered his skin were more than she’d initially noticed. What… what had happened to him?

Orion immediately used his free hand to wipe away any tears from his face. If he survived today and didn’t die from embarrassment it would be a miracle. “Oh. Right. Of course.” He smiled, slowly unwrapping the sweatshirt from his arm. He grimaced as the blood made it stick to his skin, and he had to peel it from his skin. In hindsight, the wound already seemed to look marginally better than it had when it first happened, a sign that the healing had already started. But this was fine. It was still bad enough that Skylar could treat it, wrap it up and then Orion could leave and no one would be the wiser when the thing healed before the weekend. Especially since he was never leaving the house again without making sure he had a long sleeve shirt under the hoodie. Or two. Once the arm was completely exposed, Orion looked up at the ceiling and shut his eyes. If he didn’t focus on the pain, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly. “I promise I won’t whine too much. Do whatever you need.” He mumbled, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. The alcohol burned like no other, but Orion gritted his teeth and tried not to make a noise. When he felt like he needed a distraction, he spoke. “Can I ask you a question?” He prefaced, before leading into it. “What causes the uh- the slime. Do you always do that? Or does something else cause it?”

Watching as he unwound the sweatshirt back, Skyler winced at the sight of the bite mark-- it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be, though, which was a relief. If it was any worse, she’d insist on driving him to the hospital, or at least urgent care. Taking the alcohol wipes, she began to dab around the wound, cleaning off the blood and doing her best to make the process as quick as possible. She’d seen nurses do things like this before, when her sister had taken a bad spill during cheer practice and had needed to be patched up. “No, no, you’re fine. I’m just sorry that you got hurt.” She said, hoping that talking would help him through the pain. Setting aside the alcohol wipes, she opened the tube of Neosporin and spread a layer on some gauze before pressing it gently over the wound. “Oh. Um,” She hesitated for a moment. She still didn’t trust Rio, not fully. But… how could she really say that when he was here, bleeding in her kitchen, after having been bitten up by some cannibal watermelon? “It happens when I get nervous. Or scared. And when I need to change.” She said, not looking at him as she unwrapped the bandage and began to wind it around his arm.

This was better than going to a hospital, Orion could at least confirm that. They would want to take IV’s and that meant needles in his arms which meant questions. He would take this over that any day. Honestly, the scariest part of today was that Orion dropped the groceries he was supposed to be picking up for his mom. How was he going to explain that? “Thanks, but obviously not your fault. I’m just clumsy.” He shrugged, jumping at a particularly ill placed dab of alcohol that really stung at one of the bite marks. “Sorry, sorry. It just stung.” He listened to Skylar explain the situation to him. Well, the first two definitely made sense. Considering the situation. “Right. That makes sense.” He nodded his head, longer than needed, because he was awkward. “I uh- I read that you can get sick right? If you don’t change?” He asked again. He was genuinely curious, though considering their history maybe this wasn’t the best topic of conversation. “Sorry- sorry. None of my business. We can change the subject.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not anyone’s fault. Except for the crazy guy who was selling evil watermelons.” Skylar said with a shake of her head. Why were those things even out at the farmer’s market anyway? When he jolted at the sting of alcohol, she backed off immediately. But, he seemed okay over all? She continued to clumsily wrap the wound, her fingers unused to the task. Medical stuff wasn’t her forte. If anything, she’d usually been the one receiving treatment. Getting tested by specialists and seeing doctors and having them try and figure out what was wrong with her. When really… the only thing wrong with her was that her parents weren’t telling the truth. At Rio’s question, Skylar’s lips pursed together in a thin line and she focused on tying off the bandage. “Mhm. That’s what happens, apparently.” She said. She didn’t want to think about this right now, but if he was bringing it up… If his research could tell him this much, maybe he could help her figure out a way to be normal. How to undo this… situation.

Skylar brought up a good point. Orion had to wonder how those things showed up at the farmer’s market in the first place. She had to be right- someone brought those things there on purpose. Did someone… grow those things? Had they brought them there with the sole purpose of setting them free on unsuspecting bystanders like Orion and Skylar? And Orion shouldn’t have been unsuspecting- he knows about the supernatural. He should have known about what those things were. If he was a real Scribe, he would have known. Orion understood that look that Skylar had. The two seemed to feel similarly about themselves. The hatred of what they were. He just wished Skylar didn’t feel that way about herself. He would need to do more research. Maybe the more he learned about Selkies, the more he could teach Skylar. In turn she would stop hating what she was. Maybe. “Well… seriously I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. I can help clean up and then I promise to get out of your hair.”

“It’s okay. I’m happy to help, when I can.” Skylar said, gesturing to the sloppily wrapped bandage. “I’m not… good at this kind of first aid stuff, but maybe I should take some classes or something. With how often people are getting hurt, it might not be a bad idea.” She said with a sigh. The adrenaline had faded from her body and it had left her exhausted. Tiredness seeped into her bones and she was on her last legs. Slumping back in her chair, Skylar rested her head in her hands. “You don’t need to do anything, you’re good, honestly. I can get this stuff taken care of by myself.” She said with a weary smile. She’d get it all figured out, she’d handle the mess, and then she’d take a nice long shower and go to bed. It wasn’t even technically night time yet, but she just needed this day to be over.

Orion laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it, “Yeah, well. We shouldn’t have to be good at first aid stuff. If this town would just give us a break every now and again.” His arm still hurt, though he had to admit that it felt better now that it had been cleaned and wasn’t wrapped in a sweatshirt. “But I may be able to show you a few things. I’m not an expert or anything, but my dad’s a doctor. He’s shown me a few things.” Not many things that he ever wanted to see or do again, but the first aid may come in handy. At least long enough to get someone to a hospital. He couldn’t tell if Skyar didn’t want to burden Rio or if she wanted him gone. Rio didn’t blame her of course, it was just hard to tell. He pushed himself up from the kitchen table. “I wouldn’t mind or anything but.. I get it. I can head out.” He stood there for a moment longer. Something puzzled him. She really wasn’t going to ask about the scars? It was driving him crazy, the unknown. Skylar had seen them. What was she thinking? He was heading towards the door, ready to escape when he couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m trying to learn self defense.” The lie came to him way easier than it should have, but then again Rio was also trying to be prepared when it came to stuff like this. “With… this town I thought it would be good. Clearly I’m not very good at it right now.”

“Mm. It’d be nice if it would…” Skylar sighed. “But, it seems like it’s just been one thing after another. First weird blood puddles, then fish rain, then the giant lobsters and the stupid chest on the beach with the eyeball in it. And now endless night time.” She shook her head. How were all of these things that had happened? How were any of these things she’d just said real? Her life had turned into some crazy fantasy novel and she honestly just wanted it to go back to normal. “Really? You don’t need to do that, I might just sign up for like… a Red Cross class or something.” She said, shaking her head. As she slumped back in her chair, Skylar stared listlessly in front of her. She wasn’t actually looking at anything, not intentionally. But, when Rio blurted out words, she realized that it probably looked like she’d been staring at him. At his arms. “Huh? Oh. Okay. That’s cool.” She said, slightly confused by his sudden outburst.

Orion just nodded along as Skylar rattled off each thing that had happened in town just since the beginning of the year. It was a long list… one that he hadn’t realized just how heavy the last few months had been until she listed it all together in one neat bullet pointed sentence. “Wow. Yeah. When you say it that way it almost sounds like the town’s not normal.” He tried for a nervous smile. Considering their situation it wasn’t exactly time for jokes, but Ricky had helped Rio see that some light heartedness was good in dark situations. If only Rio’s jokes didn’t fall so flat so often. He supposed that he lacked the confidence. “I mean I’m obviously not an expert or anything. I’m not a pre-med major like my sister. I mean I was. That was my original plan. But I changed course. Sorry that’s not important.” He shook his head, backtracking, “Red Cross is definitely more qualified to teach you this stuff. But the basics I have down pretty well.” Skylar seemed confused by Rio’s outburst which was… peculiar. Had she really planned on not asking him about it? If so, he had practically outed himself which was embarrassing. “I- uh. Sorry. I just saw you looking and didn’t want you to think that I uh like… did it to myself or something. So… okay. Sorry. I can leave now.”

“Definitely not normal.” Skylar echoed, the joke in his voice lost to her. All of the energy she’d been able to muster had been drained from her in the last hour, which made just sitting up a chore. And it was difficult to try and parse together Rio’s words, even with her hearing aids. “Mhm. I think I’ll look into the Red Cross. Thanks, though.” She said with a small smile. As he continued to talk, Skylar realized that he thought she’d been oggling his arms, staring at him-- she hadn’t meant to. She just hadn’t realized that she was even staring off like that. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m--” She shook her head, “I’m just really tired. I was zoning out there.” As Rio offered to leave, a minor feeling of relief made its way through the haze of exhaustion. “That’d be… for the best.” She said with a nod. The second he left, Skylar flopped down face first in bed. Rolling over, she mumbled into her pillow, “I hate farmers markets.”

#p: alm #p: orion quinn #wickedswriting #chronic illness cw #abuse cw

11 notes · View notes

vore-scientist · 5 years

Text

In Which Sophia Makes Some New Friends

A tale of the Mystic Woods

(read the other stories/comics here, and all posts related to Mystic Woods can be found here)

THIS IS A DIRECT SEQUEL TO THIS STORY

Content warnings: No actual vore in this story, sorry! But discussion of both safe and fatal (I tried to make it humorous/light hearted, it makes sense). Also GT cuddles at the end ;)

---

Sophia paced around Yonah’s desk. After the unfortunate encounter with the meddlesome prince, Yonah had wandered off to get a healing potion. That was fine, while she waited she admired all the little things on the desk, and the books in languages that she had only begun to learn to read, but that someday she would be fluent in.

“Yonah?” came a voice. “Hey Yonah, you there?”

It was a man’s voice, and it was near. Sophia froze and looked around. The mirror, the small mirror on Yonah’s desk! She ran to it, and saw in it the face of what could only be another wizard.

The man had a red and black mustache, kind green eyes, a big floppy wizard’s hat, and beautiful yellow and blue wizard’s robes, which were accented with silver and black. His hands were behind his back and he was looking around expectantly, until he saw Sophia, and he startled, but recovered fast.

“Sayyyyyyy! You’re not Yonah!” said the man, smiling with suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I’m, I’m Princess Sophia of the Kingdom of Orr!” she declared without thinking. Then a terrible thought struck her, what if this man in the mirror was an evil wizard. Those existed! A continent to the west had an entire Society of Wizards who were always up to some evil.

“A princess...” then the man grinned like an idiot, “WAIT A PRINCESS? No shit!”

His face turned away and he shouted at someone out of view, “SHOSH! HEY SHOSH! YONAH WENT AND KIDNAPPED A PRINCESS!”

“HE DID WHAT! YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME MICA!”

“IM SERIOUS COME TO THE MIRROR!”

A moment later a woman, also wearing a wizard’s hat appeared next to Mica and gasped. “oh dear gods that’s a princess alright!” Except for her ruby red lipstick, she had no makeup on, but she had numerous facial piercings. She had wild brown hair and large oval spectacles that made her green-brown eyes appear buggy.

Sophia fidgeted with her gown, she wasn’t some spectacle to be gawked at by whoever these people were. She wished she wasn’t in a blood spattered nightgown. She wished that Yonah was here.

“And who,” said Sophia, as sweet as she could, “are you?”

“Oh how terribly rude of us!” said Mica, still smiling, “I’m Mica, Mica Cohen! And this is Shoshana Jaffe, we’re friends of Yonah and we were hoping to talk to him,”

Sophia was stunned “Yonah has friends!?”

Mica and Shoshana burst out laughing.

“Yes dear girl, he has friends,” said Shoshana, “you can’t stay sane in a prison without them.”

“I’ve been here for two months! How have I not heard of you?” Sophia was planning to chew Yonah out about this when he felt better. What else was he hiding. Probably a lot, wizards liked their secrets... But why would he hide friends from her! How many more friends did he have?

“You mean you’re serious. Yonah hasn’t mentioned us?” Shoshana looked genuinely hurt.

“No! until now I thought he was a sad lonely man!”

The wizards laughed again.

“Well he’s not sad” said Shoshana, “angry more like, but not anymore than your average firewitch.”

“Nor is he really a man, kinda, half a man,” said Mica, thoughtfully.

“Lonely, well now, we wish we could visit more often, he is kinda stuck in one place.”

/Yeah, you can thank my dad for that/ thought Sophia. But thought it was better not to mention Yonah’s semi-house arrest sentence was handed down by her father.

“But now you’re there! This is so wonderful!” said Shoshana with glee, before turning serious, “unless, you’re lying and you’re a giant slayer, disguised as a princess.”

“What?”

“Whose blood are you currently wearing?” she narrowed her eyes.

What an odd way to phrase that, “it’s, well it’s Yonah’s but”

Shoshana raised an eyebrow, something about her presence, even through a mirror grew dark and threatening. Mica remained bright, if scared.

“Um, well you see, there was an incident this morning, with a prince, and…”

She told them what happened. They were a good audience, gasping and cheering at all the right places, and they didn’t interrupt her. Until she got to the part where Yonah ate the prince. They both looked a little green.

“He, ate the prince?” Mica’s voice shook. He and Shoshana exchanged worried looks.

Uh oh. Guess Yonah’s friends didn’t know. Too late now.

“Y-yes, but he spit him out! He ran off after that.” They relaxed, a bit, but continued to look at her suspiciously.

“And then you called” Sophia ended lamely, “that’s it!”

“And the blood?” Shoshana hadn’t noticed that Sophia failed to explain it.

In reality Sophia just forgot.

“Yonah’s… insides got roughed up by the prince’s armor and I ended up in the line of fire when he coughed”

She looked up from her gown to see the two wizard staring past her. Shoshana grinned wickedly.

“Ah, Yonah, Sophia here has been telling us all about your adventure from not moments ago!”

/“SHE WHAT!”/ cried Yonah. Except, as the words made it to his lips a stabbing pain in his throat stopped him, closing his airways as he coughed himself catatonic. So instead he just sat down and stared at the mirror through a slightly teary haze.

“Yonah, this young woman says that you’re a man-eating giant now! Can you lend credence to this? Has our Yonah truly become the monster that the professors said he would? Yonah, eater of men, kidnapper of princesses!” the sarcasm heavy in Shoshana’s voice.

No. no no no no no. no NO. This was not happening. This day was so crappy to begin with.

“He’s not denying it, so it must be true!” Mica said, matter a factly.

This wasn’t at all how he expected this to go down. He had kept his instances of “man-eating” hidden from his friends, sure that they would never speak to him again if they found out that he’d ever eaten a human.

But… they weren’t mad.

Didn’t matter. Getting teased about it was almost worse. He rubbed the moisture from his eyes.

“It’s not like you go around hunting humans” said Mica before getting serious “and it’s not like you were keeping this hidden while in school. You weren’t, right? You didn’t eat anyone at school? Was tasting us not enough?”

For the first time, Mica and Shoshana looked genuinely worried. Maybe they HAD been wrong about Yonah.

“No, No. I-I didnt eat anyone.” said Yonah, his voice high and quiet, he looked scared, “typically, giants only eat those who break into their houses, to steal or to kill” he recited. They’d heard the line before.

And regardless, the school was never his home, Of course he wasn’t ever interested in eating his fellow students. Tasting them was another matter, plenty of them smelled incredible. His friends did and still do occasionally allow him a taste, just to tease him.

Up until Sophia he wouldn’t have even dared to eat them! It was too dangerous. A thief he could risk swallowing and spitting back up before they died. Standard procedure to shock and punish them. And a Slayer’s life was forfeit. When they failed and escaped they usually returned and one way or another someone would end up dead.

“What about professors? I feel like some of them deserve to be eaten” Mica continued, all previous concern now gone, he was back to antagonizing.

“N-no, I just said that-“ but apparently Mica wasn’t listening and Yonah’s interjections fell upon uncaring ears.

“Like Professor Thuorbir! What a prick.” said Mica.

“I think he was also a giant slayer!” said Shoshana, her voice containing energy that Mica’s didn’t even come close to, “you should totally eat him, he’s still an asshole. Fucker rejected my research proposal for a third time!”

Gods this was not happening. Yonah put his now burning face into his hands.

“I’m not gonna eat Mr.Thuorbir,” Yonah managed to say through is stupor. Though he silently agreed that the man certainly deserved it, regardless of giant slaying. His head was buzzing.

Mica looked at Shoshana incredulously

“Shosh, that was because your proposal was to research a spell that would have turned the entire Mystic Woods PINK, down to the littlest ant! None of the professors would have approved that” he said before turning to Sophia. “The one before that, she wanted to propose researching a spell that would give the caster dominion over all bees. All of them. Knowing full well that attempting godhood is ILLEGAL.”

Sophia giggled and tried to imagine her father’s kingdom becoming a uniform shade of pink. Oh dear. Maybe she should tell her father, in case Shoshana actually attempted it.

“Well, just because they don’t want an army of bees” said Shoshana, nose in the air, arms crossed. “And it wasn’t a proposal to actually do it, just to design a spell that could.”

“I hate you both, you know that,” said Yonah.

“We know you mean love!” said Shoshana.

“Anyways, it can’t have really happened,” said Shoshana. “Not the way you said it did at the very least.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Yonah.

Mica looked at her in shock, he had clearly believed the story. This wouldn’t be the first time Shoshana had gone along with a ridiculous farce just for the drama of it, but as far as he knew, Yonah hadn’t spoken to Shoshana that recently, not without him present. And Yonah’s pain was real, his embarrassment was real.

Shoshana sighed and rubbed at her glasses.

“You don’t believe-“ Sophia started to say

“Oh I believe he’s eaten people. Comes with the territory at this point. But you’re” she eyed Yonah, “You’re kind of, too small to swallow a person whole, right? You’d have to, oh I don’t know, rip into them with your teeth like they were a prime rib.”

/Ugh, what a great image, thanks Shosh/ thought Yonah.

“It’s not really worth trying to claim the prince survived for our benefit. If eating people was a dealbreaker we wouldn’t be friends with dragons or ogres or that Sphinx that guards the gates to the tunnels of-“

“Yonah did swallow the prince whole!” Sophia wasn’t about to let the wizards think she had lied, “And yes, he’s killed a few assholes that way but he let the prince live! And thieves too! He eats them all the time but always lets them go!” She was almost shouting now, “And! And Yonah swallows me all the time! And if you haven’t noticed, I’m in one piece.”

All eyes were on her and everyone was silent, no one moved or blinked, but Yonah’s face became scarlet. Sophia played with her dress in her hands, and looked up at Yonah.

“Um, was I not supposed to tell them that?” she squeaked out.

“Yonah HaEsh, how could you!?” Shoshana yelled, no longer playful, “eat a princess!? You could kill her! She’s not a knight or a giant slayer! What on earth were you thinking? So we need to rescue her from you?”

Yonah’s embarrassment had turned to anger as his hair started to smoke and the roots glowed orange. He was breathing sharp breaths, seething with anger, until one got caught sending him into a into another coughing fit and onto the floor. Sophia took the opportunity to rectify her mistake.

But there was no need. Shoshana has gone white.

“Oh dear, I think I overdid it!”

“You think? Now Yonah thinks we hate him! Next time don’t seem so serious,” Mica chided her. Shoshana muttered something about wasting her skills and addressed Sophia again.

“But seriously, how!” she said, “How does he physically manage to swallow a person whole? And you said he eats you all the time! How the fuck has he managed to avoid fucking up and killing you or the thieves!” color had returned to her face. No longer bothered by Yonah’s plight, even though she had caused it. Mica shot her a death glare.

“Oh like you weren’t thinking the same thing!”

Mica sighed. “I was but I have the manners not to voice it. We could have called back tomorrow. But it’s too late now.”

They both looked at Sophia expectantly.

“Oh um, well, the thieves he just spits up real quick but myself... Yonah, enchanted me, so that he can’t hurt me” Sophia explained everything as Yonah wheezed in the background, still on the floor, but no longer in danger of coughing up a lung.

Shoshana’s eyes sparkled with greed. Mica was deep in thought.

“Wait are you sure this was an enchantment, because it sounds like curse.” Mica finally said.

“Well,” said Sophia, “the difference is a matter of perspective isn’t it.”

Which was true. One could see gems falling from ones mouth when one talked as a blessing, until everyone in the kingdom wanted you as their piggy bank and your voice was hoarse from being made to talk non stop and the economy is ruined by your gem contributions. Then it’s a curse. Becoming a glass statue would be a curse, but that’s not how it worked.

“That must have been an expensive procedure,” said Mica.

“It was, but he got the money from my dad,” Sophia made the last few words harsh and final. She was still bitter that her dad had instructed and funded Yonah to traumatize her into running back home. Jokes on him, it hadn’t worked and Yonah was her friend now! Showed him!

“He managed to only cast half a curse! He could publish with a trick like that” she said thoughtfully, but with a touch of envy.

“There would be a problem with rational,” Mica pointed out, “he would have to invent a fake reason! He can’t say he did it so he could eat one specific person and not worry about them dying!”

Shoshana nodded and laughed.

“To answer your other question, I don't know how he does it, because you’re right, by all means he shouldn’t. But even he doesn’t know.” Sophia said, the wizards were disappointed. Sophia tried to brighten their mood by suggesting they investigate it. They considered this with great pleasure.

“I’m just unable to picture it,” She was talking to Sophia again. “I-“ she shuddered with wicked glee as she had a new thought. “ Yes, I’d like to see it for myself. I don’t suppose, since it was your idea to research this, that you would be willing to give us a demonstration?”

That surprised both Sophia and Mica, but Mica’s grin said that he liked that idea.

Now it was Sophia’s turn to go red. Sophia rubbed her back of her head. Let someone watch? Having just seen Yonah eat the prince, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Yonah’s friends to see it. Even if they had joked about him giving into his more monstrous heritage. Sophia had seen it. That side of him did exist. But it had been her idea. She regretted planting the idea in their stupid wizard brains.

“I’ll, consider it, but Yonah’s in no condition right now.”

“Oh of course not dear! Just call us or something, there’s not rush,” Shoshana winked, “especially if it’s a regular occurrence, plenty of opportunities to observe.”

Yes, Sophia was realizing that about the thieves as well. She wondered how regular they were too, and if she could get involved in thief catching.

Shaking badly, Yonah got up from the floor, pulling himself up to his stool. His face was very red, and his eyes glistened, tears steaming up his face.

Sophia turned to him “They’re over it, I explained it, you can stop being such a big baby and extinguish yourself”

Yonah glared at her but his head stopped smoldering and his eyes were back to brown.

“I think,” he wheezed, “I think I need to lie down, let the healing drought actually take effect.”

“Yonah darling you do look awful, we’ll get out of your hair, but don’t think we are done talking about this! Next time I expect a demonstration!” said Shoshana “goodbye Princess Sophia it was an absolute pleasure meeting your highness!” and before Mica could say a word she waved a hand in front of the mirror, turning it back to a normally mirror.

“Thank you Mirror” Sophia said, placing a hand on the golden edge. It made a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Come on let’s get you to bed,” Sophia looked up at the disheveled and gaunt wizard who picked her up and held her close to his chest as he walked back to his room. The sun had been up for an only hour yet the day felt like it was already over. He needed a nap.

He released Sophia onto the night stand, took off his hat, did not take off his slightly blood stained night robe, and collapsed face forward on the bed, breathing heavily.

Sophia sighed and climbed down the nightstand and using the still loose bed sheets, climbed onto the bed and onto Yonah. He didn’t protest, or make any sign that he knew she was there, but he had to know.

“Hey, you did good today, and your friends still love you, and I’m still your friend. I don’t think you made friends with that prince but he seemed like a dick so who cares.”

A painful chuckle shook from beneath her as Yonah rolled onto his back, Sophia scrambling to keep up with the rotation. Sitting on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. he brought his hand up to pet Sophia gently. His hand was warm and rough, and Sophia leaned into it, tickling his palm.

She fell asleep like that, Yonah’s warm hand of a weighted blanket.

Yonah had one last panicked thought before sleep took him.

/Had Shosh said DEMONSTRATION?/

[Thanks for reading! please reblog!]

#soft vore #safe vore

28 notes · View notes

xiaomomowrites · 6 years

Text

Submission [Oneshot]

100 Prompts: Submission Attack on Titan | Eremika

Summary: Eren scowled. He would rather get eaten by a fat, ugly four meter class titan than have the entire 104th trainee squad know what was going on in his mind, and in his pants.

Find this story here on Fanfiction.net: {levi-nii-san}

Eren cursed a thousand times under his breath. Mikasa pushed him into submission for the third time this training session. She bent his arm over his head and rested her entire weight onto him, looking him dead in the eyes. She used every inch of her body from her head to her hips (or so, Eren claimed) to restrict any movement.

"Yield." she commanded. Her soft, yet husky voice sent chills down his spine as her hair tickled his face. Her face was merely centimeters from his, and her eyes were cold. She almost seemed bored with their little skirmish. But that was another story.

His eyes shifted to Armin, who's sympathetic countenance told Eren to just give up before he embarrassed himself even more. He looked at Levi who was seemingly indifferent and unsurprised that Jaeger was taken down by the top student from their group yet again. Jean had a disgusted look on his face, and he looked just about ready to jump in there and pull the girl off. To the right, Connie and Sasha were laughing at Eren's clearly distressed state. Really, he looked so anxious.

He wondered when she got this strong.

He always took pride in being the strong one to protect her. He would carry her across rivers to keep that pretty dress of hers dry and clean. He opened cans and bottles for her when she would help his mother cook. He gave her piggy back rides around town when the family would go out. Then, slowly, she became notably stronger than the average girl. She always brought home more wood than he did (much to his mother's delight). Those town bullies made sure to let the entire Shiganshina know Mikasa Ackerman was a beast inside a little girls' body. He wondered when she built the strength to take him down like this.

He wondered when she got this talented.

She always watched him go about doing chores for his mother. She would marvel with great interest about the things he could do that she couldn't. He always seemed to know what he was doing, and she would enjoy just watching him explore their small world. He wondered when she learned how to take an opponent down as easily as this.

He wondered when puberty decided to attack her next.

Last time Eren checked, Mikasa was that small, fragile girl he had rescued. Her long hair concealed some of her face. The dress and scarf she wore always kept her tiny body warm. He wondered when she grew these curves he could so easily feel through their clothing, and the firm layer of muscle that challenged his.

"Eren," her eyebrows met. His focused returned to the girl on top of him. She looked so determined, so focused. He wondered briefly if she was this dominant in bed.

He cursed again, audibly this time, as he felt a familiar throbbing sensation down past his abdomen.

He tried shifting his pelvis to the side, in fear of her finding out. He scowled. He would rather get eaten by a fat, ugly four meter class titan than have the entire 104th trainee squad know what was going on in his mind, and in his pants.

She scowled at his stubbornness.

Why couldn't he just submit?

"Eren." she scolded again sharply and swung her leg over him to hold him down.

"Mikasa, don't-"

As soon as she sat herself down and applied pressure with her hips her eyes widened and her face flushed red.

"Fuck."

In an instant, his eyebrows met and his teeth gritted. He shoved her off to the side and stood up hastily, too fast for Mikasa to react. Eren dusted himself off, eyes focused on the ground as he felt his cheeks get warmer by the second. He muttered a few curses under his breath as his feet began to take him back towards the barracks without permission.

"Jaeger, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Levi snapped. The boy ignored his captain's protests and crude threats, and continued walking towards the building.

Mikasa remained on the floor, not quite sure what just happened. She watched him storm off angrily, afraid to assume she knew exactly why he had lost his composure. Once Eren was out of sight, everyone's eyes turned to her, and she looked up at them, just as confused.

The young soldier cleared her throat and picked herself up off the floor gracefully, brushing the dirt off of her uniform. She kept her head down, her mouth tucked into her scarf. Her whole body felt warm, especially at her ears. She felt an unfamiliar tingling around her lower half, that shot up through her whole body at the thought of him underneath her.

She remembered his eyes boring intensely into hers as he wriggled from beneath her. Her ears only felt warmer at the thought.

The flustered girl shook her head, in hopes that the dirty thoughts would go away. The thought of him laying under her, arms pinned down, had crossed her mind once or twice before. Granted, they'd be under different circumstances, but she never actually anticipated that it would make her feel like that.

She briefly wondered why he had stormed off so angrily though. Was the thought of her in that way really that repulsive?

As Levi dismissed the soldiers for the day, he didn't forget to approach Mikasa, poker faced, and told her, "Tell your boyfriend to keep it in his pants during training."

Mikasa choked on her spit in response.

For the rest of the day, Eren's mind was plagued with images of his best friend in ways he had never imagined before. Mikasa's soft skin, her hot breath, the way her entire body was pressed up against his. Whenever he would close his eyes, he would just see her on top of him, her face so close to his.

He groaned as his pants began to feel a little tight again, unable to shove the thoughts out of his head.

So, of course, the Titan boy's solution was to avoid her for as long as he needed to stop thinking about her in such inappropriate ways. Fortunately, the avoiding her part was easy. But the more he tried to push away the dirty thoughts, the more they came back to hit him in the face like a loaded spring. In addition, the more vivid the images got and the more frequent they came.

It was irritating, how it slowed him down for the rest of the day, as Eren's mind would often wander during the tasks he tried to busy himself with.

He imagined her in the same position, hips straddled across him, arms pinning him down. He clearly pictured her eyes, half-lidded and clouded with lust. He fantasized Mikasa saying his name, breathy like she usually does, as she moves her hips against him.

"Fucking hell," Eren swears, unconcerned with who heard him grumbling to himself in the hallway.

Later at dinner, the atmosphere was full of tension. His fellow soldiers watched as he flinched when Mikasa sat beside him.

"Hey," she greeted quietly. He refused to make eye contact, for he was afraid that engaging in such an intimate act would just elicit those thoughts again.

"Mikasa," he returned the greeting, accepting that there was no way out of this one. If he just got up and left, it would raise suspicion and also probably make her feel like shit. Both of those things did not seem appealing at all.

In theory, dinner could have gone just fine, if she didn't reach across the table to hand Armin the salt, brushing her whole left side against him. Shortly after that, they had both reached for napkins at the same time. Her hand brushed his lightly, enough to send tingles up his arm. He withdrew his hand quickly and muttered a clumsy apology.

If that wasn't bad enough, as soon as Connie sat down to join the group, he decided to berate Eren for his display of weakness earlier today with a crass, "Oi, Eren, how's your ass feeling after getting kicked by Mikasa again?"

Eren growled under his breath at being reminded that everyone knew of the incident, as if it wasn't already plaguing his mind. Armin was studying his best friend, looking for a way to comfort him.

"It's not that bad, Eren," the third musketeer tried, "it was just a dumb sparring match."

When the person in question just nodded lamely, Armin turned to the third member of their trio. Normally she would be trying to comfort Eren as well, but for some reason she remained quiet. And was she…blushing?

"I guess we know who wears the pants," Sasha laughed, reaching up to give Connie a high-five with an obnoxious snigger.

At her comment, the last thread that was holding Eren's sanity together snapped. He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her outside.

"Oi, Jaeger, we were just joking…" they call out as they watch him leave with her.

His steps were quick, taking a few turns around some corridors. She fell behind a few steps as the angry titan shifter dragged her along, and when he finally stopped abruptly, Mikasa almost ran into him. He turned around and stepped dangerously close to her. She swallowed hard; she had never quite seen him this aggressive with her.

"You think it's funny?" he growls. "You laughing like everyone else?"

She wonders for a moment if he's referring to the fact that she did in fact hand him his ass today at training in front of all their friends, or the other unfortunate event that transpired shortly after. Then she remembered how he had never thrown a fit like this before just from losing to her in a sparring match, so it must be the other thing.

The young soldier cleared her throat, and when she met his piercing gaze, Eren's deepest fears from today came true: he was instantly lost in the sea of emotions that her eyes held, and suddenly his mind was off, yet again, imagining her in the most lewd, titillating ways.

"No, Eren." She states firmly, trying to keep her cool. "I wasn't laughing."

Eren took few steps towards her, and she realizes she was backed into a wall. He planted his hands on either side of her, as he felt the familiar sensation in his lower half again at the sight of her trapped between his firm body and the wall.

"Do you have any idea…" he trailed off, her scent making his mind go wild as he pressed closer. "You've been on my mind all damn day, Mikasa."

"Eren…" she managed to murmer, hot and breathy, driving him closer and closer to madness.

His hands closed into fists against the wall and he broke eye contact to bury his head into her neck, feeling her tense up immensely.

"Why don't you push me away?" He asks into her ear as he realizes he might have been overstepping hundreds of lines and boundaries at this point.

Instead , she gently snakes her hand around to the back of his neck, presses her hips against his own (oh, and she feels it again) and tells him, "I know why you were upset this morning."

Eren's eyes snapped back up to hers as his cheeks grew warm. "Are you serious?"

She swallowed a laugh. "Yeah."

This time it was her turn to yield. With a snarl, he closed the distance and kissed her with both passion and gentleness, speaking volumes of his embarrassment and his burning desire to be with her. Mikasa whimpered softly at his force and when she submits to him and circles her arms around his neck, he loses it.

#eremika #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #fanfiction

100 notes · View notes

skia-oura · 6 years

Text

Furry Talk

A/N: Hammered out in about an hour or two after Zoey opened their mouth and this came out.

Ao3

Basically, Bentley gets stuck on homework, and Dipper and Torako take it upon themselves to...help.

Bentley stared at his blank sheet of paper, pencil limp in his hand, then back up at Torako and Dipper’s expectant gazes. “I have no idea what my furry would be. Can we stop. I need to write my final paper, half my grade depends on it.”

Torako groaned and flopped back, splayed across the ground of the living room floor. She did not, Bentley noticed, show her own sketchbook. “This is why we’re figuring out furries! You’re supposed to take a break and have fun, goddammit.”

“My paper,” Bentley said.

“You’ve been staring at your reader for about three hours,” Torako said, “And we’ve been seeing you decline on the essay-writing front for about a week now. Hence the furries.”

“I don’t know furries,” Bentley said. He lived a very deliberate lifestyle of trying to be ignorant of Torako and Dipper’s furry-related shenanigans. So far, ignorance really was bliss.

“We can always figure out what your furry is together,” Dipper said. Bentley raised his eyebrows at Dipper, who was uncharacteristically wearing a lime-green…suit? Bentley didn’t know how to classify it. He did know that he didn’t like the gleam in Dipper’s eyes, or the way his smile edged a little too far at the corners. It was his sneaky smile.

“No,” Bentley said, flat.

Dipper and Torako moaned in unison. Bentley glanced at the time display on the opposite wall—after eleven, he really needed to write that paper—and made a decision. It was probably a decision he would come to regret, but he needed to stop relaxing and get working, and the faster he got this over with the faster he could get his paper done the faster he could lie in bed and think about how much his teacher would hate it. Bentley also knew, from experience, that Torako and Dipper were tenacious little shits who would keep distracting him in the name of relaxation until he gave in. There was no avoiding his fate

Bentley huffed and ruffled his hair. “Fine,” he said. “Just—show me yours, I guess. For reference. You first, Torako.” It would be better to get the more chaotic of the two over and done with, he thought. For his own sake.

Torako sat up in a feat only possible through the power of her impressively toned abdominal muscles. She was beaming. Dipper pouted on the couch next to Bentley, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he clutched his datapad closer, having insisted on ‘newfangled technology’ instead of paper.

“I love you,” Torako said. She lowered her eyelashes and grinned a grin that made Bentley tense in preparation. “Are you ready to see it?”

He took a deep breath, tried—then failed—to relax, and nodded. “Go for it.”

“Right then, drumroll please!”

After a beat of silence, Dipper opened his mouth. A staccato beat of several kinds of drums all at once spilled forward, discordant. Bentley suddenly wondered if he really was going with the more chaotic one; Dipper was the actual demon.

“Knew I could count on you buddy,” Torako said, winking and throwing Dipper a finger gun. “All right, so, my fursona is a…”

Silence. Bentley waited for Torako to speak, then quirked an eyebrow when she didn’t follow up immediately. That seemed to be the cue she was waiting for, because she turned the sketchbook around and thrust it out. Bentley squinted at the black scribbles. It was a lopsided circle on top of another lopsided circle, which had two lines sticking out the bottom and two vaguely triangular shapes sticking out the top.

It was not a tiger, which was kind of surprising but also maybe kind of not, thinking about her sixteenth birthday and how some kid had tried to get her to go out with them using tiger-themed everything. It had not been a great move. “…a…bird?* Bentley said.

“Almost!” Torako said. “It’s a crow! Caw caw, oystershuckers!”

“…not a tiger?” Bentley said, half because he was curious, and half because he suspected it might make her go off into a rant. A crow was horribly benign and he was afraid of whatever monstrosity was in Dipper’s grasp. He would pay for his miscalculation, but only if he didn’t manage to distract them. Asking about the tiger was a good start. Hopefully.

Torako groaned and set the sketchbook down, face-up, on the coffee table. “Ugh, no, the kanji in my name is completely different! Anyways, I’m not a tiger, I’m a crow. Crows are way cooler.”

Bentley opened his mouth to argue that point. He had a whole counterargument based around the inherent strength of tigers versus crows planned out. “My turn!” Dipper said, the sound of his voice momentarily equivalent with the destruction of all of Bentley’s hopes and dreams.

“Okay,” Torako said. She stuck her pencil between her upper lip and her nose. “As long as it’s not a crow. If it’s a tiger, you’re welcome to it, because it’s not my fursona, no matter what Bentley might think.”

Bentley did not actually think her fursona was a tiger, for the record. He didn’t know what her fursona was, but if she wanted to be a crow, she could be a crow. Dipper, on the other hand…

“Ta-dah!” Dipper said, grinning wide and sharp, the tablet shaking a little in his excitement. Bentley stared at the display. Then, he squinted.

“What,” he asked. He couldn’t even regret it, because if he didn’t ask, then Torako would have. Bentley saw no escape. There was no light at the end of the tunnel.

“This is my fursona,” Dipper said. “He’s a cat who’s half demon half angel half ninja—you can tell because of the shuriken on his forehead—and his name is Emperor Kingsly.”

Bentley chanced a glance at Torako. He could swear the gleam in her eyes was actually the reflection of the flames of purgatory. “That’s so creative,” she breathed, dropping the pencil into her waiting hand. Bentley despaired.

“Thank you!” Dipper said. “ He’s the strongest dragon pirate ever, and he can breathe ice as well as fire and his ship is made of gold and—”

Bentley blinked. The colors of the image shifted, but unfortunately not all to something that Bentley could comprehend with his mortal human brain. “D—I, uh, Dipper, what color is…this?”

“The colors should be incredibly clear,” Dipper said, frowning. “I spent a lot of time picking the best colors.”

They’d been sitting down for five minutes. Bentley closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s—okay fine, I understand some of them, but the ones in the feather sticking out of his shuriken aren’t really anything but smell, and something around his left foot is just a vague feeling of…discontent?” That might be just Bentley, but still.

“Disgruntlement,” Torako said, like that changed the meaning of the word significantly. “Tragic backstory?”

“Yes!” Dipper said. “Of course! See, when he was about two months old, his parents were set on fire and even though he tried to save them with his budding samurai skills, he—”

Bentley interrupted. “I thought we were making…fursonas?”

Torako stared at him. “Yes…?”

“I don’t know a lot about fursonas,” Bentley said, “but that is not a fursona.”

Dipper gasped. Torako gasped with him. “How could you!” Dipper said. “You dare you question Lord Sparklecat Emperor Kingsly the Nine-Hundred-and—”

“That’s not—let alone full anything, it’s not even half anything!” Bentley gestured at it, somewhat manically. “There were more than two halves in whatever ridiculous bio you spouted off just now.”

Dipper sniffed and clutched the tablet close to him. “Half-demon half-angel half-ninja half-unicorn half—”

“That makes less sense than his name does,” Bentley groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “And his name makes no sense at all, I just—Emperor Kingsly?”

“Lord Sparklecat Dowager Emperor Kingsly the Nine-Hundred and Fifty-Seventh-and-a-half,” Dipper said, like it was the most mundane, most self-understandable thing. “Didn’t know we had a professional furry critic in here, Mr. ‘I don’t know what my furry is because I’m lame’.”

“Fine,” Bentley hissed, snatching his paper off the table and snapping it to harden so he could draw on it. “I’ll make my own ‘furry’ and it’s going to be better and more logical than yours and—Torako what are you doing.”

“I had to change mine,” Torako said, tongue poking out of her mouth as she drew. “Dipper opened my mind to the possibilities. I needed to do this.”

Bentley closed his eyes. “I don’t want to know,” he said.

“Done!” she said. “It’s a crow mermaid! Except, you know, reversed so that it’s the fish on top!”

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He contemplated how the machinations of the universe had been set against him, to have everything lead up to this moment in time, and many moments like it in the past, and unfortunately many moments yet to come. Bentley considered calling his dad to complain, but then realized that his dad would undoubtedly beg Bentley to send him a copy of Dipper’s fursona so that he could psychoanalyze it, even if only for his own benefit. He’d probably also beg Bentley for his own fursona.

Bentley closed his eyes, and counted to ten.

“Torako, do you take constructive criticism?”

“If it’s constructive, of course,” Torako said.

Bentley exhaled, long and slow.

“So, your fursona reflects you, right? I love the mercrow, or the flying fish, but—but it’s not buff. You’re buff, and that is not a buff fursona,” said Dipper, who was apparently somehow a half-angel half-demon half-ninja half-unicorn who was the strongest dragon pirate ever and could breathe both ice and fire and whose left foot was a color that emanated a vague feeling of disgruntlement.

Torako gasped. Bentley heard the scrape of graphite against paper. “You’re right, it needs abs and biceps,” she said.

Bentley wondered if Professor Lancaster would grant Bentley an extension if he cited roommate insanity.

(he ended up retreating to his room and finishing the paper in a fit of rage-fueled inspiration after Torako’s fursona became an arms dealer—because their arms grew back after becoming sufficiently buff enough to shed, and philanthropy was all about giving people good things, right? Professor Lancaster gave him full marks and mentioned that it was one of the most well-reasoned essays they’d seen in a while.)

#transcendence au #fic #my fic #bentley farkas #torako lam #dipper pines

40 notes · View notes

avneeshkgupta · 3 years

Text

Bad Website List 2021

It's far no mystery that websites are the spine of every commercial enterprise. in case you need your commercial enterprise to flourish on this COVID-19 generation, you’ve were given to have a properly-designed and appealing internet site. because of social distancing and the lockdown, increasingly more inherent clients are looking for products and services on line through the employer’s internet site and portals.

A well-made internet site or an internet web page allow you to establish your commercial enterprise because flawless design creates a top notch affect on your ability customers induces them to take the desired action-sensible versa due to a terrible web site design. commonplace web design or website development mistakes can fast derail your business potentialities even if you installed your first-class efforts. web sites are like a 2d home for a commercial enterprise. A internet site works as your on-line photo and is judged harshly by means of your customers. this is the reason that creating a superb design on your internet site could be very vital. And while you pay attention plenty approximately what to do while designing your internet site. however do you realize what no longer to do? As we are speak me approximately bad website designs, we have to have a have a look at what capabilities make a internet site a bad one:

Not following tendencies

Be unresponsive

Confuse cellular-friendliness

not noted usability

Ditched accessibility

No longer optimized for search engine optimization

Overlooked safety

And now, to present you an idea, we've got mentioned forty bad website design examples that harm many companies. keep away from them while designing your internet site, and also you should have extra achievement in changing leads into your dependable clients.

Here's a list of forty terrible website designs in order to make you pull your hair:

PETER’S BASILICA – VATICAN:

This website has illogical and inappropriate studying areas which makes the readability and accessibility ratio pretty low. also, the UI is poorly designed, making it a bad website design inside the eyes of the crawlers as well as visitors. it's also no longer very responsive, which will increase the browsing time of the customers with out gaining any more records to their necessities. And ready is the maximum disturbing thing when it comes to user experience.

The Glove Club:

This internet site looks ok however with regards to internet design, cinematographic elements are a steeply-priced affair. unfortunately, the abundance of 86f68e4d402306ad3cd330d005134dac pix slows down the loading, and users have to wait to see the content material of the web page. gradual down load pace is a purpose why customers often refuse from browsing similarly. So it turns out that the usage of expressive cinematographic elements doesn’t actually assist, another example of bad web site design.

Adjust:

This website may have a cutting-edge design, first rate user revel in, and nicely-thought-out usability, however the smallest bugs will spoil the whole thing. modify is a case in point. The internet site is top notch and it appears true. however, what does make it a awful web site design is a massive panel that informs about the cookies. It does no longer go away. It sticks all the time, destroying the entire impression and enjoy of the user. it's miles like a sore thumb that keeps hanging in your nerves and distracts interest from the primary purpose of this website.

Hagia Sophia:

The website is ordinary in appears but the hassle is a pop-up. The massive pop-up at the first actual page hides the number one information at the internet site. The website is designed for travelers and may be surfed in more than one languages, however the internet site isn't always properly based, which makes it difficult for customers to navigate. This consumes quite a few time of the users in addition to the crawlers, which in turn will increase your crawling budget giving an extra load in your wallet.

Patimex:

Test the website of the Polish family gasoline producer. The layout and usefulness are quite disturbing. So a touch Satan grilling a sausage is to the factor right here. A navigation menu at the pinnacle and any other one below a bizarre image, three links of different colorations, and even an animated emblem doesn’t really store this internet site. basic, this UI is poorly designed with a purpose to genuinely aggravate a user due to the above bugs, some other instance of horrific web site design.

IBI:

IBI’s authentic internet site could be very close to being called a terrible internet site. but, a few matters maintain it far from being the high-quality. First and essential, it is a video inside the header. although it instantly grabs interest due to its glitch effect, but, this impact ruins the whole lot. It does not undergo any statistics. it's far just a flowery distraction. Secondly, there is no information hierarchy. To push customers down the marketing funnel, you need to lead them. but, right here users are left to themselves. there is no data onwhere to appearance next and wherein to go subsequent?

MINISTRY OF ELECTRONICS AND INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY:

This awful internet site is brightly colourful and informational, which makes it look shiny to the eyes of the users. The stay replace animation on the website hampers the usability and user revel in of the site visitors, making them divert to other structures for the identical information. If that is optimized in an amazing way, the internet site is quite informative and can paintings wonders for website traffic.

Arvanitakis:

This horrific website was already redesigned. over again, this didn’t enhance its looks and value. It has no facts about the services or organisation and nothing about the blessings and traits of its products. best its creators can probable recognize what is the factor of displaying a menu with a stock picture, highlighting popular tags, and developing an additional catalog without a right footer and header. we are able to move forward with out the looks but usability right here makes the difference.

Regal Capital Lenders:

Even though this website is not from 2013, because the above-said Tavern. It feels out of date and a bit lame. Even vivid illustrations and animation do no longer make it better. firstly, the header is just too cartoonish and really a whole lot outdated. even though it features a incredibly meaningful animation, it is nevertheless not convincing. Secondly, the web web page’s subject and surroundings do now not align with the company’s services and brand photograph. It looks as if this terrible internet site is for youngsters, no longer for folks that need a loan. Else, there are issues with the cell model, accessibility, usability, and overall performance as nicely.

Grace Fellowship:

Grace fellowship is a small one-page website based totally on the assignment of assisting the community of their motivational genes. The bad website has decreased content material as compared to other web sites but has too much white space, which gives it a scattered and unprofessional look. The typography of the website may be very terrible in comparison to the general construction of the website. the dearth of records on the page increases the soar-back price and for this reason, users will look for other options.

Toronto Cupcake:

What do you anticipate to look on a webpage that sells cupcakes? usually, such web sites are full of great pics, shining hues, and staggering design factors that trap users into shopping for a few more goodies. but, the owners of this terrible internet site have determined to forget the opportunity to draw new customers thru their net resources. the principle page of Toronto Cupcake is too pale and easy. It doesn’t comprise any useful statistics about the company or the logo. The text inside the footer is just too small to examine and similarly to that, there is a large blank area at the bottom of the page. users will honestly be irritated with the navigation of the internet site and the terrible pleasant of pics. If Toronto Cupcake wants to make its internet site definitely powerful, it should virtually improve its layout and usefulness.

Tavern:

one of the predominant motives why on line homes end up bad web sites is that they stay in the past, like this authentic webpage of a Colorado-primarily based eating place that is still living in 2013. The layout is quiteoutdated. although it has some attractive functions just like the bold, charismatic typeface and a few brutal textures, stillit produces an unfriendly influence. It does now not build believe and credibility, that is a deal-breaker. any other essential flaw is that the internet site isn't always responsive nor cellular-pleasant. it can seem that this fixed boxy format seems desirable on cellphonesbut it isn't always. The enterprise loses a giant proportion of the market simply because of the above motives.

Blue Heaven Cosmetics:

The consumer interface of the internet site is smooth and exciting. on-line users may be impressed by means of its appears. The best purpose which brings this bad internet site here inside the list is the long list of bread crumbs at the pinnacle of the page. It is right to offer beneficial statistics, but it is also really useful to reduce it quick into one of a kind sections, so that you can make it smooth for the users to navigate. It has a name to action button at every level, which makes it appear to be a bit selling type of internet site instead of a simple e-commerce one.

Dom Perignon:

This iconic logo of luxury champagne also hasa lot of flaws. To be more specific, not the product itself but the website that promotes the antique liquids Dom Perignon. This web useful resource has a stylish and fashionable layout, but the principle web page only tells us approximately the face and creative director of the business enterprise, Lenny Kravitz. to check the records about antique wines, users have to indicate their age and region. A key mistake is a form that gives get right of entry to to a part of terrible internet site content material. the overall information about the champagne is available without the age affirmation, but it's miles impossible that once mastering approximately the logo, users will return to the main web page to fill the required shape that gives get entry to to merchandise. This immensely complicates the person path.

Lingscars:

After touchdown on such a horrific website, it's far tough to apprehend whether its layout become chosen deliberately or this is nothing however a fiasco. the colours, textures, animations, and fonts are overly discordant. users are overwhelmed with numerous banners, movies, and links both inside the sidebar and at the page itself. there's certainly no common sense behind the region of not unusual elements just like the icons of social media are within the middle of the principle page, there is a lot of empty space among the content material and footer, while the header is overloaded with photo and textual statistics.

Adam and Everywhere DDB:

Content material-loaded websites are complicated to control. You need to strike a stability among being informative and being organized. As a commonplace mistake, human beings forget this. recall Adam and anywhere DDB and their awful website with visual overload. despite the fact that the net layout is higher, it nonetheless overwhelms. there is an entire bunch of colourful pictures in which each one instructions interest, causing a consistent shift in awareness. Cells are too small that the the front web page appears dense and heavy. additionally, no longer all of them are working. The masonry format may be a life-saver, but it still calls for reducing and sharpening.

Travelocity:

it's far a very exquisite internet site, offering journey tips and applications to the clients who plan to travel around the sector within the most inexpensive feasible ways. The purpose behind the internet site is ideal but is destroyed by means of the development, looks, and layout of the website. the decision to motion menu occupies the entire front web page space of this awful website, hiding the opposite applicable statistics. The icons used are too huge and occupy most of the location for irrelevant information. This wishes to be corrected as a way to make a fulfilling website.

The world’s Worst website:

the arena’s Worst website – that’s the name of a puppy venture of designers who decided to factor out the main layout mistakes to internet site owners and creators round the arena. glaringly, everything is exaggerated right here, and you received’t come upon comparable websites. This horrific web web page collects all possible and not possible mistakes in a single location that's definitely beneficial. The combination of conflicting shades, incompatible fonts, unformatted and unstructured content, underlined links – this isn’t the overall list of things that make this website the worst within the international. no longer to say a navigation menu within the center of the page and primitive animations of various sizes blinking all around the web page! this is the pleasant example of functions no longer to position into your internet site.

The Congress Movie:

The congress film made our list of poorly designed websites due to a whole lot of mistakes. despite the fact that WordPress proudly powers it, it still lacks so much to be called an awesome website. First and predominant, the website became created to get excessive ranks in search engines like google seeing that we can see some unhidden seo text right within the header. Secondly, the layout is lame. there may be no individual, style, or subject matter. 0.33, there is not sufficient content. sooner or later, it does now not have right navigation or seek. In nutshell, the internet site was created not for humans however for search engines like google and yahoo. Google considers such projects as bad websites, so will we.

My US:

This bad internet site has major white spacing problems which carry it to this very list of awful websites. it is full of information but isn't segregated well, which makes it appearance all cluttered and nasty. The typography used at the internet site varies in size and shapes at every degree, makings it confusing for the crawlers while indexing the crucial content material. it's miles advisable to apply heading tags at every stage to assist the bots to move slowly and index your internet site for ranking functions.

The Big Ugly website:

Designers deliberately created the massive unsightly internet site to show all the horrors of out of date design and negative usability. this is a exquisite example for those who consider that the relaxation of net assets aren’t unsightly and inconvenient enough to be blanketed on this evaluate. you'll in no way find the navigation here whereas huge and beneficial animations, unappealing fonts, underlined textual content, and banners are everywhere. To reduce an extended story brief, this website is only a mess.

GAO:

That is any other government website in our collection. This time we are going to consciousness on the legitimate website of the U.S. government accountability workplace. It positions itself as a information portal. at the same time as the internet site works for laptop customers, with regards to mobile and pill visitors, it fails for the reason that group has forgotten to make it mobile-pleasant. extra often, it is not even responsive since the two-column structure remains the same irrespective of the screen length. As a result, it's miles a actual nightmare to browse this awful website to your mobile phone. As for accessibility, there are missing opportunity texts, empty hyperlinks, low evaluation, and even suspicious hyperlinks.

Federal Trade Commission:

Apptivation is one of the web agencies that are developing packages for clients. The opposition on this industry is hard therefore, you may’t have enough money to look vintage. but, this is not the case of Apptivation since it seems that the team does no longer observe the trends in any respect. The design is clearly outdated. however, it is fully unacceptable to apply tool mockups that are dated back to 2014 to promote your services. the first impression is ruined, so does the overall one. Ignoring cutting-edge developments can turn any online portfolio into a horrific internet site.

Gates And Fences:

Gates and Fences have been constructed via an over-enthusiastic man or woman who wanted to infuse all the statistics of the world below one roof. it is a website that provides gate constructing and fence constructing services for homes and workplaces. It does now not have a special menu or web page bread crumbs to help the users navigate on the internet site without problems.the main purpose for it being here at the horrific websites list is the immoderate content material on the internet site. The touch information are displayed proper on the top, which hides the call of the website.

Hipmunk:

Hipmunk is a brief one-web page website. it's miles a luxurious journey and logistics business enterprise, providing deals for the excellent hotel, flights, and motors all through travel sessions. The layout is not at par with the others within the marketplace because it showcases the decision to movement form, as soon because the consumer enters the internet site, leaving no space for discovery and expertise the organisation and its services in a real sense. additionally, it has a testimonial phase inside the center of the website, which once more makes it appear like the website is simply specializing in conversion and not on providing relevant data to the customers.

Studiomix:

StudioMix is a medium-sized health club workout website with a uniqueness in San Francisco. What brings it right here in the listing of terrible web sites is the bulky name to movement as well as the tangled footer of the internet site. The design adjustments the whole cause of the internet site as in preference to showcasing it as a fitness know-how-driven platform; it's miles entirely portrayed as an commercial platform. also, regulate to Alt Tags, the content is displayed within the written form below the web page bread crumbs, which makes it appearance awkward in addition to takes away space for essential records.

Stack change:

Stack alternate has an awful start. It states the question and answers of the network on the top of the homepage, which must really be in the understanding or distinctiveness section beneath the web page bread crumbs or menu. As quickly as we scroll down, we see an entirely separate a part of FAQS that long till the cease of the internet site. This awful internet site has a slow loading velocity compared to other web sites, which makes the internet site get better price very excessive.

Sports LED Panels:

The official internet site of the agency that sells sport LED panels appears fairly updated. but, nevertheless, it can’t be referred to as a super website for some actual motives. firstly, there is an excessive amount of interactivity. each detail is rotating, shifting, and flipping. There are even sounds and, the parallax is overly completed. The interface reminds a flash website generation that became popular 10 years in the past. Secondly, the links do now not paintings immediately. now and again you need to click twice or thrice to set off them. Thirdly, there are irregularities within the format. despite the fact that the website appears and works well on small monitors, some flaws make it a awful internet site.

MIT Centre for Advanced Visual Studies Special Collection:

web sites of universities and governments are notoriously well-known for being outdated or the use of design solutions that nobody uses. The respectable website of the MIT middle is a consultant instance horrific web sites. although a few eccentric people may find it amazing because of offbeat answers, nonetheless, in relation to the normal crowd with a quick attention span and choice to find information as speedy as feasible, it is able to become a actual challenge. the primary flaw of this awful website lies in overdoing parallax. The latter is a powerful device in terms of creating an attractive person experience. but, with super strength comes first rate responsibility. And whilst you overdo it, you may grow to be with a bad website and bad user experience.

Industrial Painter:

even though Joomla-stimulated interfaces had been popular a decade ago, nowadays, they are mauvais ton. The actual deal is, this outdated structure makes it difficult to paintings with web sites now not simplest on huge computer systems but also on small monitors which includes mobile phones and drugs. The format stays the same all of the time. The font length isn't always adjusted to small screens, and the evaluation ratio is minimum. even though you may locate facts, nevertheless this isn't the best you expect from a present day internet site.

MGBD Parts and Services:

even though this horrific website seems like a large development to the previous one, the reality is, it’s not. it's miles the same horrible internet site as featured before. pix hurt the eyes. not simplest do they overwhelm right off the bat, however in addition they destroy readability making navigation difficult. Coloring is simply too severe. As for assessment, most people of essential factors like navigation and hyperlinks lack it. To make matters worse, running animation makes it hard to concentrate at the content material.

PNWX:

PNWX is an reliable website with a present day catalog of Pacific Northwest X-Ray Inc. it's miles a real internet site, and it is quite tons alive. even though it is dated returned to 1997, that could be a quite stable age, however it does not summon any appreciate. The deal is when you have a awful internet site, nobody can shop your popularity, even you have the nice builders in the global. even though the homepage functions a search input, classes, navigation, and some beneficial hyperlinks, it still scares away customers rather than luring them in. The most effective way out is to make a complete makeover and enhance consumer enjoy, search engine optimization, and performance.

Gulla’s Arrestling:

With the sector going loopy over police brutalities in certain countries, this bad internet site attracts in brutality in web site design. It looks and feels a long way from expert, and the content material is really below general. it is glaring that besides for the fashion designer, all people knows the importance of a “title” tag in seo. The worst issue is that the registration form for the imminent conference is a PDF. so that you can't edit it online. You want to download it and mail it. And the website does now not have an incorporated charge pathway, because of this you need to make the credit score card bills over a name or the usage of your phone.

University of Advancing Technology:

the moment you pay attention Advancing and era together, you anticipate a website as a way to inspire awe. nicely, some distance from awe, this inspired worry considering the graduates so that it will be made from the college. if you are having access to it from IE then it’s easy to question your internet connection pace. however in reality, it's miles quite ugly. you can hardly ever find any data you are searching out on this horrific website and do no longer be amazed if the home page takes approximately five seconds to start loading.

Paradise with A View:

The pix on their domestic web page are of diverse sizes, and the fonts end up regularly smaller as you scroll down the page. The rainbow colours in each level of the content material do now not assist a great deal either. Flashing texts in peculiar fonts, non-responsive templates and squat navigation alternatives located within the center of the home web page will actually make you rethink what Paradise is meant to look like. while you are about to ebook a vacation your body and mind are crying for some a great deal-wanted peace. however a unmarried visit to the bad website is enough to rob you of your last bit of calmness.

Ugly Tub:

well, as a minimum the call of this internet site sums our views efficiently approximately their format. It’s provokingly random and stressful distribution of statistics will make you believe that a kindergarten kid can absolutely layout a bad website like this. So abnormal and newbie improvement can lead to disasters.

Bolen Report:

there may be a manner right here so as to learn the way antique newspapers have been edited. Or higher yet, what layout designs the information international beginners could have had rejected. Going black and white is also an art, despite the fact that black and white are not taken into consideration as colours. it is the antique Bolen document website constructed on Microsoft FrontPage. as it seems a few human beings genuinely don’t research from their old mistakes.

Rudgwick Steam show:

This you possibly can cross down the course fabric of pinnacle snap shots and net building institutes as a case look at on what significantly must no longer be executed. It’s an acute case of a language barrier, with the least amount of heed paid to all that meets the attention. similar to we have no concept what we're doing on their bad website, they don't have any concept what they may be doing on the internet both.

Cloud9 Walkers:

The worst instance of creativity block may be visible proper on this terrible internet site. including a history picture with a cloudy sky for a website known as cloud nine is certainly terrific. If in any respect including one had been extremely important, because it appears, a smarter, pleasanter image would have changed the sport for the better. Or not, like they say, lots goes into constructing a structure and nearly not anything into breaking one. And this one’s been long broken.

Great Dreams:

This one comes bearing as lousy a layout as you can still imagine, simplest worse. It’s possible they experimented with thoughts whilst growing the website after which left all the ones experiments- like a unmarried photo of a painting, then a small collage of snap shots and paintings, followed with the aid of a massive college of ghastly pics, ending in a sequence of solo photos- once they got bored and dumped the idea on the net for humans to waste their time on when they couldn’t take again theirs.

In nutshell, after going through all of the above mistakes, allow us to take a look at what functions a great website have to have:

Properly Designed and Purposeful

Your web page reflects your enterprise, your products, your offerings, and ultimately your logo

Well Designed and Functional

Your site reflects your company, your products, your services, and ultimately your brand

Easy to Use

Optimized for Mobile

Fresh, Original, Quality Content

Readily accessible contact information and location

Clear calls to action

Optimized for SEO and the Social Web.

#bad websites #bad website examples #bad website list

0 notes

veryangryhedgehog · 6 years

Video

youtube

“Mike Miller’s Second Day”, an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Mike Miller’s second day at St. Adelaide’s School for Gifted Youth opened rather abruptly at approximately 3:30 in the morning. Gradually, a series of bumps and scraping noises jostled him awake. Not that he’d been really that asleep anyway, strange bed and all. Was someone trying to break in? If so, they were being awfully loud about it.

After a minute he rolled out of the small bed, and approached the door. Mike didn’t have anything to defend himself, but he played soccer. He could just kick them. That’s how it worked, right? To his still half-asleep mind, anything was possible.

Mike opened the door an inch and peeked outside. There was someone in the room, fumbling with Doug’s door. He almost went in to tackle the intruder, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he caught the faint glow of white hair. It was Doug who was trying to break into Doug’s room. Wait. That wasn’t right. Mike blinked, trying to wake himself up more.

“...and herd. Seems to make it all just a little bit...” Doug mumbled to himself, fumbling with his key.

“Doug?” Mike asked, opening his door a little more.

Doug turned slowly, the mere quarter revolution almost seeming to make him dizzy. He blinked several times. “Oh, hey Mike,” his words slurred a little. “I... forgot you were here.”

Frowning, Mike took a step towards his roommate. “Dude, are you high?”

“What?” Doug leaned back dramatically, and almost fell over. “No, no. nononono. I’ve just had a rather... shocking evening.” He paused, as if he had just now processed the words that had come out of his mouth. “‘Shocking evening,’ that’s a good one.”

“Are you... sure you’re okay?” Mike asked. He certainly didn’t look okay.

“Oh, yeah.” Doug nodded lazily as he finally managed to get his key into the hole on the doorknob. “‘S nothing I ain’t used to.” The door opened, and Doug almost fell into the room. “Good night.”

Mike bit his lip as Doug’s door closed again. That, to say the least, was weird. He hadn’t really seemed drunk or high. That was... something else. But he shook himself. What Doug got up to was really none of Mike’s business. He was older than him anyway. Mike was concerned, but there was nothing he could do about it right now at 3:30 in the morning. He went back into his room, plopped down on the tiny, hard bed, and tried to go back to sleep.

He maybe got another hour or so of shut-eye before his alarm woke him at seven. Mike had never been able to sleep well in new places, but knowing this didn’t make getting up any easier. Breakfast wasn’t until eight, but Mike wanted to give himself extra time to make sure he wasn’t late. He didn’t need it, because fifteen minutes later, Mike found himself all ready with a lot of time to kill. Eventually he decided to take a walk in order to shake off the weirdness of this morning.

Briefly, Mike considered asking Doug to go with him, but he found his door shut with the light off. He decided that it would probably be best to let him work off whatever he was on earlier. So he passed by Doug’s room and went out into the hallway.

It was cloudy and dark out, he could tell right away from the lack of light in the common room ahead of him. What lovely weather for his first day of class. The common room seemed devoid of life, at least to the point when he reached the stairs. Just then, Jilli unpeeled herself from the shadows in the corner and smiled, waving.

“Good morning, Mi-kun,” her grin widened as an exasperated look crossed Mike’s face. “You’re up early.”

“I don’t sleep well in new places,” he said, a little lamely. “I could say the same for you.”

“I don’t sleep well period.” She laughed, a little bitterly. “Comes from years of 5AM rehearsals, I guess.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “Were they really that early? I mean, I’ve heard some stuff about the idol industry, but that just seems too crazy.”

“No, it’s true. When you’re an idol, you have to live and breathe your work,” she explained. “You start to feel like a singing robot, or a certain voice synthesizer.” They both chuckled a little at that. “And sometimes it gets a little... claustrophobic.”

“How so?”

“Well, the managers and agents can be a little overbearing,” Jilli made a strange face. “Our image is controlled even more so than a lot of pop singers over here. We can’t even have boyfriends. Of course, most of us did anyway, but the pressure and paranoia tend to get to you after a while. I remember a lot of girls having really nasty breakups when their managers found out, or when they couldn’t take the secrecy anymore.”

Shaking his head, Mike’s eyebrows knitted together. “Jeez,” he said. “Sounds really depressing.”

“It is,” she admitted. “But you know, I do really miss it. The singing, I mean, and the performance. I was just about to graduate before my, uh, incident. If I’d been able to hang in just a little longer, I might have been able to become a solo artist.”

“You still could.” Mike smiled. “I haven’t heard you sing, but I’m sure a lot of people would want to hear it.”

Jilli laughed, though there was a hint of sadness behind it. “You’re a sweet kid, Mi-kun,” she patted him on the head. “But, enough about me. It’s almost time for breakfast. Have you seen Doug?” She noticed Mike’s sudden frown immediately.

“He was... out really late last night and, uh, came in a little messed up,” Mike confessed. “I thought it was probably best to just leave him alone.”

“Good call,” Jilli nodded. “It was most likely one of his sessions.”

“Sessions?”

She grimaced. “Yeah, there’s an on-site staff of psychiatrists here.” She paused momentarily as Mike’s face twisted in confusion. “Rich kid school,” was the only explanation she needed to give. “Only the best for our screwy little brains.”

But Mike was still concerned. “So, Doug...”

“I mean, he’s Doug,” she shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never noticed anything explicitly ‘wrong’ with him. But who knows. All I know is that every once in a while, those creepy people in white lab coats come to take him away, and he comes back all fucked up. He’s always back to his annoying self soon enough though.” Jilli tried to appear nonplussed, but Mike could tell that she was worried.

“What can we do to help?”

“Pff, hell if I know,” she said with a hint of frustration. “He never talks about it. Believe me, we’ve all asked. Victor, Sonia, you name it, not a word.” Jilli shook her head. “But if he really needs help, he’ll come to us. Anyway, should we get going? Sometimes they give out donuts to the early kids.”

Unfortunately, there were no donuts on this particular morning, just a large, drab room with many tables of assorted sizes scattered around its area. Metal beams stretched across the high ceiling, casting unnatural half-shadows on the tile floor. The cafeteria was about a third of the way full of students milling about or eating an early breakfast.

From somewhere in the quiet crowd, Sonia stood and waved to the two of them, and Mike followed Jilli over to a round table in a small, out of the way corner. “Good morning, Jilli, Mike,” Sonia beamed. “Is beautiful day, da?” Ah, so that’s where the sun went. Sonia had stolen it all from the sky.

“Beautiful?” Mike glanced out the long, thin windows to the vaguely miserable skyline. “I don’t know about that, but whatever you...” He broke off as he turned back to see that Sonia was no longer looking at him. Instead, her gaze was drifting away towards an empty corner, her eyes glassy, as if trying to see something she couldn’t quite make out. “Uh, Sonia? Are you—?”

“It’s alright, she does that sometimes.” Jilli waved it off. “We told you about it yesterday, didn’t we?”

Mike nodded, remembering. “That’s right, you did. Is she gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” rumbled a deep voice as Gil came up behind them. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Sonia?” He whispered, and her eyes fluttered a bit as she focused again.

“Oh, Gil,” she smiled again. “Good morning. I apologize,” Sonia bowed her head towards Mike and Jilli. “I was just, uh...” she looked confused herself. “Never mind.”

“Clearly, it was a spirit attempting to contact you from beyond the mortal realm.” Gil said sagely, placing himself in the chair next to her with that smooth, nearly catlike way which he did most things. “You must remember that you are most sensitive to these things, my lady. I will do some research in my Tomes of Knowledge and we shall see if we can communicate with it.”

“You really think it’s possible?” Sonia’s eyes widened. “Ooo, I can’t wait! I am wondering what kind of spirit it is? Perhaps a Viking! Great warrior with magic sword!”

Gil nodded. “Indeed. The possibilities are endless.”

Mike couldn’t help noticing how his smile fell half an inch, but at that moment, Jilli turned to him, raising an eyebrow, and they laughed silently as Gil and Sonia kept up their dialogue.

One by one, they went to get breakfast, and Mike couldn’t help noticing the gathering of faceless men and women in lab coats that were surrounding the perimeter of the room. They must have been the psychiatrists that Jilli was talking about. By the time the cafeteria was mostly full, there must have been a good ten to fifteen of them. Mike didn’t like it; they gave him the heebie-jeebies. But none of the others seemed particularly disturbed by their presence, so he tried to ignore the growing feeling of unease in his gut.

Just as Jilli got back to the table with a plateful of fruit and waffles, one of the psychiatrists moved to the platform on the far side of the room. The students quickly fell silent, so much so that you could have heard a pin drop. “And now,” the psychiatrist said, “a word from the Director.”

There was a crackle, and a burst of static that reverberated around the room. Mike looked up to follow the noise, and saw for the first time the speakers perched in the upper corners of the room. A strange noise came through suddenly, like someone clearing their throat, but he couldn’t quite tell because it sounded so distorted.

“Good morning, students. The new semester is here at last.” The voice boomed across the room, altered by static and modulation, but decidedly female. Probably something about its tone and inflections, Mike decided. “To those now joining us, welcome to St. Adelaide’s. To those old faces, welcome back to your home away from home.”

Jilli scoffed, and even Gil rolled his eyes. Sonia, on the other hand, had zoned out again.

Mike didn’t like this. The voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was something about it, something Mike couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were shivers running up and down his spine.

“Remember that you are all the most gifted students in the country, possibly the world, and we look to you all as the hope of the future. And it anyone has any concerns, questions, or snide remarks, feel free to talk to the friendly men and women in lab coats. They are here to help.”

The Director continued on for a few minutes, mentioning a few other events and announcements relevant to the student body at large, before finally wrapping up her address. “Thank you as always for your patience,” she said, “and enjoy your first day of the new semester.”

With another small crackle, the speakers fell silent, and gradually the students began to converse once more. “Well,” Mike muttered, “that wasn’t ominous at all.”

Jilli and Sonia both began to laugh. “Do not worry,” Sonia reassured him. “You will become used to it after a while.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He frowned. “It all seems a little ‘Big Brother’ to me.”

“What sort of daemonic older brother do you have?” Gil asked, looking horrified.

Jilli sighed. “1984, Gil.”

He blinked. “Ah, yes. Of course. My apologies.”

The four continued talking as they ate breakfast, which if Mike was honest, was not very good. The texture of Aunt Marma’s Totally Genuine Maple Syrup™ stuck to the roof of his mouth. Finally, Jilli looked up at the clock and saw the time.

“Well,” she stretched, “first period begins soon. What’ve you got, Mike?”

“Uh...” he pulled out the slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket which had his schedule. “Ugh, Algebra II.”

“What instructor have you been assigned to?” Gil asked.

“Vantas,” Mike added after looking back at the paper.

Gil nodded, a determined expression settling into his pale features. “Then this is a battle we share, my friend. If you would have it, I would accompany you to our battlefield.”

As he blinked, Mike wasn’t sure he’d gotten a word of that. “Uh...”

“He has the same class,” Sonia translated. “He wants to know if you want to walk there together.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Gil bowed his head as he took her hand. “That was my question exactly.”

“Oh, um, sure! Thanks.”

Jilli stood, grabbing her trey. “Well, Sonia and I are off to choir, see you losers later.” She waved. “Oh, and Mike, tell Doug hi for me if you see him, yeah?”

“Will do,” he nodded, standing as well.

“You coming, Sonia?”

“I will catch up with you in few,” she smiled, before beginning to zone out again.

Gil’s gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment before he shook himself. “Come, young apprentice,” he said to Mike, his coat swishing dramatically as he began to walk. “The battle of mathematics awaits us.”

Mike would have probably gotten lost in the crowd had it not been for the fact that Gil stood out like a sore thumb. Students seemed to give him space wherever he walked. He didn’t seem to mind. Gradually, as the crowd broke away into the various directions of their classes, Mike was able to hear himself think again. Gil was silent a few steps ahead of him, seemingly lost in thought. Mike wondered just what went on in his head. He seemed like a really smart guy, so why did he persist in his delusions? Did he honestly believe that he was a warlock with infinite power? Or was there some other reason? Mike didn’t think he had the guts to outright ask him.

“So, Sonia,” he asked instead. That was what guys talked about, right? “Are you two—?”

“Our love transcends time and space,” he intoned. “I have loved her for four-thousand years, and I will love her for four-thousand more.”

“So, it’s complicated, huh?” Mike didn’t know what to say to this guy. He felt like he was stuck in the middle of a role-playing game with method actors.

There was almost no one in the hallway anymore, and Mike was sure he’d seen that motivational cat poster just a second ago. This place was like a maze. “Hey Gil,” he asked. “Are you sure we’re going the right...?”

Gil looked to the left and the right, then abruptly turned on his heel to face Mike. “A warning for you, Michael Miller.” His golden eye almost seemed to freeze Mike in place. “Your wariness of this place is not unwarranted. Don’t ignore your intuition. It may just save your life.” He wasn’t joking. “There are forces at work in this school that will attempt to pull your very being apart. I’ve been affected by it, Sonia, that ignoramus you call a roommate, all of us have. If I were you, I’d watch where you step.” It was not a threat, more like a warning. Gil seemed genuinely worried. And for a moment, Mike thought that he might actually understand what he was trying to say.

But the second passed as quickly as it came, and Gild grinned knowingly once more. “Now, on to slay this dragon built of overly complicated equations.” He started walking again, laughing manically, and after hesitating for a moment, Mike followed him.

Needless to say, he didn’t pay any attention during class that day as teachers handed out syllabi and repeated the same information over and over until Mike thought he’d never forget that three absences equaled a tardy. But he had too many questions running through his mind to care about any of that. He had had this lingering feeling that something was strange here, off even, except that everyone around him seemed so used to it that he thought he might be the weird one. “Don’t ignore your intuition,” Gill had told him.

But wait, why was he listening to Gil? He was delusional! It was probably just one of his wizard roleplaying things again. Yet something about what he’d said, the look in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Gil had known what he was talking about. That hadn’t been some sort of weird fantasy metaphor, Mike could somehow tell. He was right, something was wrong here, Mike could feel it. And he thought the others could too, even if they didn’t talk about it.

There were so many mysteries, so many questions left unanswered. Mike decided to make a list. That would help him organize his thoughts.

1). Who was the Director? Yes, she was a crazy, modulated voice over a speaker system, but why? Why bother hiding her face and voice from the student body? It certainly made her intimidating and slightly creepy, but wasn’t enough of a reason by itself.

2). The psychiatrists. He didn’t know of any other school that needed ten of them. And the explanation of “rich kid school” simply didn’t cut it. To be honest, they seemed more like a security force than a group of doctors.

3). Why was everyone here so weird? Not just in their personalities, though the school was nearly stranger than a superhero’s rogue’s gallery in that respect. But more so in the way everyone seemed so nonplussed about all of these other questions Mike had. They didn’t care about the psychiatrists, or the Director, or the other host of strange things. Or maybe they were just really good at hiding it. And finally,

4). Doug. What the hell were they doing to him in his “sessions” that made him act like that? He’d hardly been able to walk properly. In addition, though he hadn’t really known him for that long, it seemed entirely out of Doug’s character to not talk to anybody about it. Most importantly, why was everyone not harassing him about it non-stop until he gave in and told them what was going on? That was the only way that they could help him, after all.

Maybe these questions wouldn’t be so confusing after he’d been here for a few months, but to be honest, he didn’t want to become numb to the strangeness like everyone else. He couldn’t handle not knowing these things. And if no one was going to help him, then he guessed that he’d just have to find the answers himself.

Of all the questions he had, one stuck out as the easiest to answer: Doug. He also had the distinct feeling that if he answered this one question, then all the others would begin to fall into place. Like dominos.

The rest of the day passed slower than paint drying, all of the thoughts and confusion cycling through his mind every time he saw a lab coat pass, especially whenever the students turned away from them. Finally, classes were done for the day, the final bell rang, and according to his schedule there was an hour before dinner. So Mike headed back across the snowy path to the dorm. Maybe Doug would be feeling better by now. Either way he needed to drop off his backpack, which was as good an excuse as any.

The light was on in the room, Mike could see it in the wide gap in the bottom of the door from the end of the hallway. At the very least, Doug was up. Mike didn’t know if he had known him for long enough to just knock on his door, but he ended up being lucky. When he pushed open the heavy door, Mike turned to see Doug at the bathroom mirror, trying in vain to smooth down his hair. He hadn’t noticed this morning in the dark, but now Mike saw that Doug’s hair was now even more static-y and gravity-defying than it had been yesterday. His sweatshirt sleeves were pulled up to prevent them getting wet, and Mike couldn’t help noticing a strange, metallic bracelet on his right wrist as it caught the bathroom light.

“Oh, hey Mike,” Doug grinned lazily as he saw him though the mirror. His speech was still a little slow, but he seemed much more normal now. Or at least, normal for Doug anyway. “How was your first day of class? Want to jump off a bridge yet?”

He didn’t even know, but Mike decided not to open that can of worms just yet. Maybe just peek inside the lid. “Almost,” he nodded instead. “Maybe give it another day.” Alright, now was the time. “Hey, so what happened last night? You were in really late.”

Doug paused for a second, before rolling his sleeves back down and turning to properly face Mike. “I’m sure the others told you about my ‘sessions’ right? Jilli, I’m guessing.”

“Two for two.” Mike nodded.

Sighing, Doug shook his head. “Listen,” he began, “the last guy I told even a little about what really goes on in this place, he disappeared. Just gone from the dorm one day and never came back. I don’t want that to happen to you, or any of the others. The only reason I’m even telling you this much is because I know you’ll just keep asking about it if I don’t. You’re that kinda guy, right?”

Mike looked down sheepishly. There went his whole plan down the toilet. “That makes three. But if you tell us, maybe we can help you.”

Much to his surprise, Doug started laughing. Whatever the joke was, Mike didn’t get it. “Your optimism is admirable,” Doug admitted. “But in this case, optimism alone won’t cut it. If I tell you not to go asking questions you’ll probably just do it anyway, so I’ll say this instead: keep your head down, Mike. That’s the only way you’ll get out of this place alive.”

He began to scoot past him towards the door. “Now, I hear that Jilli and the nerds are playing a rousing game of Dungeons and Dragons. So I’m gonna go crash it. If you want to come along, first one in gets to make the wizard cry.”

As he watched Doug wheel himself out of the room, Mike hesitated. That was the second vague warning he’d received today, and Mike wasn’t sure whose advice to follow. Doug told him to keep his head down, but Gil had told him to trust his intuition, which in turn was telling him to start asking questions and solving mysteries.

As much as Doug warned him against it, Mike really wanted to help him, and part of him couldn’t ignore the weirdness of this place. So, okay, he guessed he’d step carefully, but that didn’t mean he had to stop asking questions.

“Yeah,” he grinned at Doug, who was waiting in the doorway. “Let’s do it. I’ve always wanted to make a paladin fall.”

#Ede Valley #Mike Miller #Jilli Nakjima #Sonia Valentina Borozovna #Gil Trenton #The Director #Doug Bailey #'Heelies for his feelies' still gets me every time I think about it #btw the song Doug's always singing is The Scene and Herd by Relient K #It's really good #and may possibly have spoilers

2 notes · View notes

saikostories · 3 years

Text

MHA - In for The Long Haul pt1

His head hurt. He was pretty sure he had a concussion, a mild one, but a concussion nonetheless. He groaned in pain. His arms ached and he wearily sighed when he realized that they were strung up above his head by chains. He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but based on the chafing on his wrists, it had been awhile. He noted that his legs were free, but that hardly did him any good in this position.

He was sitting against a wall made of stones that dug into his back. It was pitch black, so he couldn't make out any details, but the damp chilliness of the air around him made him believe he was underground. There was a throbbing, pulsating buzz that irritated him, but he wasn't sure if that was just from his head or something in the room.

He tried to change positions into something more comfortable, but was pulled back by an onslaught of dizziness. With his head reeling it was almost impossible to think, but he forced himself to breathe and just calm down. If he wanted to get out of this situation he would have to keep his head clear, or as clear as he could. He tried to think about what had happened, but everything was a foggy mess of clipped and hazy images that didn't make sense in the context they appeared in. The last thing he remembered was walking back to the U.A. dorms from his mother's house. He had felt another presence then…nothing. It was fuzzy.

He tried to summon One for All, but an onslaught of dizziness wracked his body, making him want to vomit. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on clearing his head.

His head grew heavy as if lead were pooling inside of it, dragging him down into the void of unconsciousness. The pull was strong and he fought against it, knowing that being caught unaware in this situation would only hurt him in the future. Unfortunately, the concussion was merciless and it ravaged his mind, forcing him into submission. His eyes slid closed and he slumped, embracing the oncoming darkness.

Far too soon, he was jerked awake by a stinging sensation. It wracked his nerves, forcing them into overdrive. His body spasmed, twitching as muscles were forced to expand and contract repeatedly without his consent. In comparison to other types of pain he has endured, this wasn't painful so much as it left a tingling sensation all throughout his body rendering him exhausted and weak. However, as the shock continued it started to fray his nerves raw, leaving him in a numb pain that slowly evolved from bearable to excruciating.

He struggled to breath normally as the shock continued, only managing a few unsteady breathes before gasping in pain.

All too suddenly lights flooded the room, leaving him blind as his eyes forced themselves to adjust to the brightness.

There was still that incessant buzzing sound, but blearily he was able to make out a sickly sweet voice, "Oh, look. He's awake…Ika, you can stop the shock therapy now, there will plenty of time for that later."

All too suddenly the shocks stopped, but the lingering pain and fatigue remained, causing him to pant while taking in harsh breaths of air. He still couldn't see very well, the harsh light sending rivulets of pain through his eyes. Everything was blurry, but he thought he made out two figures standing before him.

Someone forcibly grabbed his chin, turning his face upwards; he opened his eyes as much as he could in order to send a glare at the stranger. With that same sickly sweet voice, she purred, "Hello, Midoriya-kun~." Her eyes were yellow orbs brimming with dark delight. "Now that you're awake, the real fun can begin."

It was her voice, he realized, the chipper tone that promised pain, that sent him on edge more than anything. She sounded too happy, delighted even, to be in her position. And her eyes, they were striking, poised with a playfulness that hid her killer intent. He didn't like the giddiness she expressed and the overall daunting feeling that spread throughout him, but he refused to show his trepidation. He wouldn't break, no matter what they did, he refused.

Inko didn't know what to do. She had sent her baby boy home after he had come to visit for the weekend and the next thing she knew she was getting a phone call asking her the last time she had seen him. That was Monday night though, and it was nearing the weekend.

She sat on her couch, eating away her stress and watching the news. U.A. had tried to keep Izuku's disappearance on the down-low to avoid the press and not instigate the people who took her son. She had been against this in the beginning, wanting everyone out looking for her son, but relented when Aizawa had talked to her about the potential consequences if the public caught wind of this kidnapping.

She wanted to find her son, but the implications that exposing his kidnapping might push the kidnappers to be more drastic sent her thoughts reeling. So she sat watching the news, hoping she would get the phone call telling her they found her son, but it never came.

There was a loud knock at her door. She jumped, then upon realizing what a knock at the door meant, she ran to open the door.

All Might, or rather, Toshinori stood, looking haggard, at her doorstep. He had been coming over more and more lately. Inko knew he felt guilty over her son's disappearance, but she had insisted that it wasn't his fault. And, really, it wasn't. Izuku had been walking home late on Sunday because of her. She had kept him later than she should have and he had decided to walk home, saying he would be fine. He wasn't.

"Don't just stand there. Come in." She ushered him in and he silently obliged. Once he had settled in he looked down ,not able to meet Inko's eyes. Inko's sighed, "Any news?" She knew the answer, but she was still hopeful.

Toshinori met her gaze with a pain riddled look, "...No. We still have no idea as to the whereabouts of young Midoriya."

She nodded sadly, she had been expecting this, but still. She just wanted to know that her baby boy was okay. "Well," She looked at Toshinori, a spark filling her green eyes, "We just need to keep looking. I know my son, and he's a fighter. I bet he's giving those villains that took him a run for their money as we speak." She turned her head and Toshinori could have sworn that he had seen tears glisten at the corner of her eyes.

He nodded, before verbally confirming her words, "I couldn't have said it better myself." He felt as if that was a lame thing to say, but at the moment he felt incredibly lame. In his current condition, there wasn't much he was able to do besides offer comfort.

To say Ochako was worried would be the understatement of the century. She was pacing back and forth in the commons of the dorm, biting her nails, head down, as she tried to stifle her cries.

It had almost been a full week since Midoriya had gone missing and she couldn't stand idle while he was gone. He could be hurt. Her pacing back and forth picked up speed and she started mumbling to herself. It was a habit that she unconsciously started ever since they had learned that Midoriya wasn't just skipping class and no one actually knew where he was. Nobody blamed her for it, they were all equally as worried, save for Bakugou who just seemed angry at his disappearance.

"Uraraka." Iida put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her track, "Maybe you should sit down. We're all worried, but working yourself up over it isn't going to help anyone." He was trying to cover up his own worry over the situation.

"But Iida—" she cried frantically, "What if he's hurt? What if he needs our help?"

Todoroki, who had been quiet thus far, turned to her, "Standing here, pacing and worrying over it isn't going to help him." His voice was deadpan, but there was a shadowed pain in his eyes, "We don't have any leads as to where he could be and we were instructed not to leave campus."

Ochako didn't look convinced, "That didn't stop you when Bakugou was taken—"

Something fierce overtook Todoroki's eyes, "That was different," a look almost akin to shame washed over him, "Yaoyorozu placed a tracker on one of them…We knew the general vicinity of where they had taken him. We know nothing this time." He turned away, obviously upset with the reality of the situation.

"Deku." Ochako looked down sullenly. She knew he was right, there was nothing they could do at the moment.

As much as they wanted to help, there was nothing they could do. For once, they were forced to leave the situation in the hands of the adults. They knew that the clock was ticking though and they didn't know how much time they had left.

***

It had been forty-four days. One month and two weeks. Ochako couldn't believe it had been almost two months since Deku had gone missing, since she had last seen his smiling face. He had told her he would see her later.

Liar.

She shook her head before forcing a smile on her face as she left her dorm room. She sent a quick text to Iida saying she was ready, and would meet him in the commons before they both headed to school.

Even if they were still on U.A. grounds, since Deku had gone missing, the buddy system had been implemented for all students. Most of the students weren't happy with the new rule, but understood the reasoning for it. Still, there were a few students who were against it completely—mainly Bakugou.

Ochako didn't mind it as she liked the company, but she still had moments when she found it annoying. She felt bad whenever she got annoyed with it though, reminding herself why, exactly, they had had to put forth the new rule in the first place: because Deku had gone missing.

She made her way down to the common area to meet Iida. He was waiting, as always, for her by the door. She waved to him when he looked her way, "Hey, Iida, ready to go?" She didn't wait for an answer as she started to walk towards the door.

The weather had been off and on for the past week. Yesterday had been a picture perfect day, with a clear sky and moderate winds. Today, though, the clouds loomed low, a dark presence that made itself known through low rumblings and cold drizzling rain. To Uraraka, today was a perfect representation of her inner mood, dull and lifeless.

Normally, it'd take a good five minutes to reach the school from the dorms, but with the terrible weather they ran the entire way, meaning it only took Iida and Ochako roughly two minutes. While they both had umbrellas, they had somehow managed to get drenched on the way to school. Ochako blamed it on the harsh wind that had whipped the ice-like rain into them. With sullen expressions etched onto their faces, they made their way to class 1-A.

Usually, one would be able to hear the antics coming from class 1-A from all the way down the hall. It was a rowdy class filled with aspiring heroes, so it wasn't uncommon to hear them from down the hall; however, lately, their cheerful banter had withered away until an almost gloomy aura settled in the classroom.

Ochako and Iida were always early, but when they entered the classroom, there were only a handful of students missing. Ochako glanced at Deku's desk, noting how bare and sad it looked. She missed seeing Deku in class, mumbling to himself about hero statistics and, more often than not, scribbling down notes in his messy scrawl. His continued absence was like knife that drove itself into the very core of the class.

"Hey Iida—" Kirishima stopped when he got a good look at them. "Why are you sopping wet? Didn't you bring an umbrella?" Kirishima took in the drenched forms of Iida and Ochako as they stood in the doorway.

"Ah, yes, well you see…" Iida tried, and failed to explain how the wind had rendered their rain gear useless, but Ochako tuned him out. Instead, she opted to quietly take her seat.

She didn't like this. How could anything ever be okay if Deku wasn't around? How could they sit here doing nothing while he was off somewhere, no doubt suffering? She felt a fierce pressure at her eyes. She blinked, willing the tears to go away. Crying wasn't going to help anyone; crying wasn't going to help Deku.

A tap on her shoulder caught her off guard, "Ochako-chan? Are you okay?" Tsuyu's concerned voice brought her back to the present.

She looked up with tears brimming her brown eyes, "Y-yeah, I'm fine…just," her gaze wandered to Deku's desk.

Tsuyu, understanding what she meant, nodded solemnly. "You know the Pro's are doing everything they can to find him." She paused, before affirming her previous statement. "They will find him."

Ochako didn't answer, letting the silence hang between them. She knew the Pro's were working hard to find him, but that wasn't good enough. She didn't need people looking, promising her they would find him. She needed them to find him.

As the rest of the students ambled into class, their usually enthusiastic personalities were subdued. The classroom, no matter how full it was in reality, felt empty.

Aizawa entered the classroom, looking worse for wear, and all eyes turned on him. He was early. That never happened. Especially as of late. Aizawa was known for being late, and ever since he had been assigned to one of the search parties looking for Deku, he had come to class even later than usual. His mood had steadily decreased with his obvious lack of sleep, but today was different. Today, he had shown up five minutes before the last bell rang.

He didn't acknowledge the class, just walked forward with a forced calmness. He was stiff, exhausted, even more so than usual. Everything about his demeanor spelt tension and pain, like a weight had been pressed on him that was dragging him down.

Something wasn't right.

He was facing the class, eyes intent on glaring at everyone in the room.

No one said a word, this was unusual and so unlike their stoic teacher.

"So…" He sighed, it felt so heavy. Everyone waited with baited breath for what he had to say.

Shouta's quirk was best suited best for stealth and search missions. Those types of things never garnered much media attention, which suited him just fine seeing as he hated to be in the public's eye anyhow. The media only ever made things worse. They exploited every piece of information they obtained, and more often than not they ruined things. Whether that be the privacy of someone or the integrity of another, the media held no qualms stomping over people to get a good scoop. It was for that reason that Shoutaconsidered the media to be just as much a villain as a local thief.

Midoriya's disappearance was something that the school had tried to keep under wraps, both for the sake of the boy and for the reputation of U.A. They already had one student kidnapped during the year. The news would have a field day if they found out another had been taken, even if he hadn't been taken from school grounds or during the school week. The media didn't care about those details.

Shoutahad thought that keeping something like this from the media was a recipe for disaster—it was bound to be found eventually. The backlash they would receive for trying to cover it up would surely destroy them.

Naomasa, a detective who was close friends with Toshinori, was able to help them keep this information from privy eyes extremely well. Shoutahad been surprised at how well Naomasa had been able to help the Pro heroes in their search for Midoriya.

If it weren't for him, they never would have gotten the location to where Midoriya was being kept.

They had only sent a few Pro's. Sending too many would have been suspicious. The location had been too public to elicit a large scale investigation. What they had found hadn't been a pretty sight.

Shoutahad seen a lot of gruesome things in his time as a Pro hero; he had seen the worst side of humanity and it sickened him to his core, but he had always been able to maintain his composure. The breaking point for him, though, had been when it was his student who was on the receiving end of this cruelty.

Seeing Midoriya, bloodied and limp, slumped against a wall with his left arm shackled to said wall had shook him to his core. He had looked lifeless, and for a moment, Shoutawondered if he was dead, before he saw the slightest rise in his chest. In that moment, rules be damned, Shoutawanted to kill whoever had dared to harm one of his students.

They—Shoutaand two other lesser known Pro heroes—had been able to secure Midoriya and had called in for backup without any issue; Midoriya had been in a near catatonic state, not reacting to any outside stimulus. It made removing him from the bonds that held him easy, but it was unnerving to think of what that meant for the boy's mental state.

The entire ordeal had left him drained in more ways than one. He dragged a hand down his face, wearily sighing as he realized this was only the beginning.

He took out his cell phone and started making phone calls. Today was going to be a hectic day.

It hurt. Everything hurt, but it was a foggy, far away pain. Wait… pain wasn't right. Ached was more precise, because if he thought about it, this wasn't pain. No, he had endured the monstrosity that was actual, tangible pain and this couldn't hold a candle to that. That had been agony, a sharp, slicing sensation that demanded his attention; Compared to that, this was more like a whimper.

Right now, he felt relatively good. Relative meaning that his mind, at the moment, wasn't trying to split him in two with the searing, stabbing sensation he had grown accustomed to. Nor was his body boiling with a burning fire that he didn't believe actually existed. At the moment, his mind felt listless and his body felt rather dull, as if everything were toned down, submerged in lukewarm water, leaving him with nothin but a far away ache. A low, thrumming ache that kept him grounded whilst simultaneously dragging him into the depths of his own despair.

He heard sounds and felt sensations come into being that felt out of place. Warbled, disjointed, like they were coming from underwater or far away…distorted, but painfully familiar. People were talking, mumbling about something that he felt he should know. He should know, should understand them, but they were too far away and the gray unbridled fog was drowning out their voices, leaving him to feel lost and alone. He didn't like it. He felt trapped, stuck inside the fog of his own muddled self.

He didn't like it.

A ghostly touch wisped throughout his body, sending chills down in tendrils. The phantom chills slowly transformed. An itch raked across his skin that slowly morphed into a burning sensation. The burning was bearable at first, steadily rising in degrees until he was thrashing, trying to escape the fire in his veins. The scorching, flaring pain was becoming too much. The pain tore at him, no longer content with being in the background of his mind. It hurt; it burned. It burned. ItburneditburneditburnedItBurned.

Everything blurred in a haze of ash and smoke. It burned his eyes and he started to wheeze from the embers embedded in his lungs. It wasn't real, he knew that, but he could feel it. He could feel everything. How could this not be real?

He was scrambling in a panicked frenzy, searching for something, anything to ease his worries. He was on fire, he could feel the heat, see the red flames, smell the smoke and ash. He heard the flickering sparks of the flames as they licked at him, savoring his anguish. It was too real to just be in his head. The smoke curled around him like a snake, squeezing the air from his lungs, crushing him. Everything was black; He was trapped by the opaque gaseous substance.

He could hear them, his friends, his mom, everyone, burning. Burning because of him. It was his fault. Hisfaulthisfaulthisfault. They stared at him, those eyes, demonic in their accusations. He thought he knew them. He had thought they were friendly eyes. He thought they were friends…so why? Why was it him who was burning everything? It was a trick, it had to be. There was no way he would do that. Todoroki was his friend. So, why? Why did it hurt so much to see those flames, angry and explosive, protruding from his friend's left side.

Blackness burned the edges of his consciousness. He was scared. He wasn't sure why, but this dreadful feeling of horror flung itself at him. Suddenly he wasn't seeing the fire, he was staring into the faces of his mom, and Uraraka, and Iida, and Toshinori, and… and Todoroki, but they were disfigured.

They were melting from the fire, their skin was wax and their eyes were voids of dole nothing. They were crying out to him, pleading for him to save them. Asking why he let this happen. Why couldn't he save them. They were blaming him. And He…Todoroki was laughing. His face was melting, causing his demented smile to be all the more disturbing. His left side was a burning inferno of white hot flames that whipped around, lashing at everything. Why was he laughing? He thought they were friends, but his wicked grin promised only pain and torment.

Despair. This was despair. Despairdespairdespair.

They were taunting him because it was his fault. He was weak and nothing. He was a failure. He couldn't even save himself, let alone save anyone else. They knew that, used it as leverage to shake his will. They wanted him to break and he was teetering off the edge, holding on with all his strength.

His thoughts rampaged. Too many for him to distinguish, not that he was too keen on listening to his thoughts. As of late they had only served to haunt him, to cause him even more anguish.

It destroyed him.

He wanted to give in, but something kept him from releasing his grip on his sanity. He couldn't give up. There was a reason, but… what was it?

There was a beeping noise, it had been faint, but now it rang clearly. It echoed in his mind and he felt like it was important, like it was signalling something that he should be aware of, but he wasn't. He wasn't aware of anything but his increasing panic. The beeping grew louder, a jarring screech that infiltrated his mind. It drove him crazy. It relentlessly drove into him, hammering through his skull in a steady rhythm.

Once.

Twice.

It continued. His thoughts raced around his mind, entangling it with a ribbon of excruciating thoughts. It sliced his mind like a thin razor, lacerating him with sharp precision. He couldn't bear it any longer. The incessant beeping racked his mind, intermingling with a familiar buzzing noise. It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore. The noise, the haunting jeers of his own subconscious…the fire.

It hurt.

He hurt.

Everything fell apart and his mind ceased all processes; he screamed.

Midoriya Inko was stubborn lady. She was slow to anger and very forgiving. She didn't like confrontation and often became flustered when embarrassed. If there was one thing that Inko was above all else it was a caring mother. She fretted over her only child like he was the last good thing on earth, and to her, he was. There was nothing she wasn't willing to do for him. All she wanted was for him to be happy.

She remembered how ecstatic he had been when he was accepted into U.A. and how nervous she had been because her baby boy was growing up. She recalled how he would always come home with a new injury, but would always be wearing that same bright smile that made her heart melt. As long as he was happy and safe, she could bear with any injuries he wore. However, when she got that phone call, what seemed like ages ago, asking her if she knew the whereabouts of her son, her world came crashing down on her.

She had worried non-stop. Not willing to rest until her son was found. The first week had been the worst. Her nerves had been frayed and she was on end, paranoid about every stray noise she heard. It wasn't healthy, she had known that, and yet, she couldn't have cared less. Her precious baby was gone; nothing else mattered but finding her son.

By the second week, the reality of the situation hit her. Whoever had taken her son had done so with a purpose. If anything, that knowledge seemed to ignite a fire under her and she was determined to do all she could to help aid the heroes in their search for her son.

Her anxiousness only increased as the days did. Still, she never gave up hope that her son would be found. She wouldn't allow herself to even think about any other possibility; Izuku would be fine and all would be right in the world.

It wasn't until a month and a half had passed that her hope had been rewarded. She remembered the moment in a deafening clarity. It had been early morning, before even the sun had risen, when her phone rang. She had answered it, a little annoyed at being woken up at such an early hour. When she heard the voice on the other line she froze. Her eyes went wide, a green pool of unfiltered relief. She nearly dropped the phone in her shock, but caught herself at the last second.

It took her less than five minutes to be ready and racing out the door.

They found him. He's alive.

Those two thoughts consumed her mind the entire way to the hospital. She didn't care about anything else at that moment, only that her precious baby boy had finally been found.

She arrived at the hospital in record time, her appearance was horridly disheveled, but that had hardly mattered at the moment. She needed to see her son.

She had been told he was in surgery—her heart dropped, a cold stone nestling uneasily in the depths of her stomach.

Her baby was in surgery? Why did he need surgery? What was wrong with him? These thoughts had swirled in her head like a cyclone, twisting and growing in strength as all her worry and stress slowly bored upon her. A nurse had to come and calm her down.

After she had calmed down, the nurse had given her an approximation on how long until she would be able to see her son. Inko had nodded her head wordlessly.

She had sat for hours in the waiting room, hoping that she would be able to see her baby boy soon.

When she had finally been allowed to see her son, she had tried to prepare herself for what she would see when she entered the room. She had been told that he had been given Benzo, which was essentially a minor tranquilizer, to help him sleep so she shouldn't expect him to wake up for a while.

Inko wasted no time in entering the room, eyes immediately locking onto her son's form on the bed. She gasped, tears welling at her eyes, at the sight.

Izuku was pale, paler than she had ever seen him, and he looked so much thinner. His right foot was in a cast. She had been told that they had to re-break his ankle to set it correctly, but that it would make a full recovery. Her eyes wandered to his right arm, which had been casted and bound to his chest as to keep it from being jostled. She gulped, remembering how the doctor had told her, following his operation, the condition of his arm—the damage had been extensive. They weren't sure if he would ever be able to regain use of it.

She found a chair and brought it up next to his bed. She sat there for hours until she eventually dozed off.

She had been half asleep in a chair when she heard the scream. It was ragged, coarse, and the utter primitive nature of it sounded so distressed.

The heart monitor was going crazy, signaling to its occupant's elevated heart rate. She was awake in a second, franticly gazing over the form of her son. He looked worse than she had ever seen him before.

His breathing was heavy and labored, even with an oxygen mask on. His eyes were shut tight, as if he were in pain. He was thrashing about as much as his condition allowed, which wasn't really very much. She blinked away her exhaustion, and ran up next to her baby boy. She didn't know what to do. He had been resting peacefully due to the Benzo the nurses had given him earlier, but it had obviously worn off now. It struck a terrible chord with her, seeing her baby look to be in so much pain and her not being able to assuage him.

She was barely aware of the nurses rushing in. It wasn't until one of the nurses escorted her out of the room, telling her in a calm voice that she would be allowed in as soon as they had calmed him down. All Inko could think was that her precious baby was hurting, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do to ease his pain. She felt helpless.

"W-what happened?" she questioned in a panicked voice, pointing at her son's room. She wanted, needed, to know what was going on. After a month of not knowing anything, she felt a inexplicable need to know everything that happened to him now.

The nurse sighed before looking at her with woe filled eyes. She was a young nurse, inexperienced with these kinds of things. She couldn't help but let a little of her own frustrations and sadness, masked as anger, slip through. "The Benzo wore off and he became lucid is my guess. He was having a night terror."

Inko sniffed, a few tears running down her face. She had never been good at controlling her emotions, and now more than ever, she wasn't able to reign in the torrent of emotion that stampeded through her. Her baby had been through so much and now, now his own mind was against him.

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look. "We're going to give him another dose of mild Benzo. Once he's settled down you can go back in to see him." She tried to give Inko a cheerful smile, but it fell when she caught sight of the tears falling down Inko's face.

"I-I feel like a terrible mother…" Inko looked downcast as she said it. She felt horrible. She knew that it wasn't her fault, but Izuku had gone missing on his way back to the dorms from her house. She had kept him later than he was supposed to stay because she missed him and now…now he had had to endure something terrible because of it.

"Hey now," The nurse, Jackie, she realized upon looking at the nurse's name tag, put her hand on Inko's shoulder. "You're here, right now, staying by his side, and he needs that more than anything. He needs to know he's safe, and that there are people he can rely on." She paused shortly, giving Inko time to let her words sink in. "I know you think it's not enough, but it is. Being here for him is going to help him dramatically in a way no medicine will be able to do."

Inko gave Jackie a slight smile before nodding her head. No matter what happened from here on out, she was going to be there for Izuku every step of the way.

Jackie smiled at her once again before going back into Izuku's room to check his vitals now that he was sedated again. Inko didn't like that they had to sedate him, but she was told it was the only way his body would be able to heal. It pained her to know that her baby had been hurt to the point where he needed to be sedated in order to rest. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the extent of the damage done to him. She wasn't sure she would be able to handle it.

When Jackie returned, Inko had calmed herself down a bit and was waiting anxiously outside of Izuku's room. Jackie told her he was resting again, and that she could go back in if she wanted to. That was all the confirmation Inko needed to race into the room and find her spot right beside Izuku's bed.

"The Benzo should last for a few hours, but if you see him stirring at all, just press the call button and someone will come and check up on him." Jackie had taken on a more professional tone now that she had a patient to deal with. Inko nodded mutely as Jackie left to go about her other duties.

In truth, Inko was beyond exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. How could she, knowing her baby was so lost within himself that he needed to be put to sleep with sedatives and medications just for his body to heal properly? He looked so worn down, as if he were dead. That terrified her. She could see the rings, deep and prominent, under his eyes, signaling to his lack of sleep. His pale complexion and atrophied muscles told her that wherever he had been must have been dark and constricting.

Her heart clenched at the thought of how scared he must have been. It was a thought she couldn't bear to think about. How could someone do this to a kid? Her baby was barely even sixteen and already he had faced horrors most heroes only had a glimpse of in their careers. It just wasn't fair.

She heaved a sigh as she rested her face in her hands, trying not to cry. She was vaguely aware of someone entering the room, but didn't pay any mind to them, too lost in her own thoughts to acknowledge the presence of anyone else.

"How is he?" A voice called out to her tentatively. She sighed at the voice before turning to meet the owner.

"He's…" She looked away, not willing to say anything to the boys hero.

Toshinori took Inko's lack of response as a bad sign. He couldn't help but feel as though he had let the boy down. It had taken them almost a month and a half to find him and when they did…the condition he was in was not good. He was stable, but he had been told that the damage was extensive. It had made him physically ill to imagine the state young Midoriya had been in when they got to him.

He stood awkwardly next to Inko. "He looks to be resting nicely now…" he ventured, not sure how else to start a conversation.

Inko finally tore her gaze away from her son and looked at Toshinori with big, sad green eyes that reminded him so much of young Midoriya's eyes. She sighed before turning away from his sight, "Yeah…a little while ago they gave him Benzo."

Toshinori bit back a gasp at that knowledge. He shouldn't have been surprised, after going through such a traumatic ordeal, it would be odd if he didn't need some form of medication to keep him calm and subdued, but for something like this to have happened to young Midoriya, who wasn't even a pro hero yet, it made his heart clench. "I-I…See."

"…Yeah, he," she paused, "He was having a panic attack of some sort. I-I saw him start to heave and I—it was heartbreaking." She started to sob, not able to contain her sorrow when reciting the terror she had seen prior to Toshinori's visit. "He was still asleep, but I could-I could feel it. He was terrified. I don't know what they did to him, but he was scared. He must have been so scared. All alone—"

"Hey," Toshinori cut her off, overwhelmed with a need to calm down the grieving woman, and paralyzed by the knowledge of his mentee's state of mind. "Calm down. You need to breathe, okay?" He put a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Okay…" Inko tried to breathe calmly, but it was hard. She was never one to have good control over her emotions, a trait she had passed down to Izuku. Right now that inability to reign in her feelings was causing her unbearable strife.

They stayed quiet for quite awhile. Listening to the rhythm of the heart monitor as it steadily beeped. She prayed that her son would wake soon, and that the damage that had been done wasn't irreparable.

***

Tenya didn't know what to think.

Midoriya had been found…but it had taken them six weeks to find him. Who knows what could have happened to his friend in that amount of time. Just thinking about it unnerved him; he knew what villain's were capable of, what they could do. His brother was a prime example.

He didn't want to think the same thing could have happened to one of his friends, but here he was, faced with that reality: Midoriya had been captured by villains and had been kept for six weeks. He hadn't been able to do anything. He hated it. He was supposed to be a hero in training, and he had been able to do nothing, absolutely nothing.

He felt useless.

He was shaken from his thoughts when Uraraka tapped him on the shoulder, "Hey, Iida?"

He blinked, in an effort to clear his mind, and regarded her, "Yes, Uraraka?"

"Are you okay? You've been really quiet all day, since homeroom…" She left the implication up in the air.

"I'm fine…" He wanted to believe that what he said was the truth, but the look Uraraka gave him showed that she doubted him, and he couldn't help but agree with her. "It's a lot to take in, is all." This time he wasn't lying. It was a lot lot take in.

The mien of the classroom had been heavy this morning. Everyone had been in a bad mood, it seemed as though the unfavorable weather made its way into the classroom, with the invisible dark cloud that lingered in the room.

Then Aizawa had showed up to class five minutes early, earlier than he had ever been, and the entire class had felt the shift in mood.

Aizawa was never early, and he had never had that look on his face. It was pensive and calculated, with an exhaustion ironed into his sharp eyes, but what had really unsettled the class was the haunted visage his eyes held.

His eyes had bored into everyone, making it clear that he demanded their attention. He had sighed. It was a heavy, exasperated sound. Everyone had waited eagerly, if a bit hesitant for him to say something. When he had, nobody knew what to do. It had shaken everyone to their core.

Midoriya had been found.

There was a beat where no one moved.

All hell broke loose after that.

Everyone had erupted into a frenzy of cheers, until he continued and told them the condition Midoriya was in. The cheerfulness had fizzled out into an expanse of worried questions and solacing remarks. Some had been concerned over Midoriya's condition, while others—mainly Uraraka—had been exuding nothing but positivity. She had been determined that he would be fine, that he was fine, because he was Deku.

Tenya had thought otherwise. Midoriya was tough, he was resilient to just about everything, and Tenya admired that, but six weeks was a long time to be held captive for. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know what had happened to his friend. He wasn't sure he'd be able to take it if something irreparable had been done to him—it would be too similar to his brother.

He shook his head of such thoughts. It wouldn't do him any good to think about something that he didn't yet know the extent of.

He glanced around the lunchroom, and he took in the muted, false cheeriness of the conversations going on around him. Uraraka was engaged in a conversation with Todoroki and Tsuyu, but it seemed strained, like she was trying to reign in her emotions.

Tenya was about to join them when he noticed Monoma sauntering towards them. Uraraka and Todoroki seemed to notice as well, because they halted their conversation, and gave a wary in his direction.

Monoma had his usual smug grin plastered on his face. Everyone at the table—Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki and Tsuyu—tensed, a foreboding aura hanging in the air. "I hear they found your classmate."

Tenya nodded hesitantly. Monoma had never been supportive in the past towards class 1-A, and Tenya didn't trust him. After all, Monoma had been the first person to tell them that the school would have to replace Midoriya's spot in class if he wasn't found soon. While that had been a legitimate concern, Tenya had found that comment to be unwarranted, and thus, as class president, he had reported Monoma to the staff.

Since then, Monoma hadn't bothered them.

Monoma continued, not caring about the warning glare he was being given by Todoroki, "Six weeks is a long time to be held captive, especially by some no-name villains. I would have expected better from someone in class 1-A. Aren't you guys supposed to be the best? I bet if it were someone from class 1-B, then-"

Todoroki cut him off, "Leave." His tone was cutting; the intonation of it was sharp and threatening. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a demand. It was low and menacing, a lingering threat.

Monoma took a step back, but didn't stop, "What? I'm just saying that for someone who is supposed to be-"

Todoroki stood up, a glare with so much heat behind it Tenya could practically feel the fire. His voice had dropped an octave, "Leave. Now. I won't ask again."

Monoma took a step back, a timid look flitted in his eyes, like a wounded animal, before returning to normal. He huffed and turned heel and walked away.

After Monoma left, Todoroki cooled down, and went back to his seat. Tenya turned to face his friends, who all wore the same indignant expression as he did. He couldn't believe that Monoma would stoop so low as to make light of a classmate having been captured for such a long time. Uraraka was fuming, a dangerous visage replaced her usually cheery one.

"How dare he say something like that." Uraraka was trembling slightly from her anger. "Deku…He's- He's strong, stronger than most people in our class…So those villains, they must have been really strong if they were able to keep him for so long. Monoma doesn't-"

"I completely agree with you, Uraraka," Tenya interjected. "Monoma was out of line, and I will talk to the U.A. staff about his inappropriate behavior." In truth, Tenya was livid. Monoma was intolerable, and that type of behavior was unbecoming of a future hero, but as class president, he had a duty to handle these type of situations in an orderly fashion, even if all he wanted to do was smash Monoma's smug face in.

Tsuyu ended up being the one to steer the conversation to something else, "Aizawa said that Midoriya was at the hospital and in stable condition, maybe we could go visit him today after classes- kerro?"

The idea of visiting their friend lightened the mood significantly.

They spent the rest of lunch making plans to meet after school and visit the hospital. They planned on asking Aizawa if he would accompany them seeing as they would need to get a pass to leave campus, and they thought he might want to see Midoriya as well.

Aizawa had been one of the members of the search team that had found him, and they could tell that he was worried. It had showed in the way he held himself all day—always tense, a little more snappish, and noticeably more worn out than usual. As much as Aizawa tried to hide it, Iida, and the rest of class 1-A, could tell that he cared deeply for them.

They had asked if anyone else wanted to visit Midoriya after class with them and everyone—including, surprisingly, Bakugou—had stated that they wanted to visit him.

When they had told Aizawa, he had stated that while he thought it was a good idea for them to visit, having everyone visit him at once might be overbearing, considering the condition he was in. He said they would be better off going in small groups, so as to not overwhelm him.

In the end, they decided that Uraraka, Tenya and Todoroki should be the first to visit him, along with Aizawa who claimed he was only going to make sure they didn't get into any trouble on the way there. Tenya suspected that he was genuinely concerned about Midoriya's condition as well, and probably felt the need to make sure they all made it to the hospital safely, after all, the last time a student was off campus unattended, things didn't go well.

Inko hadn't slept since Izuku's night terror. Everytime she tried all she could see was his convulsing figure that seemed so small, and hear his anguished scream. Her baby was hurting, and there wasn't anything she could do.

That realization just about killed her.

So instead, she sat, and watched his small figure as he slept, chest rising and falling almost hypnotically.

Her emotions were all over the place, an amalgamation of worry and relief. She couldn't quell her worries though. How could she? Her baby had been gone for so long. Six whole weeks. Even if he was back, the damage had been done. She didn't know the extent of it, she had only been informed of his physical condition, but even thinking about it sent her into a frenzy.

In all honesty, she was still coming to terms with the fact that her son had been captured by villains, and that he had been hurt by them to such an extent. This brought on a whole new level of anxiety for her.

It was a lot to take in—she had been so worried before, but now an entirely new kind of worry rolled over her like thunder clouds, drenching her in sorrow and bombarding her with fears.

What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to take this? How was she supposed to help him? There were so many questions she had and so little answers. She was terrified. Things were going to be different now. Things were going to have to change now, because whether she liked it or not, her son had been put through something extremely traumatic, and she didn't know what to do about that.

Inko was in no way a violent person, but she did have a breaking point, and she was at that point. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her son. What had been done to him was unforgivable, and she would do everything in her power to find justice for him.

She took a moment to let her gaze linger over the form of her son, who was resting. He looked peaceful now, but she knew that peace was fake, a peace brought on by the sedatives coursing through his system, and soon he would be brought out from that forced restful slumber. She didn't dare think of the horrors that would now plague his mind when he woke up.

A fierce green fire burned in her eyes at the thought of people hurting her son. She was beyond frustrated with her inability to do anything, but she knew that detective Naomasa was investigating the circumstances surrounding her son's abduction thoroughly. She knew Naomasa would do everything in his power to find Izuku's captors and Inko was grateful for that.

A slight stirring caught her attention. She turned her gaze towards the bed where her son was lying. She saw his facial muscles twitch, a sure sign that he was waking. She held her breath, waiting.

It was foggy. Everything felt dull, muddled even. He could hear voices far away, and a rhythmic beeping noise penetrated the darkness in his mind.

Slowly, as if his senses were just waking up, he started to take in his surroundings. He could smell something sterile, clean…like antiseptic. He could feel a scratchy pressure around his torso. Something pricked his left arm, and he felt…light? He could still feel the throbbing of his injuries, but they had lessened, a stagnant pain that was pushed to the recesses of his mind.

Sluggishly, he tried to open his eyes. It took a lot more effort than he would like to have admitted. He blinked slowly, trying to disperse the darkness his eyes saw.

"I-Izuku?" He heard the familiar, timid voice that unmistakingly belonged to his mother.

He turned to face the direction her voice had come from. He blinked once more in an attempt to dispel the inky blackness.

Everything remained dark.

Fear seized him. Why was it dark? He couldn't see…was this another trick? Something intended to break him? His breathing hitched.

"Izuku, is something wrong?" There was worry in her voice.

This wasn't right. Something was different…

This wasn't right.

He could hear her. He could hear his mom, her voice, her painstakingly familiar voice, but it couldn't really be her, could it?

His eyes were open, but all he saw was a desolate ebony hue. There was no splotchy shapes or blinding light. It was all black.

This was wrong. Everything about this situation screamed wrong, but he couldn't be sure what was wrong. He wasn't safe—he couldn't be—but still…There was no air of danger here. This darkness, it was different from before. It didn't feel forced; this blackness felt too natural, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. How could a blackness feel natural, or unnatural? Black was black, wasn't it? He didn't know, but trying to sort it out in his head just made him more and more panicked.

He racked his brain, pulling at all memories, and vaguely, he recalled something. A snippet, short and disjointed, but there nonetheless.

Darkness. Pain. Alone. All alone; he was all alone. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Everything hurt, shifting positions aggravated the fresh wounds on his back, and staying still caused his thoughts to reign free. Neither option was desirable.

He heard something far away…Voices…Wait voices?Why were there voices…Commands. That came from the door…Crashing. What was going on? This was different. This was too disjointed for it to have been planned. They never let him hear them coming…Not like this.

Suddenly there were more voices, some familiar, others not, but they all seemed so…concerned? Rushed? They were…worried. Why were they worried? Did something happen? What was going on?

Everything happened so fast, and he was in so much pain. He was confused, this wasn't like all the other times…These voices were asking questions. They were frantic almost, not calm and crazy like he was used to. They were asking about him? He didn't know, but he felt strong arms grab him. It grated his injuries, but he felt…safe. They were trying to move him, remove the bonds that held him immobile, but he felt oddly dissociated from it. He couldn't really feel them all that much. It was too obscure.

He heard a voice. It sounded familiar, painstakingly familiar. Who was it? He felt he should know the answer, felt as if it was right in front of him, taunting him, yet it evaded him. It was addressing him.

He was only hazily aware of what was going on around him.

"We've finally found you. You're safe." For the first time since he had been thrown into this endless darkness, he felt a sense of comfort wash over him. He felt safe.

Had that actually happened? Had he been rescued? Why was he still cast in the dark if he had been rescued? Why? If everything was different, if he was really safe, then why was he still in the dark? No...it was a trick. It had to be.

His breathing picked up. The beeping that had been steady, now began to accelerate. His memories were telling him he was safe, but the situation at hand offered nothing absolute, and without that certainty he felt lost. He didn't know what was going on. Panic was starting to set in. A buzzing noise started to ebb its way into his subconscious, its incessant sound bringing forth even more panic.

He heard something shuffle. "Izuku," the voice that sounded so much like his mom sounded closer, practically in front of his face. "I need you to calm down." Her voice was soft, worry etched into it, but grounded. He clung to it, not knowing what else to do—even if it wasn't real—because how could it be? He was still alone, in that awful place—it was soothing, and warm, and familiar.

The droning buzz started to recede, until it had all but faded away entirely.

A hand was placed tentatively on his shoulder, as if asking permission to comfort him. It was an odd sensation, but the firm grip kept him in place, mentally. He felt…safe?

"Izuku." He lifted his gaze towards the sound. It sounded like his mom, it really sounded like her, but it couldn't be…could it?

He thought about it. The forced numbness of his body, the prick in his arm, and the smell—everything was still a tame sensation, as if his body didn't know how to handle them, but it was there—it all reminded him of his many times in the infirmary at U.A. It was warm, too, he noticed for the first time, not the numb chilling coldness of that place. He still couldn't see anything—that was about the only thing familiar about this situation—but it felt wrong, like that shouldn't be the case.

He tried to calm his breathing, knowing that panicking in this situation wasn't going to help him. Panicking never helped anything; it always made things so much worse.

He felt the hand on his shoulder shift, and was reminded that someone was there, someone who sounded so similar to his mom. He swallowed heavily, "M-mom?" His voice sounded hoarse, and it grated on his throat. He hated how desperate his voice sounded, but he needed this voice to be his mom. He really, really needed her to be here with him.

He didn't want to be alone anymore. He couldn't be alone anymore.

There was an intake of breath. He trembled, not sure what that meant. There was no verbal response, instead they pulled him into a crushing hug. He tensed, not used to such a soft touch. He had forgotten what it meant to be touched without pain following. It felt so comforting, something akin to hope flooded his senses. He felt light, not shrouded by this cloak of despair and hopelessness, and this tight embrace was so familiar.

It was painstakingly familiar.

This was his mom.

There was no doubt that this was her.

White hot tears made rivers down his cheeks. He was safe. Safe. The word felt foreign after being in his position, but at that moment, with his mom crushing him with a hug, he didn't think there was a better word for it.

He tried to move his arm—the left one—to return the hug, but found his mobility to be disoriented. There was static coursing through his arm when he tried to move it, pins and needles running rivulets down the appendage.

He settled for smothering his face in her shoulder—or he assumed it was her shoulder.

It was overwhelming. Soon his tears gave way to harsh sobs, but she never lessened her grip on him. She moved a hand to his hair, stroking it and whispering soft reassurances. It made him sob even more.

At that moment, with his mother there, by his side and oh, so real, it didn't even bother him that he couldn't see her, because she was there, and she was real, he could deal with not seeing her right now. She wasn't a cruel trick or an illusion meant to break him. She was corporeal, and tangible, and right there.

She was here, and at that moment, it was enough.

All the fear and the dread that had wrapped around him like a blanket for such a long time was finally falling away, and he felt safe.

He wasn't sure how long they had sat there embracing each other, but too soon, he felt her slowly release her grip.

"Izuku…" He could hear the sorrow in her voice, the worry that practically dripped from his name as she spoke it.

He flinched slightly, and part of him wondered what it was about her tone that had elicited such a response, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he swallowed thickly.

Suddenly, not being able to see became a much bigger problem than he had thought it would be. He hadn't really been able to see much of anything for the past however long, and had grown accustomed to the dark, but this…this was something else entirely.

Before the darkness had been just a means to hurt him; they hadn't blinded him, but they had effectively taken away his sight just the same, only allowing him to see when it suited their needs. Now though, now that darkness should have ebbed away. His eyes should be able to see…something, but the blackness ensued.

"M-mom…Why-" he didn't want to ask it, because he knew the answer, "Why is it so dark?"

He could sense the shift in her facial expression. He couldn't see anything, but he knew her face had morphed from worry to horror.

"W-what do you mean by that? T-the lights are on." He guessed she was gesturing around the room to emphasize how not dark everything was, but he was oblivious to it if that was the case.

Suddenly, Izuku was overwhelmed. It was as if the reality of his lack of sight had finally hit him. He could have just pretended it was extremely dark out, and that was why he couldn't see anything, even if that sounded stupid and implausible, he could have convinced himself that that was what was going on…He had convinced himself of that, but when his mom confirmed that that wasn't the case, well, his flimsy excuse vanished.

He didn't understand why. Why couldn't he see anything? His eyes hadn't been damaged, had they? What had happened to cause this?

He didn't know.

That scared him. A lot.

"I don't- I can't…I don't understand. I can't- It's- Everything is just black," he shuddered, his voice a mixture of terrified and frustrated.

She took a deep breath, and he could feel the sadness attached to it. It was impossible to miss, even if he currently couldn't see. Even now, when he was safe, he was still only causing worry for his mom; it made him nauseous.

"I can't see… I can't see anything," he whispered in a hushed tone that he wasn't even sure his mom could hear it.

"Izuku," her voice sounded strained, as if she couldn't believe it, "What d-do you mean?'

Was his sight just…gone? Was he blind?

He didn't want to even think of that possibility. That wasn't something he was willing to accept. He refused to believe that he would always be lost in this eternal blackness. So, instead of voicing his thoughts, he just went with, "I- I just can't see anything."

He jumped slightly, when he heard the door open, and strained to hear more. He didn't like not being to see this new person. It aggravated him—scared him a little too. How was he supposed to know if they were a threat or not?

Since he had been captured, the use of his eyesight had been limited, but his eyes had still held the capability to see. It had just been cut off. Now though, he should be able to see, there was no outside force stopping him from seeing, and yet, all he saw was an ocean of black. He was drowning in it.

The words 'can't see anything' swirled around Inko's head like a cyclone, washing out every other thought. She didn't understand it. His eyes hadn't appeared glassy or fogged over. They were still that brilliant hue of green, but she had seen no recognition in them—even when expressing unfiltered terror, his eyes hadn't been searching for her in an attempt to seek comfort. They had remained off center. It broke her heart.

The doctor had come into the room, and had addressed Izuku, but she wasn't paying attention much. She hazily noted that the doctor was asking Izuku something to which Izuku hesitantly nodded.

Her mind was still stuck on those last words. Her baby was scared and suffering, and she couldn't even give him a reassuring smile because all he saw was the darkness.

She was pulled from her thoughts when the doctor called her name.

"Y-Yes?" she asked.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The doctor smiled apologetically at her.

She nodded automatically, not really understanding why she had to leave, but one glance at Izuku told her all she needed to know. Even if he couldn't see her, he had turned his face away in shame, something she knew he did when he was trying to hide something from her. She guessed that the doctor had some questions that he didn't want her to know the answers to, and while she was saddened by that, she at least understood.

Izuku was a headstrong person. He didn't like having to rely on others or ask for help. He liked to face things on his own and come up with solutions by himself. She understood that, even if she was against it.

She could never think less of him, and whatever horrors he had faced at the hands of those villains wasn't something he should be ashamed of, but she knew her son. He put too much pressure on himself, acted as if the world was on his shoulders. He cared about everyone else much more than he cared about himself.

Still, it scared her to think that he had willingly pushed her away in order to spare her feelings, because he didn't need to do that. He shouldn't have to do that, but it was a very Izuku-like thing to do. That eased her mind, if only slightly. It showed that the old Izuku was still there, and that, maybe, everything would be okay.

She waited in the hallway, not willing to leave her son's side, even if she couldn't stay in the room. She had to know what the doctor had to say about his eyesight. Of course she was worried about more than just that, but if Izuku was blind, his entire way of life would have to be rearranged; she wouldn't even know how to start with that.

So, she waited—fretted—in the hallway for a long while, until she heard a group of people walking towards her. She looked up and saw Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki and Izuku's homeroom teacher, Aizawa, making their way towards her.

She gave them a soft smile.

Uraraka was the first to say something, "Midoriya-san, why are you waiting out here?" Her face contorted from curiosity to unease, "Is something wrong?"

Inko was shook her head, "No, the doctor is just checking up on him now, and asked me to leave." She gave them a tired smile, hoping to appease their worries.

Uraraka beamed, "Oh, does that mean that Deku's awake?"

Inko nodded. "Yes, he woke up about an hour ago." She sighed heavily, recalling how he had had a near panic attack upon waking, and then an emotional breakdown in her arms. "He's- Well, quite honestly, I don't know how well he's doing. The doctor came in about ten minutes ago, and I haven't gotten word since, but I'm-" She cut herself off, not sure how to express her concerns.

How was she going to tell them that Izuku couldn't see? That he might be blind? She was lost; she didn't know what to do. She could feel the pain in her eyes welling up, but she tried to reign in her emotions.

Uraraka came up and pulled her into a tight embrace, soon followed by Iida and a reluctant Todoroki. No words were said, just a silent comfort that somehow made her feel ten times better.

Izuku had such great friends, everything would be fine, she reasoned, because they would all stick with him through the thick of it. She let herself break down, basking in the comfort Izuku's friends offered.

Aizawa shifted his footing, alerting the group to his presence—which they had forgotten about—and they all turned to meet his gaze. He still looked worn, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "So, Midoriya-san…" he ventured, keeping his cool, but also conveying his worry, "How is he doing? You said he was lucid?"

Inko nodded hesitantly, "Yes, he woke up, but he didn't say much… just…" She lingered on the words, reluctant to tell them the reality of the situation, but knowing they deserved to know it nonetheless.

They waited with bated breath, curious to know what Izuku had said.

She steeled her resolve, and stared them in the eyes with a fear filled gaze. She whispered it, but in the deafening silence, it was heard as loud as a scream.

"He said he couldn't see."

***

"How are you feeling, Midoriya?" The doctor asked in a calm manner

Izuku flinched at the name—he had gotten used to associating that name with pain—but otherwise gave no reaction or inclination of a response. He didn't know how to respond. He wasn't quite sure how he was. He heard the doctor move beside him and tensed. He was alone with this man, someone he didn't know. He knew he had been the one to send his mother off, but that was besides the point; she didn't need to know everything the doctor would need to know. Still, he didn't like that he couldn't even see them. It was unnerving and had him on edge.

"I-I'm fine." He didn't sound fine, and he knew it. His voice grated on him, and it felt as if he had swallowed gravel every time he spoke. It hurt, but it wasn't something that he found to be unbearable.

He heard a scuffle to his left and turned in that general direction. The shift in positions aggravated the wounds on his back, but they were still a dull throb, most likely due to the painkillers that were no doubt running through his system, so he paid it little attention.

"Your injuries aren't bothering you at all?" His voice was jovial, but calm and hinted at a seriousness. In a way, it eased Izuku's mind, if only slightly.

"N-not really…" Izuku gulped, a question weighing on his mind. He needed to know, even if he wouldn't like the answer, this was something he needed to know. "Umm…What-did s-something happen…" He looked down, even if he couldn't see it, he could feel the doctor's eyes on him, "Did something happen to my eyes?"

There was silence for a moment, before he got a response.

"No. Is there a problem with them?" The doctor sounded concerned…and unsure.

Izuku's brain stopped for a moment. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. He didn't expect the doctor to not have the answer.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I see?

"I can't—" he cut himself off, he didn't want to say it, "I can't...see." It felt bitter on his tongue.

He heard shuffling and tensed. Where is he going? Why is he moving? He didn't like not being able to see where people were, it put him on edge.

"Midoriya," the voice was right in front of him, "Can I have you look up?"

He hesitated, startled by the voice being so close to his person without him knowing, before he reluctantly looked up. He didn't know where to hold his gaze, so he just tried his best to guesstimate where he was supposed to be looking.

"He said he couldn't see."

Shouto just stared, unable to process that information. That just wasn't possible. That wasn't fair. Midoriya didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this.

Shouto could recall his first impressions of Midoriya. He hadn't thought much of him. He looked plain and overall unimpressive. Then the sports festival had come around, and Midoriya had proven to be a force to be reckoned with—not only had he proved himself to be strong by making it to the final eight, but he had single handedly saved Shouto from himself. He had shown Shouto that his power was his own, and Shouto had been grateful to him ever since.

In a sense, Midoriya had shown Shouto the light…but now, it seemed as though fate was determined to take that light away, literally.

This wasn't right. How could this even be happening?

He watched in shock as Uraraka and Iida gave Midoriya's mom a hug; he couldn't move, frozen in place by this new knowledge. Wasn't it bad enough that he had been missing for six weeks, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he or anyone else was able to do about it? Hadn't Midoriya suffered enough? On top of that, now he couldn't even see. It was too much, and Shouto needed to breathe.

He had to forcibly draw air into his lungs and just…breathe. He made himself calm down, now was not the time to freak out. Midoriya needed them right now, more than ever, and he needed them to be calm and collected, not a mess.

Shouto felt Aizawa's eyes on him, asking him if he was okay. He wasn't, he really wasn't okay in any sense of the word, but he had to be. For Midoriya. He would keep his cool and be the friend Midoriya needed, because he knew, he knew, if their situations had been swapped, he would do the same.

Midoriya was the type of person to push aside his feelings and fears for others. He wouldn't hesitate to throw himself into the fray if it meant that his friends would be safe. Shouto admired him for that—it took a special kind of person to be able to do all that Midoriya had done—and he strived to be that kind of person.

So, he pulled himself together and waited in earnest with everyone else for the doctor to come out and give them the news.

It was only a few minutes later when Midoriya's door opened and out walked a doctor. He looked around forty years of age with rustic brown hair that looked as though it had been recently cut and piercing brown eyes that hid behind his glasses. He held himself with an air that put Shouto at ease, knowing that Midoriya seemed to be in capable hands.

He turned to address Midoriya's mom.

"H-how is he?" Her voice conveyed all the worry that she was feeling.

The doctor looked at her and smiled gently, in a way, it soothed the entire atmosphere. "Well, I'm going to be calling in a neurologist to take a better look at his eyesight, because I didn't find any physical signs that would suggest blindness. Everything else seems to be in order. His vitals are fine, and he said that the pain is manageable. I feel it would be in his best interest, given the circumstances in which he was admitted, if he were evaluated by a psychologist before we discharge him. We want to make sure he doesn't present a danger to himself or others."

Shouto's breathing hitched. The doctor had just confirmed that Midoriya was blind. Blind. How are we supposed to take this? The thought struck him, and he immediately berated himself for thinking something so selfish. Nevermind them, how was Midoriya supposed to deal with this? How could he be a hero if he was blind? What did this mean for his future?

"What-what exactly is wrong with his eyes? They didn't-they looked fine." Midoriya's mother continued, with fear etched into her voice.

The doctor regarded her with a doleful gaze. "Honestly, I can't say for sure, which is why I'm calling in a friend from the Neurological department. She has more insight on these types of matters. This isn't my are of expertise, and so I don't want to give you any false information. I'll let the neurologist do a more in depth evaluation before we diagnose anything," he sighed, knowing that explanation didn't help.

There was a beat in which no one said anything.

"Can-can we see him, now?" Uraraka asked hopefully.

The doctor turned to her, but addressed everyone, "Yes, you may visit him, but I will advise you to be mindful of his current state. He cannot see, so he may be on edge."

Everyone tensed at that, but nodded all the same.

Shouto took a sharp intake of breath as he took in Midoriya's current state. He looked so thin and pale. His green hair fell limply around his face, lacking any vivacity, and Shouto couldn't be sure, but he thought it looked a little more pale, especially around the roots, than it had been before. He was looking at them with a startled expression, but his gaze was off; he wasn't looking at them, rather in their general direction.

"Deku!" Uraraka had been the first one to call out to their friend, her voice teetering in between excitement to finally see him again and worry at the condition in which he appeared to be in. Midoriya winced at the noise, shifting his gaze a little to appear as though he was looking at her directly—he was still a little off center from her.

"U-Uraraka…?" His reply was timid and broke in several places. His eyes filled with fear for a second, before he was able to mask. "H-how many-who's here?" He bit his lip, a sign of his uncertainness and unease with the situation.

Aizawa spoke up, "Midoriya—" They all stopped when they noticed how Midoriya flinched at the mention of his name.

Midoriya seemed to have noticed how Aizawa—and subsequently everyone else in the room—had stopped after saying his name. He turned away from them, his left hand clenching into a fist. "I-I," he stuttered meekly, "Sorry…"

He sounded frustrated, and Shouto realized how humiliating this must be for him. He had been taken by people—villains—and held captive for a long time. Now, even if he was safe, there were many scars that remained and had yet to heal, both physically and mentally—it was no doubt frustrating for him, having his friends see him in such a state.

"You do not need to apologize," Iida proclaimed a little too forcibly, "We are your friends, and we're all here to support you."

"Iida…" Midoriya said, his tone was steady, if a bit unsure.

"That's right, Deku! We're all here for you." Uraraka exclaimed.

"Iida is right." Shouto refrained from using his name, but he still noticed the slightest change in posture when he had spoken—it was if he were afraid of something…or someone.

Midoriya's breathing hitched. Iida and Uraraka thought it was because he was overwhelmed, but Shouto saw the fear in his eyes when he had spoken. Shouto saw how his demeanor shifted the moment he had spoken—at first it had been shocked, but it quickly morphed into a frightened stance, with tense shoulders and eyes warily looking for something, but seeing nothing.

He barely registered Aizawa giving him a pointed glance, as if to ask if he was going to be okay. He must've looked more startled than the others. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he was feeling at the moment; shock and curiosity were bubbling within him, but more than anything he felt…numb. He felt as though a icy, intangible weight had ghosted itself through him.

"Izuku?" Midoriya's mother, who had been standing behind them, shoved her way past them to get to her son, who was currently on the cusps of having a panic attack.

Midoriya turned his head to the source of his mother's voice. His eyes, though still void of any recognition, were searching frantically for her. His breathing was all over the place, the heart monitor a testament to that fact with its rapid beeping. While Uraraka and Iida tried to calm Midoriya down, Shouto stood frozen in place, after all, he knew why Midoriya was acting like this—they didn't notice it, but he did. Midoriya had been fine, albeit a little tense when they had announced their presence, but as soon as he had spoken, something had changed in Midoriya's demeanor. Gears had shifted, and fear had replaced unsureness.

Fear directed at him.

The thought that his voice had done this, that his mere presence had offset Izuku so much that he needed his mother to calm him down, was too much for him. Midoriya was his friend—his closest friend—so for him to now be…afraid of him. It was difficult to comprehend. Why? Why was there fear in his unfocused gaze? What was it about him that elicited such a response from Midoriya? What did they do to him?

He watched in muted horror as Midoriya's mom calmed him down. It was a little disheartening to watch, Shouto had never seen Midoriya look so…distraught, so broken before. He didn't like it.

He watched, silently, as Midoriya slowly pulled himself together and apologized to them for freaking them out. It was such a Midoriya thing to do, and Shouto found that disturbing—he shouldn't be apologizing to them for anything; rather, they should be apologizing to him for not saving him sooner, for not being there for him when he needed them to be.

Uraraka quickly assured Midoriya that it was fine, and he shouldn't apologize to them. Iida went on about how he should take things slow and recuperate properly. They spoke about miscellaneous things such as the most recent Hero news and class 1-A antics. For a moment, they could all just pretend that Midoriya had been in the hospital for doing something reckless. He was still a bit hesitant, and any unexpected noise sent him on high alert, but he was there, and it was all so vividly real. Shouto watched, he had decided that it would be best if he didn't speak, lest he cause another relapse from his friend. He noticed the odd looks Iida and Uraraka were giving him, but he just shook his head. Midoriya's mother gave him a sad look, but again, he just shook his head and remained silent. Even Midoriya seemed to notice his absent presence, but something kept him from speaking out against it. Though, Shouto knew what it was: fear. So he said nothing and let them have their moment of peace.

Suddenly, Midoriya looked up. His face grew contemplative, "Aizawa-sensei, you-you're here, right?" His voice held a tinge of desperation, as if he was unsure of himself.

Aizawa arched an eyebrow and took a small step forward, "Yes, is there something you wanted to ask?"

His brow scrunched up and nose wrinkled in a way that suggested he was thinking about something important. He then turned to Aizawa, or at least to his general direction, "You…umm, you were the one to…" Realization dawned on his face, before he swallowed thickly, and his expression turned into a more somber one. "I was-how long was I…" his voice tapered off, before he took a deep, controlling breath and regained himself. "How long?"

"You were missing for a total of six weeks." Aizawa stated plainly.

Midoriya gulped, but said nothing for a long while. He blinked slowly, his green eyes looking vacantly ahead. "I-I see…That-that's a long time…" he trailed off, and Shouto wondered what he was thinking. "I'm sorry. I must've worried you guys a lot, huh?" His voice trembled slightly, holding back a myriad of emotions.

Uraraka and Iida halted for a second. Nobody wanted to be reminded of the reality of the situation. Midoriya had been missing for a long time, and they had no idea what had happened to him in that time.

"D-Deku…" Uraraka started, but couldn't finish.

"There's no need to apologize, Mi—" Iida cut himself off, remembering the reaction Midoriya had had to the mention of his own name.

Shouto nodded his head in agreement, but still said nothing. He wasn't willing to break the peace that they had, not with how shaky it was right now.

It wasn't long after that that they had to leave. They had only been there for a short while, but they could tell that Midoriya was tired. His drooping eyes gave them enough indication that he needed rest. They promised to visit him again as soon as possible. He smiled weakly back at them. It wasn't much of a smile, more like a grimace, but they all understood the implications anyway.

Shouto wasn't satisfied with that visit. He had thought seeing Midoriya alive would help stifle the fears that had crept through him since he had gone missing. However, if anything, seeing Midoriya look so lost and vulnerable had shaken him even more than not knowing anything. Then there was the fact that his mere presence had seemed to offset Midoriya, that hadn't sat well with him at all.

He couldn't see anything, and he hated it. Everything was dark, and while he thought that it might be dark out anyway, he hated—hated—not being able to know for sure. It was the uncertainties of the situation that had him on edge all the time, which in turn, only served to exhaust him.

He thought back to earlier today—how much earlier he didn't know, telling time was difficult for him now. His friends had visited, and as thrilling as it had been, it had left him exhausted. Not to mention Todoroki…He had thought he could handle at least hearing his voice, but even that had sent him back to that place. Hearing his voice and not being able to see him, to confirm that he wasn't grinning that maniacal smirk that promised only pain, had upset him more than he thought it would. Todoroki was his friend…and yet, the only thing he could do was stare at his voice in fear, mind consuming him with awful memories of burning fires that weren't real—that had never been real. He could feel the traces of the burns on his skin as they ate away at him only to then be revealed as nothing more than a mirage, an illusion on his mind.

He had been too afraid to say anything to Todoroki, and that made it so much worse. Todoroki was suffering too, and he couldn't even acknowledge his existence because it had been too much for him to handle. How could he do that? What kind of friend did that make him? Why was he so…so weak? Todoroki had been there, had really been there in flesh and blood, and all he could do was ignore him. Todoroki hadn't said anything either, he was probably mad at him, angered that he would react to his voice in such a way…but that wasn't like Todoroki. He wouldn't have done that…he couldn't have done that. He shook his head of the thoughts, not letting himself fall into that hole.

He was alone, alone with his thoughts, which only made matters worse. His mom had left to go get food from the cafeteria, but promised she would be back as soon as she could. That was fine—he wanted his mom to eat. He needed her to be okay. He needed her to take care of herself; he knew she had been beyond worried about him, and that she would forgo her own care in favor of helping him, but he didn't want her to do that. She shouldn't have to stop her life just because his had stopped. Still, he wished there was someone else here, because being all alone in the dark only brought about bad memories—memories he wished to forget all together.

He tried to focus on the heart monitor, something the doctor had said he didn't need any longer, but he had insisted he stay hooked up to it. It was the only thing he could latch onto now, the only thing that kept the buzzing away—when he was left by himself, that was. Without that one tie to reality, he would be lost to the horrors of his subconscious—the horrors of his own memories. The monotonous beeping helped to keep him grounded—helped keep the buzzing away.

He shifted his position so that he was sitting up instead of lying down. It took more effort than he cared to admit, simply because it was still difficult for him to move his left arm. He couldn't feel his right arm, and absentmindedly wondered if it was even still there, but the slight pressure against his chest confirmed that he still did have the appendage, even if he couldn't feel it.

His stomach growled, signalling that he needed to eat, but food was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. The nurses had brought him lunch a short while after his friends had left, but he hadn't touched it yet. He hadn't had the appetite to. He knew he needed to eat, but couldn't bring himself to do it, not unless he was at death's door—he absolutely hated that he thought that way; he knew it was wrong, but couldn't force himself to think differently. He wouldn't—couldn't—do it unless he would physically collapse otherwise. He knew, because it had happened before, and he he hated that he knew that. Even thinking about food made him nauseous, causing his stomach to roil and lash out at him. He thought he might be sick. The thought of food, its acerbic foulness, made him want to heave. He forced himself to not think about it.

The heart monitor sped up.

Do. Not. Think. About. It.

He was safe, not in that place. He didn't have to worry about the food anymore…and yet, it still haunted him. He tried to control his breathing..

Breathe in.

One…

Two…

Breathe out.

He clutched his chest, trying to stifle his beating heart. The heart monitor slowly returned to a normal pace.

One…

Two…

Repeat.

After repeating this process for a good five minutes, Izuku was finally able to calm himself down.

He hated this. Absolutely despised it. He couldn't even think about something as mundane as food without being brought back to that place, that hell. What was wrong with him? Why, if he was safe, did he still feel trapped? Why couldn't he just move on, move past this?

He shuddered, taking in a shaky breath as he calmed himself. He was so frustrated, but working himself up over it wasn't going to help.

He sighed, a deep, morose exhalation.

There was nothing to do here. It was boring and left him with nothing other than to dwell on his thoughts—something he tried not to do nowadays. His thoughts had betrayed him long ago, giving into the nightmare that had been his reality for six weeks, six whole weeks. He had been trapped with them for six weeks. Part of him wondered how he had even managed to survive for so long. Why had they even kept him alive for so long? It didn't make sense. He couldn't dwell on it now. His thoughts wouldn't allow it; they were at war with him as it was. He didn't need to add another enemy to the fray.

What happens now? I can't be a hero-no-I'm still going to be a hero.

How can someone like you be a hero? You can't even feel your arms anymore.

My arms will heal! Recovery girl can- Can what? You have no feeling in your right arm, and you haven't for too long now. Her quirk speeds up the healing process, it can't reverse damage that excessive. Face it, you're just Deku now.

I refuse to believe that!

It's true, and you know it. You can't even see now. How are you supposed to be a hero?

I-I will be a hero. My eyes, they never did anything to them. I know they didn't. So, it has to be something else, it has to be…

Heroes are supposed to save people, you couldn't even save yourself.

I-I…What do you want me to say? That I'm giving up? Because I won't—I can't— I refuse.

There was a knock at the door. It startled Izuku out of his war torn thoughts, for which he was oddly thankful. He hesitantly glanced at where he thought the door was, "C-come in." His voice sounded meek, and he hated it.

There were so many things he hated nowadays.

Mostly, he just hated how weak he had become.

He heard the door open, perking his ears to listen for the footsteps. He heard something click, and a soft hum ran through the room. He figured the lights had been turned on, but his world remained the same: dark and completely void.

Toshinori ran—well, walked at a rather fast pace—through the hospital hallways to young Midoriya's room. He had been here earlier, but had been pulled away by Naomasa earlier to get some food, and review the ongoing investigation. He had learned some pretty interesting, if gruesome, details about Midoriya's time in captivity. None of it sat well with him. Whoever had taken Midoriya had done so with a specific purpose—this hadn't been a crime of opportunity. They had targeted Midoriya.

He was nervous, to say the least. He wasn't sure if Midoriya was even awake yet, and some part of him hoped he was still resting. As much as he wanted to talk to Midoriya, he had seen the state he had been in earlier, and he knew the kid needed rest more than anything right now.

He paused once he was at Midoriya's door, fear having taken him hostage. He wasn't sure if he should disturb him right now, maybe it wasn't a good time. Still, despite his fears and anxieties, Toshinori's curiosity won out. He knocked on the door slightly, he heard a hesitant voice tell him to come in, and pushed the door open.

The room was dark, with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off. Toshinori thought that was odd, considering the kid was definitely awake and lucid. He flipped the light switch and watched as the room was enveloped in the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital. He noticed how Midoriya had gazed slightly to his left and wondered if the boys sight had been impaired at all.

"Young Midoriya—" he stopped mid sentence when he noticed how Midoriya seemed to flinch at the name slightly. His heart dropped for a second. He decided he'd drop the name for now, "—Kid, how are-how are you feeling?"

It physically hurt him to see Midoriya like this, to see him so afraid of…of everything. He had even flinched at his own name, and Toshinori couldn't help but wonder if the flinching had been a conditioned response—something he had learned through…through torture. It wouldn't have surprised him if that was the case, but it was still a heartbreaking sight.

Midoriya, or rather Izuku—he wondered if he would prefer to be called that now, since calling him by his surname seemed to elicit fear—looked to his left, and Toshinori seriously wondered if the kid was seeing clearly—his eyes looked fine, that same brilliant emerald hue, but they weren't focused on anything—before speaking hesitantly. "I-I…" he looked down, as if ashamed of himself, "I don't-I don't…I'm not—" He stammered; his voice was barely a whisper, but Toshinori had heard it s if it were scream.

Toshinori gulped, hurt and pain flashing through his blue eyes before he took a hesitant step forward. Izuku was a headstrong person, he knew, and to see him look so-so defeated physically hurt him. Right now, he looked as broken as he had sounded. He was so small, thin and skeletal, with a pale complexion that spoke of darkness. Toshinori couldn't be sure, because of the bandages wrapped around his torso, but he thought he saw scars, red and healing peeking through from under the hospital garb. His right arm was in a sling; it didn't even twitch when he shifted positions, it just sat there, dead. His eyes though, were the worst. They were ringed by black and blue, signalling his lack of sleep, but what really scared Toshinori was how haunted his green orbs appeared. They no longer held that bright light of determination, instead they were dull, a green pool of murky despair.

"That's-well, that's understandable." He started to walk forward slowly, mindful of the tense posture Izuku was regarding him with. "Afterall, you were put through quite the traumatic—"

"That's not-I…" Izuku seemed at a loss for words, his gaze, which was fixed somewhere above Toshinori's left shoulder, appeared to be so distraught, and all Toshinori wanted to do was give Izuku a hug and tell him that everything would be alright, but he stopped himself. Something told him that physical contact right now would be a bad thing.

Tears formed at the base of Izuku's eyes, washing out the despair with frustration. "I-I need-I mean…I'm a-" he ducked his head again, "I'm a failure."

Toshinori's mind stopped, and his breathing halted. This wasn't something he was prepared for. He suddenly felt very lost. This wasn't supposed to happen—something like should never have happened to Izuku. He didn't deserve this.

"Kid-Izuku, no…" he kept his tone gentle as he put a hand on Izuku's shoulder. The sudden jolt from Izuku surprised him. It had been so forceful, so fear filled. He retracted his hand immediately. "How could you ever, ever, feel like a failure?" He was genuinely curious. He knew enough about trauma victims to know that this wasn't an uncommon theme—feelings of defeat and failure—but Izuku was so determined, so resilient and incredibly brave. He had thought—hoped—that he would think of himself as strong for surviving so long, for continuing to live and not give up, but of course, fate was not kind.

"I am though…a failure. I couldn't," he squeezed his eyes shut, tears running rivers down his face, "I couldn't escape. I was there for so long and I didn't-I couldn't even fight back, couldn't escape. And then-then…" his voice rose, cracking in several places. It was clear to Toshinori that he was at his limit. "I can't even feel my arm anymore…and what's worse-what makes this even worse is…" he lingered. Then turned his gaze to Toshinori, though it was off center, "I can't see." his voice trembled, a tribute to how earth shattering this news was. "How am I-" his voice and resolve broke. He fell into a whisper. "How can I be a hero now?"

A chill spidered its way up his spine and to his neck. The utter defeat and lifelessness in Izuku's tone as he spoke those words would plague his mind. It was only after that chill had passed that the reality of what Izuku had just said sank in. His arm, he couldn't feel it…and his eyes, his eyes could no longer see. Just what the hell had they done to this kid, to his kid?

Toshinori staggered back. He needed to sit down for a minute—though he didn't. If he sat down he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his composure-he would fall apart completely. His mind reeled. He needed time to think, to pull himself together.

"I just-I tried to defy them, but it never—" there was an inhale of breath, "I was just so…so weak."

Toshinori's mind frayed out. All processes stopped. "No," words were leaving his mouth before he had a chance to think about them, "don't ever think that, Izuku. You were-are not weak. They had a plan. This wasn't something done on a whim. They planned accordingly, and didn't give you a chance to fight back. So don't-I don't ever want to hear you saying that you are weak or a failure." His tone was bordering on desperate now. He wanted—needed—Izuku to understand: this wasn't his fault.

"But—" the inflection on his voice spoke volumes for the words that refused to leave his lips. He didn't believe him.

"Izuku," Toshinori had regained himself enough to say this, because he knew it needed to be said. "What happened to you was in no way your fault. You did what you had to in order to survive. Don't ever forget that."

Izuku turned away from him, shamefaced. Tears were falling, unbidden, from his cheeks, and Toshinori could tell that the dam was about to break.

"You don't understand." There was a finality to his voice, an edge that dared Toshinori to deny it.

Toshinori sighed heavily, a cold, dead weight, falling into the pit of his stomach. "I-I…No, I don't understand. You're right, but you have to know…you are strong. You survived because—"

He was cut off by Izuku's harsh reply, "No, that's not-I don't mean it like that."

"Then…what do you mean?"

"I-they…those people. The ones who had me-they, they wanted information."

Toshinori had assumed this was the case, but there was something off about Izuku's voice when he said that, as if that wasn't all there was to it. "That would make—"

"But," he spat the word out like venom, "It's one thing for them to hurt you because you're withholding information…"

Toshinori paled slightly, not liking where this conversation was going.

"It's another when they-when they…just hurt you because they can, because it's fun."

He froze. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised—he knew the people who had taken Izuku had been sick and twisted, but it still hurt. It hurt a lot, to see Izuku in so much pain, to see him struggling so much.

"Izuku—"

Izuku swallowed thickly, "I-I just-you know," he turned to look at him, though his gaze was focused a little to the right of his actual face, "When they want something from you, it's like a small victory everytime they hurt you, because-because you know, you know that they're only hurting you because they're frustrated with you…but when they do it, and they don't want information there's just-there's nothing. Absolutely nothing you can do, and you feel so weak and powerless and pathetic."

"You're not-you know you're not any of those, right? You're not weak or pathetic. You're incredibly—"

"None of that matters when they're hurting you! Who cares how strong you are? It still hurts! And-and you still feel pathetic afterwords for crying out-because it hurt…It just hurt so-so much." His voice twisted halfway through the sentence, morphing from a frantic shout to a pained hiss.

Toshinori opened his mouth then immediately snapped his jaw closed, cutting off anything he was about to say. How was he supposed to respond to that?

He vaguely noticed a dampness cascading down his own gaunt cheeks, but that didn't matter right now. The only thing that mattered to Toshinori at the moment was making sure that Izuku didn't blame himself for this. For any of it.

He strode up to Izuku's bedside and ignored the slight flinch that Izuku gave at the sound of his footsteps—something he would later berate himself for, but right now he needed to do…something—anything to let Izuku know he wasn't alone, that it wasn't his fault. He knew Izuku had formed some sort of aversion to physical contact, but he needed to show Izuku that he was there for him, that he would always be there for him. He pulled Izuku into a hug and held him tightly.

Izuku flinched slightly, again, Toshinori would reprimand himself for that later, but right now…right now Izuku needed this.

"I'm so sorry…" Izuku sobbed into his shoulder, no doubt dampening the shirt Toshinori was wearing, not able to keep himself together once the comfort was there. "I-I failed-I failed you. I'm a failure of a successor."

"No. No, you're not. You could never fail me." Toshinori consoled as best as he could.

"I can't-how can I be a hero? How can someone like me, blind and weak," he said the words with such revolt that Toshinori's heart froze, "be a hero?"

Toshinori gripped him harder, "We'll figure it out. I promise. I promise. I'm not giving up on you, kid, no matter what. So you can't give up on me either, okay?"

"I-I" Izuku stammered between sobs, overcome with emotion.

"I don't care what obstacles we face. I chose you to be my successor for a reason, and this," he didn't move his arms to emphasize, but his inflection spoke for him, "this doesn't change anything. We will figure it out. So don't keep blaming yourself. You can't keep blaming yourself for this."

Izuku sniffled and clung to him tighter, but said nothing else. They remained that way for a long while, neither Toshinori nor Izuku willing to leave the comforting embrace. It was nice, and for the time being, Toshinori had no doubt that Izuku would be able to heal. It would take awhile, but he could—he would do it.

Izuku was exhausted. His day had been…hectic, to say the least. It was all a bit much for him to comprehend if he was being honest. Too many things had happened today for his liking, and he just wanted to…rest, to fall into dreamless sleep. He doubted he'd be able to, nightmares were a common companion to him now, but the thought of sleeping was so endearing, he thought he might give it a try.

He hoped that sleep would give him time to just assess everything. Time to process his current situation. Time to heal his body…his mind. Time to just…put himself back together, pick up the broken pieces because that's what he was right now: broken. He needed to be okay, to know he was safe, to just not be…what he had become in that place.

He just…He needed time.

He needed to process everything.

He was still trying to sort through the information the neurologist had told him when she had come to visit him sometime after Toshinori had left. Her visit had been fairly short, but it had left him with more anxieties than comforts.

She had been very kind and understanding, keeping her voice gentle, and talking him through everything she did. It had been comforting to not have to guess what the people around him were doing. It was something he hadn't even thought of, but when she did it, he noticed how much safer and how much more relaxed he had been, even if it was only slightly. He still tensed whenever a random sound invaded his hearing, but she was always quick to give an explanation and never got frustrated with him, even when he had been rather difficult to deal with.

She had explained to him what she thought was wrong. She had told him that there was nothing physically wrong with his eyes. That had sent him into a spiral. How was it that his eyes were fine, and yet, all he could see was an eternal night, an endless sea of black?

She had explained that a possible explanation could be what was referred to Functional Neurological Symptom disorder, or more commonly known as Conversion disorder. He hadn't known what that was, but she had explained it to him with practiced ease. It wasn't common, but it did happen, and more often than not, it appeared in people who had been through trauma.

Like me, he thought dejectedly.

She had told him that it could go away, that stress was usually a factor in its stability, so there was hope that he would be able to see again. That knowledge had put him in a better mood. His eyesight wasn't gone permanently. There was a chance that his eyesight would return —that it could return as soon as a couple days. Though she did warn him that this was a tricky thing, something there just wasn't a lot of solid research on. She couldn't give him an accurate estimate on when, or if, his eyesight would return. There were still a lot of unknowns, and that left him slightly panicked.

I could be blind for a few days…or forever.

For now, he decided to just let it be. His body ached, but he was able to ignore it in favor of resting. His entire being wanted to just fall into oblivion, and yet, it refused. His body longed for sleep, having been deprived of it for such long bouts of time, but his mind couldn't stand the thought of sleep—sleep equated to nightmares and even more twisted horrors. Even if sleep hadn't been a solace for him lately, he knew his body needed it, and hopefully, his mind would allow him this one grace.

Today had been harrowing. Inko was well aware of that fact. It hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours since her baby had been recovered and already so much had happened—too much for her worried self to handle.

She watched as Izuku slept, exhausted from the days events. Watching the simple rise and fall of his chest comforted her; watching him sleep reminded her that he was alive, that he was safe now.

She thought back on the days events with a heavy heart. She was honestly surprised that Izuku had been as coherent as he was, considering what she had been told of his condition. The doctor had said they wanted to keep him here for a few more days to monitor his health and wait until he could get a psych eval before discharging him. Even if she understood why they needed to do that, she still didn't like it. The thought that her baby could have been hurt so much that his sanity was in question—the rational part of her mind told her that that was not the reason they wanted to give him a psych eval, and that it was just a standard procedure for trauma victims—had her mortified.

She shoved those worries down. There wasn't any point in her worrying over it right now. She needed to be strong for Izuku right now. She needed to be there for her baby now more than ever before. It was imperative that she remained calm and collected.

Another issue pressed at her now. What was she going to do about Izuku's schooling? Obviously, he wouldn't be going back to school for a while still, not until he was deemed in good enough health, both physically and mentally, but she wasn't sure if she wanted him to remain at U.A. She knew he loved it there, but this—this had happened because he was a U.A. student. He had been taken on his way to the dorms and just being at U.A. made him a target for villains.

However, she thought about all his friends. How they had come to visit him today, and how grateful he had seemed to see them. They had made him happy—they had been there for him when no one else had. They had helped him in so many ways before, and she couldn't just rip him away from that. She couldn't—she wouldn't.

For now, she wouldn't think about it. She would just focus on Izuku and his healing. He needed her, and she was going to be there for him no matter what. With determination set in her mind, she sat and watched her son sleep. She wouldn't think about the horrors he had faced, was still facing, instead she was going to focus on helping him, on making sure he was okay.

She was reaching out for that silver lining in the clouds.

0 notes