#and she almost died. and even though she recovered. she is GOING to die. sooner than the people she cares about.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

hey. don't cry. solaris who struggles to cope with her own mortality, okay? solaris who was irreparably scarred by not only the pain of the death engine's explosion, but the lethality she narrowly avoided? solaris who spent weeks in the hospital, miserably sick, delirious on morphine, failing to wrap her mind around the fact that she may not wake up tomorrow? solaris who blames her permanently ruined health on the agent who ruined her life- who slipped through her fingers- who survived, when by all means they shouldn't. solaris who is left on a timer after the radiation ravaged her body- who won't live to see anything technologically close to the death engine ever come to be. solaris who is compulsively driven to focus on the way the sand slips through the hourglass. solaris who regrets and regrets and regrets, and then spends time regretting all the time she wasted festering in her past. solaris who's deeply, terribly afraid of a future she inadvertently cemented for herself. okay? okay?

#ieytd #commander solaris #the BACKBONE of my solaris interp is her fear #she disguises it with violence and rage but do not be fooled. she is so horribly afraid of what she's done to herself. #she doesn't care about the innocent people or anything really. but she nearly got herself killed. #and yeah sure it was the phoenix's fault. but it wouldn't have been an issue if she killed them. but she didn't. she failed. #and she almost died. and even though she recovered. she is GOING to die. sooner than the people she cares about. #being told to your face by medical professionals that your chances of survival are slim is... to put it lightly‚ unpleasant. #women who regret. women who don't cope with what they've done. women who are messy and violent and miserable. oukay?

[sharkdream3421]

Garrus Vakarian X Reader - Deadly Love Triangle

That mission was so tricky we all kept running out of ammo, but thankfully Nihlus had extra thermal clips on him. At least we finally cured the genophage. Wrex was thrilled that his people would be okay now, and would finally be able to reproduce and have offspring so the krogan can shape their own future. Wrex told me that he plans to focus on rebuilding and no more war for them. That was a relief to hear, all war does is cause chaos, diversity, and hate. Reminds me of the first contact war, it was war between the humans and turians. All it did was help me to cause hate toward the turians. I mean the war caused my grandpa to die, I then hated turians from that point on.

Everything changed until I met Garrus. Nihlus was the first one to come aboard the Normandy, but even then I didn't even trust him. He was one cocky son of a bitch.

"I move faster on my own."

Yeah right he could have died if Kaiden, I, and Ashley had not interfered. I told Kaiden to use his biotics on Nihlus causing him to fly into a bunch of crates and pass out. Ashley just shouted "Gun!" which did not help what so ever. I sniped the other turian, I didn't kill him because it only hit his shields, but I did throw off his aim when he was pointing that carnifex on Nihlus.

When I met Garrus I still doubted I could trust him, he just seemed dangerous. I mean he almost hit the hostage when Me, Shepard, and Ashely were about to save the lady that was from the Med Clinic, as she was being mugged from some gangsters. After talking on the Normandy though I started to know him better. He was a C-Sec officer who was surrounded by regulations, and all he thought that mattered was getting the job done no matter who he had to sacrifice. His father said he was starting to become like Saren, and for the best part. His Dad wasn't wrong.

I suggested to Garrus that he should calm down and look at the bigger picture.

"Sacrificing civilians is not the right thing to do. You know Garrus, Shepard told me that she learned from Captain Anderson that all that Saren wanted to do was complete the mission no matter how many lives were sacrificed. So don't you see? Your acting just like Saren. You also don't have to be like Nihlus either." I sighed realizing that Nihlus was Saren's apprentice. I know that Nihlus is different from Saren, in terms of treating humans with kindness and not segregation. Although, his way of fighting is the same. Shepard told me that his goal was simple, "I don't care that your human Shepard, I just care that you get the job done."

After some talking with Garrus and helping him stop Dr. Heart. Garrus started to become a paragon and less of a renegade. That was good to hear, I'm honestly a paragon and shooting people isn't always the answer. If convincing is no longer an option, then I take out my gun and shoot. Shepard is like 60% Paragon and 40% Renegade. Meanwhile, Nihlus is...complicated. He is mostly renegade, but then sometimes he's just nice? Merciful? I don't know it's hard to figure out what happens in the turian spectre's mind.

I was starting to fall for Garrus probably after we picked him up on Omega. When I heard he was very injured I was having a heart attack. I felt like I needed him, I prayed so hard that he was going to be okay. When I saw that he was fine, and he was going to recover. I just gave him the biggest hug ever. Garrus was my best friend after all, it was very hard not to hate him. He just had a great sense of humor, which would always make the crew laugh and cheer up even in the most darkest times we were in. I trusted him with my life now, and I saw no reason to hate him. I loved him, but so did Shepard.

Shepard managed to reach Garrus first before me. Dang it! I should have told him my feelings sooner! Kasumi was like the rumor mill. She would always sneak around the ship and go into other people's business. I saw Shepard head into the elevator before the Suicide Mission, then not long after I saw Garrus go into the elevator. Neither one came out of that elevator until three hours later. Who knew what they were doing? Well I knew, it hurt me like a ton of bricks. Garrus belonged to Shepard. Not me, I mean who would want to date a nerdy girl like me? Absolutely no one. I talked to Liara on the phone, she was about another one of my close or best friends I've had in my life. She suggested that I could wait for Garrus and Shepard to break up, or go find someone different. I just plainly said "I think I'll just wait, but I doubt that Shepard and Garrus would ever break up. They are like two sides of a coin, their is no Shepard without Vakarian." Liara just told me that all you can do is just hope.

Not long after the suicide mission, Shepard was placed on house arrest for being associated with Cerberus. The alliance are pretty much good at being idiots. I remember Shepard making her point across and dang it was true, but of course Hackett is too dumb to even figure out it was true.

"I had to do something about the collectors, only Cerberus did something about it. The alliance didn't even give a shit about it!"

"We would have done something if it weren't for Cerberus." Hackett defended.

When Shepard was on house arrest, I decided to hang out with Garrus and help with things on Palaven. I had never been on Palaven and yet it was amazing! The warm and sunny beaches, the nice alien like palm trees. Palaven's city's also looked nothing like I had ever seen before! I was surrounded by Turians, and some of them even gave me strange looks. Although, Garrus told me that humans do visit Palaven just not many of them do.

Garrus managed to become a "Expert Reaper advisor." I just became like his side kick or associate? Anyway, when we heard their was trouble on Palaven's moon we took a shuttle and made our way to the moon.

There we met Shepard, and Liara. Man it was good to see them again. I watched Garrus and Shepard shake hands, but their was like no kiss or anything? Maybe they accept that their relationship is finally done? This might just be my chance! I also met James Vega, and man he was just very handsome over all, but my heart belonged to Garrus. Not some muscular man, who swears f-bombs once and awhile.

Well I was wrong because after our mission on Palaven, I went down into the cargo hold, where the computer for our security cameras were. I looked at the camera that was in the Battery room and there was Shepard and Garrus kissing. I should have not gotten my hopes up. I have to admit, that Garrus and I don't belong together. He's just a friend and that's probably what he will always be.

Primarch Victus was aboard the Normandy and was hanging out in the War room. I needed some advice, and maybe Victus could have a good answer.

I walked up to him with a smile on my face, "Hey Victus!"

"Ah, Y/N. What do I owe this fine pleasure?"

I chuckled, man he was so polite and handsome. "Victus, I need some advice. I've been head over heels for Garrus for months now, but Shepard and Garrus are in a relationship right now. What do you think I should do?"

Victus sighed, "I'm not really an expert on relationships Y/N."

"Please Victus, I need your help. I'm going to lose my mind." I begged.

Victus sighed again, "I think you should tell Garrus how you feel Y/N, and if he doesn't feel the same then you should find someone else to be with."

Victus was right, there was no way Garrus and I could just become boyfriend and girlfriend if we never confessed our feelings for each other.

With me feeling super confident I thanked Victus and walked out of the War Room with me being head over heels to tell Garrus how I feel.

~~~~

Each step I took toward the elevator I got even more excited. I took the elevator one floor down, so now I was on the crew deck. I was just about to round the corner toward the main lobby where the whole crew hangs out until I hear some Human and a Turian laughing. I quickly hid around the corner and peeked to see the most surprising thing I have ever seen today.

There was Shepard and Nihlus slowly walking out of the Starboard Observation deck kissing each other with Shepard's hands on Nihlus's chest and Nihlus's hands on Shepard's waist. They walked into the elevator and then I hear the elevator door close. What the heck was that?! I ran to the front of the elevator doors to see that it was going to Shepard's cabin! What are they doing? Please don't tell me they are...no Shepard wouldn't.

I have to know, I know only one person who could find out what was going on in Shepard's room.

I barraged into Liara's office to see her looking at me with a confused look on her face.

"What's wrong Y/N? You looked panicked." Liara asked me looking worried.

I quickly ran up to her shadow broker terminal. "Liara, can you see what is going on in Shepard's room?" I asked.

"Yeah I can, why?" She asked.

"I think Shepard is doing something really bad, just please Liara, I need to find out what she's doing! I hope it isn't what I think it is." I said with worry in every fiber of my being.

"Okay calm down Y/N. I'm pulling up Shepard's room." I see Liara hitting the keys on her keyboard.

When we saw Shepard's room finally come up on the screen. Me and Liara looked at the screen very shocked. How...how...how could Shepard do this? Why? Why to Garrus?! Their was Shepard having...having sex with Nihlus. It was entirely disturbing to see. Their was Nihlus and Shepard naked and rolling in bed. It was very inappropriate to watch.

"By the Goddess." Liara said with astonishment in her voice and on her face.

Why did Shepard have to do this to Garrus? Garrus...never deserved this! Garrus never did anything wrong! Garrus was loyal to Shepard ever since from the very beginning and this is how she treats Garrus?! My hands curled into fists. I'm going to kill her!

Liara looked at me seeing the hate all over my face. She put her hand on my shoulder, "I'm so sorry you had to see this Y/N." Liara said with sympathy.

I looked down on the floor. "Why did she cheat on Garrus. Especially Garrus, why him? He's been betrayed, failed at his job, lost his own team, and now he's being cheated on over another handsome Turian. I thought Garrus was the most handsome person, his voice, his humor, he's perfect."

"I don't know Y/N, but Garrus definitely never deserved this." Liara said with sorrow.

~~~~

The next morning I had a plot for revenge! Everyone will know, because everyone will be there to see me expose Nihlus and Shepard. I woke up from my bed in the room where the crew would hang out. I took the covers off me and landed on the cold floor with my two cold feet. I slipped my jacket on, my boots, and a pair of jeans. With my anger in tow I opened the door and made my way to the lobby where breakfast was always served.

There she was. That piece of shit sitting at that table looking very happy to see Garrus, yeah right! Wait until I expose the truth.

Liara sat across the table looking at me with a worried look on her face. I looked at her, and she shook her head when I had my fist right by my side.

"Don't do it Y/N, if you expose the truth it's going to do more harm than good." Liara told me, she wasn't loud, but she wasn't quiet either.

"I have to do this Liara. It's the only way." I said.

I raised my fist and hit her really really hard, right in the jaw. Even a tooth popped out! Garrus looked at me very shocked. I mean I did just hit his ex-girlfriend.

"Y/N what are you doing?!" Liara had yelled.

"I'm doing what is justice! Hey everyone, I have something very important to tell you!" I yelled where everyone in the ship could hear.

Everyone gathered around, and I mean EVERYONE gathered around like in a giant circle with Garrus, Shepard, and I in the middle.

"What does (Last name), (First name) wish to tell us?" Legion asked with his head tilted as his optic grew even brighter.

"Shepard cheated on you Garrus! I saw it! I saw it all! Shepard had some really good sex with Nihlus over there!" I yelled as I pointed to Nihlus who looked completely chill.

Liara sighed, "I can confirm that Y/N, is telling you all the truth. I saw it with my own eyes."

Garrus looked shocked, no emotion, utter despair on his face, he didn't even move an inch. Several people gasped, several people looked at Shepard in disapproval, and looked completely pissed off.

"Not cool Commander." James said.

"You are no Siha." Thane blurted out.

"We find Shepard-Commander's actions unforgiving." Legion sounded displeased.

Garrus just walked away in depression. I looked at Garrus, he just showed no emotion, his heart was completely broken. Most of me feels like it was the right thing to do, justice was served. Although, a part of me feels like I did the wrong thing. What did I do to Garrus? Shepard looked around seeing everyone very pissed off. Shepard just ran away, probably to her little hideout, which was her cabin.

I ran after Garrus to see if he was going to be okay. "Garrus! Garrus are you okay?" I asked.

Garrus turned with sadness in his eyes, "No, I don't think I will be. I just need to do some calibrations." Garrus had said as he slowly walked toward the Main Battery.

I would have laughed at him because he said calibrations, just like every time I would, but this time no laugh came from me.

~~~~

Everyone had done their own thing for the rest of that day. Shepard just stayed in her cabin the whole time unless she was called to the War Room or had some matters to attend to. Today, I decided to visit Garrus and see how he was doing as yesterday must have been tough on him.

When the main battery's doors opened I found Garrus collapsed on the floor.

"Garrus!" I yelled as I ran up to him.

I helped him up and he looked at me with tired eyes. "Y/N, I had the most weirdest dream. You were there saying that Shepard cheated on me, and everyone else was so pissed." Garrus said.

I looked down in shame. "That wasn't a dream Garrus, it's true. I revealed that Shepard cheated on you with Nihlus."

Garrus looked down. "Oh, I see. I'll just work on some calibrations then."

I sighed. "Garrus, it's not your fault, I'm sorry that I was selfish and told everyone what had happened, I didn't think that it would affect you like this, I should have known better."

"That bastard Nihlus. Besides I felt like my relationship with Shepard was a bit odd after all. It's okay, I just need some time to move on." Garrus said as he took a small deep breath.

"Garrus, I...I love you, but I understand if you don't want to be with me. Your previous girlfriend cheated on you, and I should probably shut up now. I'll be in the shuttle bay." I walked out of the main battery with a lot on my mind.

~~~~

No, that part doesn't go there. I attached the modifier on the top of the carnifex. Ah, there we go! Now it can provide a little more damage. I also attached another modifier, which can allow some more shots to be fired so we have a less chance that we are going to run out of thermal clips. I grabbed the next weapon, which was the N7 Hurricane. Has a really fast rate of fire, but has very bad accuracy. I just probably set more modifiers on the stability and accuracy then.

"Y/N."

I turned around to see Garrus walking toward me. Looking scared? "Hey Garrus, what's wrong?" I asked my best friend.

"I had time to think, and I...love you too Y/N. All those times we had on Palaven, having dinner together, watching Turian films with each other, going shopping. I loved every moment with you. I didn't know if it was okay to abandon my relationship with Shepard, but I also felt something in me when I was around you. The truth is, I love you (First name), (Last name). I loved you for a couple months." Garrus then put his talons on my hands. "Is it okay if you can be my girlfriend?" He asked.

He asked...HE ASKED me! Oh my gosh, my dream has come true!

"Yes! Yes! You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment!" I cheerfully shouted as I hugged my new boyfriend.

"I love you Y/N." Garrus said with comfort in his voice, as I felt his talon going against the back of my head.

"I love you too Garrus, always have been, and always will." I said with the biggest smile on my face.

~~~~

"(Last name), (First name) we would like to ask you something."

I turned around to find Legion with flowers in his hands. It was strange seeing the innocent geth boy with flowers in his hands.

"Yeah what's up Legion?"

"We have researched some of Earth's culture and religion, and we believe that when someone wishes to show gratitude or kindness. Flowers are a good way to show it." Legion had talked like he was a calculator or something, which was like all the time.

"Who are you giving it to?" I asked with a smile on my face. It's hard to be mad at Legion. He is so good at acting innocent all the time.

"Creator Zorah. We calculate that giving Creator Zorah flowers will help increase our trust, and have less hostility towards us." Legion replied.

I smiled, he's so adorable. "Go ahead Legion, I think she will like it."

Legion replied with a nod and the flaps around his eye opening up. Legion left my cabin in search of Tali.

I smiled as I looked back at the datapad.

"Why was Legion holding flowers?" Garrus asks as he sat on the edge of my bed and gave a little kiss on my cheek.

"He was wanting to give them to Tali, I think he might just have a crush on her." I told Garrus as I smirked.

"So what brings you up here?" I asked.

"Oh, I just wanted to see the love of my life, and make sure she was okay." Garrus said as he gave a small chuckle.

I set the datapad down, and scoot closer towards Garrus. "I am okay thanks for asking, just looking at preparations before we land on Rannoch. I could use a break though."

Garrus put a talon on my face and gently played with my hair with his other talon. "How about we ease up some tension and test your flexibility?"

I smirked, " I would love too."

I read someone's story about Garrus and a Nihlus lives AU and then suddenly I thought what would happen if Shepard cheats on Garrus for Nihlus? Nihlus deserves more attention and should have survived Eden Prime. He would have been a great squad mate in the trilogy! Thank you for reading and have a awesome day!

Masterlist

#mass effect #garrus x reader #garrus x shepard #nihlus kryik #nihlus lives #liara t'soni #legion #thane krios #james vega #adrien victus

[discursivetacenda]

It's been 2 weeks since I said goodbye to my mother. This woman who made me who I am, both in how I communicate with the world and how broken I am with understanding boundaries.

I don't cry about this enough. I don't know if I can.

It's been 3 weeks since she sent me a message that sounded like she was dying -- that sense of dread and despair that heart attacks have? And I don't know who else she told but I think I knew then that she wasn't going to survive long. That anxious ball in my gut that said the luck we had since 2005 was at an end. You can only almost die and recover so many times before you finally lose the recovery.

The tracheotomy. The swine flu. The Stevens-Johnson. The broken leg. The multiple bouts of covid.

I felt like a vulture, picking over things in the house. Collecting clothes and jewelry and deciding who keeps what. I don't really know what to do with myself much anymore. Not with the promise of finishing this latest blanket for her by spring (when she didn't make it to spring). Not with no job on the horizon (and she was the one sending me money to keep me afloat). Not with my father at loose ends because they were together for 43 years (and he was only 17 when they married). Not with knowing that our relationship was simultaneously loving and incredibly abusive (financial control, guilt and parentifying, lies and fear-mongering).

I feel numb and distantly sad when I realize a hole in my routine.

She asked me to write her a poem before she died. And I did as she asked, even though I haven't written poetry in years for a number of reasons. My dad put it with some pictures he had and shared it out the day she was taken off the respirator. At least a part of me is glad I wrote it and she heard it before she died. Too many unfinished things, too many things I wish we'd known sooner.

My mother died 2 weeks ago and the world marches on.

#about me #poets on tumblr #sorry there's no alt id #screenshots of my old poetry are the best i could do #it's 6 am #and tears are dripping down my face #not actively crying #but despair #my heart is aching #aching looming numbing sadness

[firein-thesky]

COIN TOSS– PART III

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I → PART II

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

↳ A playlist I made for this fic, if you're interested!

A/N: here is your final part to this series! again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing this!! and thank you guys so so much for your support and comments, they mean so so much to me!! i had a lot of trouble with this last part, there was a lot of scenes i cut out and alternative endings before i settled on what is there now and i'm not even fully happy with it still lol. i have a lot of Thoughts about this, so feel free to reach out if you want to know more or just chat!! i hope you guys enjoy this!!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta apologizes to you soon after. You sheepishly get out your own apology, even though you’d planned on holding a grudge a little while longer.

Still, Shouta confides that he also had his doubts and worries as a young hero and that he shouldn’t have dismissed yours. He talks in a soft, low voice for you, sits beside you on the edge of the couch.

You hate it because it’s easier to be at odds with Shouta lately, easier for your conscience. He put distance between the two of you, but you forced it apart further– if only to keep him in the dark. Maybe if only to spare yourself all the lying, all the pretending you’d have to do.

He says, “You know, you can always come to me. Whenever you need me.”

You have to swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

“I’ll always be here for you, despite everything.” he promises gently, trying to catch your eyes. Your gaze ducks away, out of his line of site.

Still, you hug him, tuck your face into his shoulder so he can’t see the guilt written across your face. Your secrets will constrict around you if you’re not careful. You know Truth is tricky and likes to reveal itself with Time’s help.

Once more, you become acutely aware of the clock ticking away on your relationship with Tomura.

But this time, you also realize how much trouble you could get in. You realize that you’re endangering Shouta now, too. You swallow hard, try to keep all of that down inside of you, but you feel nauseous suddenly. Bloated with guilt.

You wonder if you would’ve confessed to him then, if you would’ve spilled your guts the way you’d wanted to, if it would’ve saved you the heartache of it all.

Instead, you’d just clung to him, little fingers twisting in the back of his shirt, praying that you’d never need to make good on his promise. Praying you’d never need to test how far he’d go for you.

(It’s far– you’ll realize, further than it ever should’ve been. And you’re all the worse for it.)

***

Tomura thinks one of the troubles with heroes is their willingness to sacrifice anything for their greater good. He doesn’t think there’s anything noble in it, there’s nothing glorious or good in leaving their friend behind because they think it will save more. Nothing honorable in facing down a threat you know you can’t win against alone. What good is their world if they’re willing to sacrifice all that’s good to them in the process?

Everytime he watches you patrol, go up against other villains, maybe yakuza members, throw yourself in harm’s way needlessly, he realizes the Hero Commission uses heroes’ bodies as collateral damage. You are nothing to them. Even to other heroes; your sacrifice is expected. He knows it isn’t wanted, per se, but it isn’t surprising.

It doesn’t help that you have a streak of recklessness in you. You are quick to danger, just as quick to flash teeth and stand your ground, to fight mercilessly.

You struggle against large, powerhouse types. He watches you nearly get crushed or strangled some nights. Your Quirk doesn’t do much for you when your opponent has strength and weight to defeat you with a singular blow.

Your mentor is often pulling you out of danger with his capture weapon, yanking you away from a massive swinging arm or a curled fist about to smash you into the ground. But if it came down to you or the greater good, he knows what your mentor and your heroes would pick.

He thinks it’s strangely unfair, for you to give them your loyalty over him. He’s more loyal to you, isn’t he? There is very, very little he wouldn’t destroy for you. They would sooner let you be destroyed for the sake of their world.

Destroying the hero society that is so careless with you now feels, in part, like his gift to you. Freedom from the world that only cared about you when they realized you could be useful–

There is a night you become not just useful to your heroes but imperative.

It starts with your sacrifice, just as you were trained to do. You shove a civilian out of the way of a villain’s Quirk– it’s something with tusks and teeth that jut out from his body, sharp and ready to gut you.

Your mentor is busy with this villain’s accomplice.

Tomura watches when he shouldn’t. He was supposed to meet with Kurogiri, but he knows you patrol in this area and when there’d been commotion, he couldn’t help but watch from the shadows.

He watches one of those tusks jut towards you, your hand reaching out in hopes of disengaging the Quirk. But it’s a physical Quirk, not something like Dabi’s fire or his disintegration. And he doesn’t know if this Quirk disengages with it’s user or if it’s just his body.

Tomura feels his heart drop, the trapdoor given way to all icy fear as he watches one of those tusks pierce into your stomach.

Tomura stops breathing.

You grab hold of it, a scream getting caught behind your clenched teeth. Your fingers are tight, near frantic as you press into them– hope with everything in you, in him, that his Quirk disengages with yours.

Your broken off scream is wretched from your struggling body when another tusk rushes to crash into your shoulder.

You’re the only thing between the civilians behind you and this villain.

Your other hand reaches for the tusk at your shoulder, digging fingers and nails into it desperately.

Your eyes are bright and feverish with the hot pink of your Quirk.

Tomura stutters towards you, before the villain let’s out a pained groan. Your teeth are bared, blood bubbling up in your mouth, but you’re still standing, vicious and undeterred.

The tusks begin to crack where you grip them, splintering apart–

A sudden fission of light through those crevices, same fire pink as your eyes, arcs throughout the villain. A flare of it that makes the villain almost see-through, the lines of his bones burned by light, an x-ray flash, as if you’d struck him with lightning for a moment.

Eraserhead shouts for you.

When the flare dies, there is a scream of pain and it’s not yours.

The tusks shatter, splinter apart into gleaming bone that flies through the air.

You’re left standing, blood oozing from your stomach, your shoulder, but still standing, your eyes crackling and too bright.

The villain, tuskless, crumples at your feet, smoking. A normal, Quirkless looking man.

Did you–?

“What happened?” he hears the distant voice of your mentor, laced with worry, whose already reaching to staunch blood, blood that seeps so dark out of you. Tomura’s stomach rolls, twists suddenly, but you’re still standing. You’re okay– you’re okay–

“I-I don’t know.” you manage, but you sway into your mentor’s arms and Tomura has to look away, jaw clenched tight, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

He hears, “I need an ambulance– there’s a hero and villain down–”

But he’s already turning away, his mind churning, trying to keep the nauseousness from overcoming him. He feels suddenly furious, that it can’t be him at your side, that he has to watch, pushed to the outskirts. His fingers rush to scratch at his neck, his throat, desperate for relief from the pressure that has built in his chest.

He will try to call you– later, much later– the only time you’ll answer him. He is certain you will be okay with your healers and–

He thinks of the flare of light, the breaking of those tusks, the sudden heap of that man on the ground. If Tomura is correct about what you’d done, about what your Quirk actually is, the heroes won’t let you die now.

No, now you’re imperative. Now you’re trapped.

And the destruction of hero society will be his gift to you, an end to all the strings in place, the hands holding you both back.

***

“You destroyed his Quirk.”

“W-what?” you manage to get out, wobbly. You’re bandaged up, your torso and shoulder wrapped in fresh gauze after Recovery Girl healed the worst of your wounds. You’d been sleeping, hooked up to an IV to aid you in recovering. “That’s not possible, my Quirk only cancels–”

The doctor that has entered to give you this news shakes his head, “No, we’ve done scans, tests, the works on this guy. His Quirk is gone from his DNA. No trace of it.”

Shouta, who's sitting beside your hospital bed, speaks up, “Is it possible that it will eventually return?”

“I suppose, but we think it’s unlikely. It’s gone from him. There’s nothing left. She destroyed it cleanly. It’s like it was never there at all.” The doctor answers.

“I don’t understand–” you manage to get out, your head beginning to swim, giving a painful throb at your temples.

“It seems your Quirk isn’t so simple as cancelling out another’s. It’s likely that subduing other’s Quirks was just the surface of yours.”

“Is the man okay otherwise?” Shouta asks now, fidgeting in his seat when he senses your sudden distress. He leans towards your bed more and you have the sudden urge to latch onto him and not let go.

“Physically, yes. He’s fine.” the doctor answers, “However, mentally...he’s inconsolable at the moment. As you know, Quirks are incredibly– well, they’re a part of who we are, aren’t they?”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

You think Shouta says something else, finishes speaking to the doctor for you. The moment the door clicks shut, the tears that you stubbornly had been holding back rush forward.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you get out on just a hissed breath. “I-I didn’t know I could.”

Shouta shushes you gently, “It’s okay, this happens. Sometimes people don’t know the full extent of their Quirk.”

“I destroyed his Quirk, it’s not okay!” you respond, guilt thickening inside of you, dragging you down heavy, clogging your throat and chest. “I didn’t mean to do that– what if I do it again?”

“You were under distress,” he soothes, reaching out to brush a tear away from your cheek, “Really, you were fighting for your life.” And when he says it, something gets caught in his throat. Something hitches in yours, too.

His eyes rove over your face slowly, taking you in carefully, as if he hasn’t been by your side the entire time. As if it wasn’t him in the ambulance, or him kneeling beside your bed when Recovery Girl put you back together.

“I should’ve been there. It shouldn’t have happened.” Shouta admits, the confession filling the small space between you two.

You take him in now, too, tired and worried, his face finally displaying the fear and care he has for you. It softens out his features, turns his eyes gentle and dark.

You realize suddenly that you miss him. You miss quiet nights on his couch as he graded papers. You miss his clothes and his cats and the tenderness that blossomed in all your silent spaces to fill you both out.

You wonder if he misses you as bad as you’re realizing you miss him.

You think of him cooking for one again, eating alone, and it does something horrible to your heart– mangles it, twists it up horribly.

It’s made all the worse because you’re lying to him. And here he is, at your bedside.

“S’okay, Shouta,” you get out, reaching up to touch his cheek with a trembling hand. He leans into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He savors your touch in a way that he hasn’t ever allowed himself to before.

But after a moment, he shakes his head fractionally, and he murmurs “I’m supposed to protect you.”

You don’t know why, but your bottom lip wobbles. Big, fat tears well up in your eyes, burn hot and put pressure on your already foggy head. You feel like you’re unraveling, your chest all swollen and tender, too, aching horribly.

You can’t decide if it’s because you’re lying and disobeying him so badly or because no one has ever bothered to say something like that to you, let alone mean it.

And you’re betraying him, your mind hisses.

When he notices, his face falls, his thumb moving to try and brush away your tears. “Don’t cry,” he hushes, “I’m sorry, don’t cry.”

You lean into his large and warm palm at your cheek, let him cradle and coddle you.

“I-I’m sorry–” you barely manage to choke out, for reasons far beyond him.

“No,” he coos, “No, sweetheart, don’t apologize.”

You choke on a sob and he grows more worried, leans over you more, brings his other hand up to stroke at your hairline, too.

He says your name softly, trying to soothe you, “Why are you crying, huh? What are you apologizing for?”

You shake your head, more tears loosening, your small fingers twisting themselves in the shoulders of his shirt. You think you’ll drown in all this guilt, it’ll fill your lungs with pressure, choke you out slowly as you struggle and thrash.

But for now, all you get out is a warbled, slurred, “Please don’t hate me–”

Shouta moves then, shifts to sit beside you on the bed. He’s painfully careful with you as he slides strong and sturdy arms beneath you, lifts you slightly into his lap, mindful of your IV, and cradles you to him.

You bury your face into his chest and try to hold back another sob as he murmurs, “Why would I hate you? I could never hate you.”

He strokes your hair, he hushes your cries, rocking you gently. Rocking you until you can stop crying, until you’re exhausted and aching and tender.

“I’ll help you with your Quirk,” he promises gently, holding you tight to him, “We’ll be okay, huh?” he murmurs, and it just forces another cry out of you, swallowed up by his chest that he cradles you to, “We’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

It’s the we’ll in that sentence that makes you squeeze him tighter. You wonder how willing he’d be to use it if he knew where you were every other night, who you filled your time with.

If he knew who called you late that night, when you’re alone in your room, aching and sore and alone. If he knew who you answered to, your voice hushed in the inky darkness;

“Tomura,” you exhale his name through the receiver.

“I saw what happened,” he answers instead, “I saw what happened today.”

You can feel the sudden jump of your heart, your nerves wringing themselves tight. “Oh,” you respond lamely.

To your surprise, Tomura rasps, “Are you okay?”

You don’t know why, but you cradle the phone to your cheek tighter, your eyes slipping shut for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Sore and tired, but I’m okay.”

“Good,” he responds, his voice softer than it usually is, just a breath when he asks, “What happened? What’d you do to him?”

You’re silent for a long moment. You can’t decide if you should tell him or not. You think of Shouta earlier and his voice like a hearth and the tender way he holds you, you think of his we’ll be okay.

But you can hear Tomura’s soft breath on the other line. You can see Ryuji in the patch of sun that splays out against the corner of the couch in the evenings. You think of him curled tight around you, like you’re the last good thing left on earth.

“I destroyed his Quirk,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “With mine.”

“That’s new,” Tomura almost hums, but it nearly seems like he was expecting the answer.

“I didn’t mean to.”

A quiet snort from him, “What are you trying to prove to me?” he asks, “I’m not your heroes. I won’t look at you differently whether you intended to or not.”

The thought strikes like an arrow between the ribs, sharp, sudden. It stings, when you realize it’s truth. How hard have you tried to prove yourself to Shouta? How hard are you trying to prove your goodness to yourself?

“You could’ve killed him,” Tomura says, “And I wouldn’t think differently.”

You wince for some reason when he says that, “Don’t–”

“What would your heroes think then?”

“Tomura–” you snap, voice gaining some bite, a warning.

But for some reason he presses, “How badly does the Hero Commission want you now? With a Quirk like that?”

“What?” you ask, suddenly shocked.

“Don’t be naive,” Tomura says and there’s an edge to his voice. He sucks in a breath, “That’s a big Quirk. Destroying someone else’s? You don’t think they’ll be interested in that?”

You feel the pressure of tears work their way through your head, your throat. Your fingers clutch so hard at the phone that your knuckles are turning white and before you can think, you hiss out, “And how interested are you now?”

“As interested as I was before.” he returns, sharp and quick, and then with a vitriol he hasn’t directed at you in months, he says, “Don’t compare me to them.”

You bare your teeth, tears stinging sharp at your eyes, prepared to fight back when he hisses, “Mark my words, they won’t let you go now.”

“Stop it,” you spit, “You don’t know anything–”

And he laughs at that, caustic, harsh, a grating sound. Villainous. It slithers through the phone, down your spine. Your stomach twists. You hate this– your head is throbbing. You don’t want to fight. You want to stop crying, God, you wish you could just stop crying–

“I’ll be here when you realize it.” he says and there is too much heat behind his voice, simmering and venomous. You can feel the end of this conversation, the bitter goodbye in his words.

Your bottom lip trembles, and for some foolish, lovesick reason, you gasp, “Wait– don’t hang up–”

But you hear the click of the other line and he’s fallen away from you, leaving you with an empty, static silence that buzzes around in your head. In your heart.

You throw your phone across the room. You hear it clatter somewhere in the darkness. You turn to press your face into your pillow and let out a sudden, childish scream. It tears at your throat, before tapering off into this pathetic little sob.

It’s worse because he ends up being right.

And it’s ironic because it’s another string tethering you to him, the ability to destroy something with a touch.

It’s like some part of him knew all along, or maybe some part of you.

You scream into your pillow again, louder, kicking at your covers before it breaks off into a bitter cry.

***

The Hero Commission is very interested in the new discovery of your Quirk. They run tests and scans on you, over and over again, trying to find something interesting. They want you to practice with it, but there’s no way for you to practice without potentially destroying other people’s Quirks.

They offer up criminals to practice on.

It turns your stomach.

“I don’t want to do this,” you tell Shouta one night after another long series of poking and prodding at you by white coats from the Hero Commission.

Shouta is silent for a moment, “No one is making you.”

“But they want me to. It’s expected of me.” you tell him.

“They want to make sure you can control it,” Shouta answers, “And the only way to do that is practice, unfortunately.”

Or do they just want to be sure they can control me? The question bubbles up unbridled inside of you. It sounds suspiciously like Tomura’s voice.

You frown, “I can control it. I don’t go around destroying Quirks with every touch. I just mute Quirks still.”

“Under distress, too? Can you summon it completely calmly? Or stop it in an instant?” Shouta asks.

“I don’t know– no, I don’t think so.”

“Then you can’t fully control it.” he answers, which makes you ball your hands into fists.

“It doesn’t feel right taking people’s Quirks– practice or not. And it’s controlled enough.” you respond, gaining a sudden edge to your voice.

“Then don’t do it.” Shouta responds, almost impassively.

You try not to grow upset or so frustrated that you say something you might regret. You swallow tightly. “Will you be disappointed? If I don’t?”

Shouta tilts his head and in the quietness you fear he will be, but he eventually answers, “No. You’re right; you have it controlled enough that it doesn’t hinder your day-to-day life.”

You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Besides, if you’re under that amount of distress again, it probably flares for a good reason. It’ll probably save you if you ever need it again.” Shouta then says, “And if what they want you to do doesn’t feel right to you, then you shouldn’t do it.”

You stare up at him, a little surprised but–

Relief sweeps through you, sweet and cool.

“I trust your instincts,” Shouta says, the curl of his lips small but promising, as he reaches out to nudge your chin with his knuckle.

The guilt blindsides you later, so hard that it makes you lock yourself in your bathroom and keep a sob trapped behind the palm of your hands.

But for now, you smile up at him, the curve of your smirk playful, something he hasn’t seen from you in what feels like forever that you give to him again freely.

“Can I get that one in writing?” you ask and his answering laugh strikes you so suddenly it almost makes you dizzy and it’s like hearing the notes to one of your favorite songs that you hadn’t heard in a long time.

Like you couldn’t ever imagine forgetting it, now that you’ve heard it again.

***

Tomura wonders what it will take to make you leave your heroes.

Specifically, your precious mentor.

When he sees you again, you look like you did before nearly bleeding out in front of him and destroying the Quirk of another. It’s almost as if it never happened at all, almost like your argument never happened at all, either. In this little apartment where the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just you and him and sometimes Ryuji.

Except when he lifts your shirt there is a twisted, ugly scar from where they patched you up. Another at your shoulder. He doesn’t kiss it or run his fingers over it gently, he doesn’t make any sort of comment. He just thumbs at your waist and glares at it, wishes he could make it disappear like the villain who gave it to you.

(Not because he finds it ugly or unacceptable, only that it is now a permanent reminder of what he’d seen. Only that it reminds him that you are not guaranteed to him, not in life nor in loyalty).

You’re a little hesitant with him now. You feel more fragile to him now, too, like you’re holding something back, waiting for everything to finally fall.

The inevitable crash and break.

Tomura is gentler with you– he knows he needs to play his cards right now. It’s crucial. Something is building, even for the League of Villains. There’s more on the horizons.

And despite everything, he wants you there, when the sun is bloody and falling on a dismembered, new world.

He thinks he shouldn’t have pushed you now, when you’re so delicate, barely stitched together. But he had– he’d started another argument. He’d tried to convince you of the heroes’ lack of care for you, their greediness upon discovering the depth of your Quirk.

You throw it back in his face; isn’t that what All For One does to him? Isn’t that what he does for the League of Villains? Aren’t they all just pawns for him? Is that what he wants of you?

He seethes, digging into the skin of his neck desperately. You don’t stop him. He can feel the facade of this little apartment beginning to crumble, fall away into dust and he–

He knows he destroys everything he touches.

But you were supposed to be different.

(You are, his mind hisses, you are, you are, and that’s the worst part of it all).

You storm out that night. You leave him, no doubt to return to your precious mentor.

He thinks about destroying the entire apartment complex. He could now– he knows what’s coming. He won’t be staying here any longer. He has plans, so many plans.

You come back to him a week later, though. You’re bound to him in some way, returning again and again when you know you shouldn’t.

The make-up part is nice, with him buried so deep inside you that he’s trying to turn your stomach. Make you sick with him, the way he is with you. Your gasping moans, with the arch of your body far too pretty for hands like his.

And still, you lay on his chest afterwards, you let him run his fingers over the planes of your shoulders, the line of your pretty neck. He drags his knuckles against your soft skin, enamored with the feeling, with the way you soothe the haunting, sunken part of him. His Quirk submits to yours easily, dimmed inside of him. Maybe he should be frightened of your new potential.

But you’ve never been frightened of him, so he’s not of you, either.

You’re very bold, though, he thinks, for you to say, “Your parents were cruel.” After the argument you both had last time.

He tenses beneath you, grits his teeth. He’d thought you’d both learned your lesson, getting too personal in a place as sacred as here.

“You don’t know anything,” he says and it’s just a breath. Surprisingly toothless. He’d said it to you last time, in your argument. You’d said it to him before that. It feels almost ironic now.

You shake your head against his chest, your nose nudging into him, lips soft against his skin. You remain calm. “I know your name is Tomura. They were very cruel to give you that name.”

You say this as if it’s a fact, something as simple as the sky being blue. But it’s dark out now and the stars are dull, the moon just a scythe in the sky, caught in the window’s glare.

“What?” he demands quietly.

At least you have the guts to tilt your head up to find his eyes now. You look up at him through dark lashes.

“Your name–” you say again, gentle, “It means ‘to mourn.’ I don’t know why anyone would give their child such a sad name.”

He knows what his name means.

But this takes him by surprise, for some reason. Only because it’s not the name his parents gave him. You don’t know that, though. You don’t know anything about him, technically. He has the urge to tell you suddenly, that’s not my name.

He doesn’t, though. He stays silent. It’s his name now. And he likes the way you say it, the syllabus softened by whatever it is you feel for him.

(He won’t give it a name, he’s realizing now that names can be very powerful.)

Your fingers are gentle on him, rubbing strange patterns against a scar near his collar bone.

You have rendered him silent.

And eventually, as you begin to drift off to sleep, you murmur, “You were just a kid, you know?”

He doesn’t really know what you’re getting at, only that it does something strange to the tempo of his heart. He swallows hard, tries to keep his fingers gentle on you. Your breathing has slowed, the rise and fall of your back measured and even, but his has gotten tight.

He squeezes you against him, glaring at nothing, at darkness.

You were just a kid, you know?

It’s this part of you, the one that sees the human in him, that makes him think maybe you will be at his side until the bitter end of it all. Your compassion, the sympathy you have for the child he was, for the person he somehow became. Your unending ability to understand the worst of people.

He doesn’t dwell on the child he was, just has buried it in the cemetery of his chest– a part of him that only you have been able to reach through Quirk, through something too massive to name. You’ve soothed it, put it to rest like the dead, lit your incense in the spaces of his heart. Said your prayers along the notches of his ribs. Tried to appease that restless spirit that possesses him.

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to shake. He can hardly breathe.

And in the dark, when he thinks you’re asleep, and his secrets will be lost to your dreams, he admits for the first time in years what has always trembled inside him. He speaks the tragedy that has made a home of his body, the mourning that he was given name to;

“I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.”

***

Tomura thinks, for a moment, when you’re splattered in blood, that this will be your great turning point.

Your fall, the tearing and burning of your wings from your holy back. It will hurt, but he will be there on the ground with you, a hand extended to guide you. He will be there to cradle you into his chest, to hold you close when your world falls apart.

The way All For One was there for him.

The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero.

But you save the wrong person.

Toga’s been following him around as she does every so often, dogging in his shadow, skipping along beside him. You’ve become accustomed to her, too. She likes having you around. Something about not being the only girl. You’re kind to her in the same way he thinks you probably wanted kindness at her age.

The sky is mottled purple, bruised as the day sets into night. The sun looks like an open wound, violent and red.

When he thinks about it, he figures he should’ve been more careful, but then there’s a petty villain Tomura knows vaguely, someone they’ve clashed with before, who he’s pretty sure Dabi and Toga pissed off. He spots Toga first. Your back is turned to him.

“Uh oh,” Toga says, peering over your shoulder.

Tomura grabs your wrist, “Hide,” he hisses, and when you try to peer over your shoulder at what Toga is looking at, he forces you back around so the villain doesn’t see your face.

He doesn’t know why he saves you like that. Only that he doesn’t want you to get in trouble, doesn’t want you taken from him like that. He is not an idiot; if the villain recognizes you, if it somehow got around that you were seen with two of the most notorious villains, the Hero Commission would eat you alive.

And here’s the part that really gets him. You listen to him. You trust him.

You dart away, swift and fast like a fox, disappearing into the shadows the way you were trained to.

“Hey!” the villain shouts and he’s large, Tomura remembers now.

Stupid, too, he thinks, as he barrels towards them.

The glint of Toga’s knife in the sun makes him pause.

Better to not engage, Tomura thinks, not yet, not now. Too much on the horizon for something foolish to happen tonight. The apartment isn’t far from here. He hopes you’ll retreat there. He just needs to get Toga away safely now.

“Oh, I’ve missed fighting!” she sings.

“No,” Tomura rasps, “Don’t engage. We need to go, too.”

She whines a long and drawn out, “Why?” just as the hulking mass of a person swings at her. She ducks away easily, quickly.

However, then his Quirk bursts to life and it’s far worse than what Tomura had hoped for. He doubles in size, his arms in particular growing longer, and fill out with what seems to be rushing water.

“Dammit, Toga,” he hisses, shoving her out of the way as the villain blasts a large cannon of water at her.

Tomura takes the hit hard, black coloring his vision when he hits the ground.

In truth, he thinks he is out for at least a full minute, because when he’s come to, you’re shouting at the villain. You’re tugging desperately at his massive shoulder, clawing and screaming. You’ve canceled his Quirk, but he’s still too big, even without it.

Toga is pinned beneath that arm, choking and spluttering, drenched. It actually looks like she’s choking on water. She can’t even scream, too garbled, too water-logged. She looks like a doll, she looks horribly small. Her face is turning a deep shade of red as she struggles for breath. Her little hands claw at his wrist, too.

Tomura tries to stand, his vision swimming, swaying so bad that for a minute everything goes sideways.

Fuck, he curses, just as he watches you get tossed away by that villain’s other hand like you’re nothing. His Quirk suddenly ripples back to life and he blasts Toga with another bout of water, plastering her to the gravel, the onslaught of it unending.

You’re up in an instant, throwing yourself onto his neck, trying to wrench him off. His Quirk disengages again, and Toga heaves and gasps for breath, coughing up large amounts of water.

“You’re going to kill her!” Tomura finally can catch onto what you’re saying, what you’re desperately screaming. His ears ring.

You get thrown off again. More water. Toga is being blasted so hard that she can’t even choke or struggle.

Tomura thinks you’re trying to rationalize with them, you’re trying to explain you’re a hero. And to disengage. Stop, please stop, please stop–

He’s not listening, though, of course.

And he’s too big. You tried knocking him out, tried putting him to sleep with the grip of your elbow. You’re trying everything, even to crush his Quirk beneath yours. Tomura catches the flutters of pink, your inability to summon your destruction when you need it.

It wouldn’t matter anyways, not with how big he is. You struggle against powerhouses.

Tomura stumbles.

But you’ve always been gritty and sharp and determined, if nothing else. You have always fought so desperately for your life, never mind law or honor or glory.

He thinks he catches the glint of your knife, the desperate threat to let her go, leave her alone!

The villain grabs you with a massive hand around the throat, lifts you clear off the ground.

Toga has gone slack against the pavement in a puddle of water, face colored a strange shade of red and blue. A little like the way the sky blurs before his eyes.

You kick and thrash, a horrible growl wretched from your throat. You don’t think, just lash out.

And then there is blood. So much blood. It’s all over Toga now, seeping into the water– did she cut him? She managed to cut his throat? Because that’s where the blood is pouring out of–

Tomura sways.

You’re dropped.

You stumble away.

Your blade– the one you used to threaten him with, is bloody.

“Fuck!” you shout, raw and so sudden that it jars him a little. He forces himself over to the scene. So much blood. His stomach rolls.

He looks at you, your shell-shocked face. You’re looking at the knife, at the blood. At Toga, who's still not moving.

He goes to her first, tries to shake her a little, fingers held away from her shoulders carefully. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, limp and lifeless and something inside of him threatens to overwhelm him. No, no–

Her eyes flutter, though, and she wheezes for a breath, suddenly turning over to vomit up far too much water.

“I-Is she-?” your voice, so small and lost, cuts through his thoughts.

He looks at you again, blood splattered and terror caught in your eyes. Pale and slack faced and half-mad. You look like a ghost, standing there in the aftermath, in your gruesomeness.

“She’s fine,” he says, just as she wretches up more water, “You saved her.”

Toga falls limp again. He checks frantically for a pulse at her wrist with two careful fingers. Still there. She needs a doctor, though. He stands to face you.

You make a noise, high pitched, trembling. You cover your mouth to keep it in, it’s something like a sob, an animalistic noise.

“I didn’t mean to– I didn’t, I didn’t– she was just–” you’re trying to get out, almost doubled over now.

Tomura doesn’t bother to check if you killed the villain. He knows the dead when he sees it. And he won’t lie to you now, he won’t soften this blow or shield you from it.

But he also knows what he needs to do.

You keel over, about to scream more and– no, that won’t do you any good.

He grabs for you, hauls you back up and you’re shaking so hard that he fears you’re going to split apart. You’re about to lose it.

“Listen to me,” Tomura hisses and you choke on a cry. He shakes you a little, tries to force you to look at him and not the body behind him. Your eyes, feverish pink, meet the wildfire of his, “Listen to me.”

“I– I don’t–”

“Sshh,” Tomura hisses, palm going to your cheek, a little too rough, forcing you to look at only him. “Sshh, listen.”

You try to swallow and he continues, “You’re going to call reinforcements. You’re going to tell them there’s a villain down.”

“W-what?! I’m going to– they’re going to–”

He shakes you again, harder, your teeth click together with the force of it. He needs you to understand this– needs you to hear this if he wants to keep you safe and out of jail.

“Tell them I decayed him. And before that, tell them Toga cut him, and it splattered onto you. Say you heard commotion and like the good hero you are, you ran to help.”

“Tomura–” you sob.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps instead, grabbing you harder, his fingers curling against your cheek to press desperately into you. “Answer me!”

“Yes–” you gasp, wide-eyed and terrified. “Yes!”

“Good,” he hushes, wiping blood from your cheek, “Good. You saved her,” he tells you, “You saved her, do you understand?”

You nod, jerky, and he continues, hand petting your cheek, messily pushing your hair from your face, “You did everything right.”

Your breathing is still labored, but you’re quieting with the praise. When he thinks you can handle it, he breathes, “Now, are you ready? I’m going to decay him and the knife, then I’m going to leave with Toga. You’re going to call for help.”

You glance at the villain, lying lifeless, in his own pool of blood and Tomura ducks his head to force you to look at him. “Okay?” he asks, “Answer me.”

“Okay,” you exhale slowly.

“Good,” he murmurs, “Good. Now give me the knife.”

You press it, trembling, into his hands. It’s slick with blood. He forces himself to stay calm for you.

He steps away, let’s go of you. The knife turns to dust.

“Look away,” he commands then, his voice a rasp.

And you– you listen to him. You trust him. You turn away. He sets his hands on the villain. And just like that, his body breaks down, gore at first, until it is nothing but dust. It blows away easily.

And then he goes to Toga and he lifts her carefully. She’s like a ragdoll in his arms, soaked and cold. He’s certain to keep his hands away from her, fingers lifted away, but she lolls into his chest.

When you turn around, Tomura says, “Thank you for saving her.” And he means it.

You swallow hard. You look to where the villain was. He’s gone now.

“Now call your heroes, just like I said.”

You nod, eyes filling up with tears. That’s fine. They’ll have more sympathy for you, for what you’ve witnessed. They’ll believe you more. Your mentor will protect you, with those tears in your eyes.

Tomura’s eyes burn crimson as you pull out your phone, “Do what I said and you’ll be okay.”

And you do, just like that. You lift the phone to your ear. That semblance of calm that he had coaxed you into shatters the moment someone picks up on the other end.

Your voice goes high, near hysterical, “T-There’s a villain down–”

He turns away from you as you stutter and cry into the phone about what happened. You give them the lie he told you to feed them. You make Tomura out to be the villain, you make yourself out to be innocent. He holds Toga close to him.

He tries not to smile, a dizzy slip of a thing, as you do exactly as he told you to– as you lie and lie and lie through your teeth.

Toga stirs in his arms. Police sirens are heard in the distance. An ambulance for a pile of dust. The sun sets, darkness blanketing the world, shielding it from the light.

And as he stalks away, with Toga alive and in his arms, he thinks maybe he’ll make a villain of you yet.

***

The police believe you. It’s hard not to, when there is so little evidence otherwise. Tomura destroyed it all for you. It’s hard not to believe you, when you’re crying and terrified, as you should be for witnessing the death of another person at the hands of Himiko Toga and Shigaraki Tomura.

Shouta, however, is not as easily convinced.

Not after so many strange occurrences with Tomura.

When he brings you back to his apartment, when the door is shut tight, and you still stand in bloodied clothes with your teeth chattering, Shouta eyes you warily.

You want to shower, burn yourself beneath the spray of water, like you could wash away what you’d done. You squeeze your eyes shut.

You saved her.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“What really happened?” Shouta asks, almost tentatively, standing in the middle of his living room.

You turn and you don’t– you don’t know how you should react. Should you be offended that he’d doubt you? React in outrage after all that’s happened? Should you act confused? Play dumb?

You can’t stomach any of it. Not when someone’s dead at your hands. But someone is alive because of them, too.

Your eyes well up with fresh tears.

“I-I told you.” you choke out.

Shouta’s jaw ticks. He draws in a slow breath, “Something isn’t adding up. You have had more contact with Shigaraki Tomura than anyone has been able to have.”

Your stomach drops. Your tears fall harder.

“What’s going on?” he asks and the distance between you two feels massive. It feels continental in the small space of his living room. He seems suspicious.

The lie comes out on a sob, “I–I think he’s been stalking me.”

“What?” Shouta asks and any uncertainty he has in you evaporates as he watches your face crumple.

You let your guilt overwhelm you into choking on another cry, cover your mouth as if you could catch it in the palm of your hand. Shouta doesn’t know the truth of it, so he believes it.

He crosses that distance like it’s nothing now. He stands tall in front of you, reaches to try and brush tears away from your cheek.

“I don’t know–” you gasp, filling out your lie, “I think he's interested in me because of my Quirk. Because he can’t– I can’t decay, when he touches me.”

Shouta tips your face up towards his but you can’t look him in the eyes, let your eyes squeeze shut when he asks, “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“I don’t know–” you choke out, “I wasn’t sure.”

“Did something else happen?” Shouta prods gently and you grit your teeth to keep back another sob. More tears cut tracks down your face, right into Shouta’s waiting, gentle hands.

There is a long moment where you think of giving everything up. You think of telling Shouta everything, if only to lift the weight that has settled onto your chest. Surely, it will crush through your sternum, surely your heart will burst with it’s pressure.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper, “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“No,” Shouta says then, gentle but firm, shaking his head, “I know it may feel like it–”

“He was going to kill her.”

This stops Shouta. He goes very, very still.

“What?” he rasps softly.

“He was drowning her– he wouldn’t stop. I tried to get him to stop and he started choking me–and she saved me by–” It’s a fabrication to save yourself. That’s not how it went! Your mind screeches, that’s not how it went– you saved her by killing–

Toga was turning blue, she didn’t help you. She didn’t save you. She was drowning. She didn’t kill him. You did.

“You saved Toga Himiko, a notorious villain, one of the most wanted–”

“He was killing her!” you hiss, “She was turning blue–”

“She’s a powerful villain, too, you should’ve tried–”

Something inside of you fractures, bursts apart the way glass does when thrown against a wall. You think there are a million, shining pieces of you now lying on the floor.

“She’s Shinsou’s age!” you snap, hoping one of your shards cuts him, suddenly half-furious through all your tears. “She’s Shinsou’s age, do you know that?!”

You break now, wrenching away from Shouta’s touch and rushing to double over the sink to dry heave again, body squeezing painfully. You threw up everything in your stomach already at the scene, when recounting the story to the police, to Shouta. You claw at your stomach, trying to stop it, to keep it all down inside of you. You curl your fingers into the divots of your ribs, try to force them to give you air, but they won’t– betrayers that they are, they squeeze and squeeze until there’s nothing of you left.

Your knees buckle, head spinning when you turn away from the sink and crumple into a heap on the floor,“She’s just a kid,” you wail desperately, “That’s all I saw when I tried– when I–”

Your head bows forward, body folded in on itself, forehead digging into the ground as you cry, “I didn’t mean for him to die, I didn’t mean it– I didn’t, I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Shouta moves again finally, drops to his knees down beside you. He cradles your skull in his large hand, pushes your head into the crook of his neck to hold you, “It’s alright,” he breathes, curling his other arm tight around you, “It’s not your fault,” he hushes, “It’s not your fault.” You sob hard into his chest, fingernails digging into him, clawing at his biceps, “Sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

And he holds you, buries you in the bulk of him, like he always has when you need him. Your constant, the love you never once deserved. Especially not now. Especially not here, with blood stained on your clothes, sunk to the floor with nothing but the anchor of your guilt.

He strokes your hairline, gentle, cooing softly to try and calm you.

He murmurs, his voice so deep and soft and earnest, “You’re a good hero.” When you make a strangled noise against him, he presses on, “You are. You’re compassionate. You see everyone’s humanity and that’s a good thing.”

He hushes more of your cries, fingers gentle in your hair, and you try not to throw up again when he tells you;

“You’re a good hero, I promise. I promise.”

The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero for a villain.

***

The next time you see Tomura, he questions you about what happened, if you pulled it off. You tell him you managed it, somehow. You don’t tell him anything else. You don’t tell him you haven’t been sleeping, that you can hardly keep food down. You don’t tell him that you take too many showers, trying to wash away the phantom blood.

You remember when it was Tomura’s blood on you, so long ago. A beginning that now seems so hazy. You hadn’t minded blood, then. You had never been particularly squeamish but now–

Now it could make you sick on your best days, downright hysterical on your worst.

Your guilt tears chunks out of you, bites down and shakes the meaty, soft parts of you until you’re all torn up.

It is easier to be with Tomura than Shouta now.

We have more in common, you think, and it makes you want to laugh, empty and wobbly.

You look in mirrors and hardly recognize yourself, wonder if this is really your body. If this is really your life, or if it’s someone else’s. Maybe you are possessed, maybe that explains how you got here.

You don’t tell him any of this. You stay silent.

And that’s okay because Tomura seems strangely quiet after that, pulling you to lay on his chest. He doesn’t let you put the TV on. You can tell he needs to think. You let your eyes drift close as he runs his fingers through your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness, compared to his usual petting.

But eventually he says, so soft that you fear you almost imagined it, “A yakuza head visited the League recently.”

Your eyes flutter open and in your surprise, you sit up a little, looking down at him. “Tomura–” you start, almost a warning.

He knows he isn’t supposed to talk like this here, in this little slice of another world.

But he continues anyways, his voice just a rough scratch, “He killed Magne.” And then, “And Compress no longer has an arm.”

Now you really pull away to look at him. You can feel your eyes widen out, your shock, then the stomach-turning sadness. His face is unreadable, but his jaw is tight. His eyes are simmering, so red, even in the low light like this.

“It was a set up.” he hisses, “I failed them.”

He doesn’t cry, but you can feel the slightest tremble in his body.

You hurt for him, you realize, your heart falling into the pit of your stomach. Those are two of his closest, some of his inner circle.

He looks shaken.

He looks young, with the weight of his world on his shoulders, with the crown of thorns placed on his head. Heir to a monstrous throne. All For One’s successor, boy prince to inherit an underground empire.

You just see him, though, just Tomura who's twenty, who likes sour candy and video games.

He swallows hard. He looks angry and hurt.

“Nobody mourns us,” he says eventually, looking away from you, somewhere in the darkness of the apartment.

Except you, you want to say, with a name like Tomura.

You lurch forward, throwing your arms around his neck, hugging him tight to you. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, soft, the way Shouta speaks to you, “I’m sorry.”

And then you think, I’d mourn you, and you squeeze him tighter, I’d mourn you, oh God, I’d mourn you–

He doesn’t hug you back, but you can feel the shaky breath he exhales, and the way his fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt.

***

Tomura thinks it should be you, at his side, when he takes Overhaul’s arm. You are everything Overhaul wants. Your Quirk is what he has tried to bottle.

Tomura thinks you could’ve been useful, to switch off his Quirk, to destroy it in an incredible twist of irony. It would’ve been the ultimate power move, to have you at his side by the end of all of this.

But you’re not there, no, not with him.

You’re with your heroes, Toga had told him.

It shouldn’t, but it feels like a betrayal. It stings hard and sharp inside of him, like a livid bee that jabs at his heart.

He seethes about it. Hadn’t he done everything right with you? He’d played this game slow, knew that the rewards would be worth it.

You’re still walking away from him, though. You’re still not his.

And you’ve still got one of his ribs, left a gaping wound inside of him.

He wants it back. He wants it back.

***

Eri looks up at you with watery, red eyes when you first introduce yourself to her. You crouch to be on her level. She has silver hair. She’s timid, wobbly bottom lip and flushed cheeks.

You almost start crying, looking at her now. You wonder if this is what Tomura was like as a child– small and terrified of his Quirk, round red eyes pleading with the world. All you see in her is every other forgotten child.

“Hi, Eri,” you hush, half for her, half because you’re scared your voice might break.

“H-hello,” she trembles.

You try to keep your smile in place, but it’s a weak, sad thing.

Still, you say, “I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.” And you extend your hand to her, palm up and offering. “I have a Quirk like Mr. Aizawa’s.” you tell her gently, “If you touch me while using your Quirk, it’ll stop.”

She brightens at this, not smiling but, surprised, “Really?” she asks, just a breath.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat, “Really.”

She takes your hand then, eager, tightening with her small fingers, despite her Quirk still being off.

Then she looks up into your face and offers you a tentative smile. Small, just the corner of her lips lifting up.

“I’d like to be your friend, too.” she murmurs bashfully and you close your hand around hers. It’s small, almost fragile. She’s all bandaged up, arms wrapped in gauze.

You look at Eri and her red eyes and silver hair and see a coin toss, see it up in the air, spinning and spinning, catching in the light. A twist of fate like the flip of a coin.

But you think you could call it now, with her hand in yours, and the heroes that hover protectively around her.

***

There is a morning shared in blush light that isn’t the ending but feels like it could be one. In truth, you’d prefer to remember this as the ending, more of a whimper and less of a bang. The night before had been one of your better ones, too– you’d only woken once with a nightmare. Tomura had already been awake and he’d soothed you with a careful hand that drew patterns across the bare skin of your back.

That night, that morning, was gentle in the wake of all that violence, love taken root, finally bursting through your veins to make a mess of your insides.

Dawn is too mellow a place for the two of you.

(You have come to the conclusion that Tomura looks best in dusk, saturated, sharp and rich in color. Bold and vivid. You didn’t know it, but he thought the same of you.)

You never told him you loved him.

You think about that a lot, wonder if it would’ve made a difference in anything. You wonder who was the last person to tell him that, if anyone at all.

He’s still half hoping that you’ll follow him, but you think he knows he’s losing you. You are not content in fuming misery, cannot stomach to leave the mentor that has loved and cared for you with such perseverance and softness. You cannot stomach to turn away from the boy with violet hair, or now the girl that reminds you of him.

You wish you could keep him, too, despite it all, but all you see in the future with him is rubble.

In the least, you’ve always had a sense of preservations, survivor that you are, scavenger that you are. You know when to move on, can’t linger too much longer now or you won’t live through it.

You sleep better with Tomura, though, and that’s the cruel part. You wake with less nightmares. You sleep more soundly, wound up in him, so tight that you two might just grow together. Palm to palm, your Quirk quieting his, lulled and softened.

And that morning, you wake slowly, twisting around fitfully with the warmth that has blossomed gently inside of you.

Consciousness creeps to you, fighting against the pull of sleep, being coaxed awake by the fluttering of your heart, the slow roll in your core.

Your eyes lift, heavy with sleep, finally awake. You blink blearily before a sudden, sleep soft cry escapes past your lips.

You glance down the line of your body to find Tomura nestled between your legs, tongue tracing messy patterns into where you’re most sensitive. Your stomach swoops sweetly, flares into a spark of heat.

The light is soft on him. He cracks a ruby eye open to gaze at you, to open his mouth so you can watch the flash of glistening pink as his tongue laves against you slowly.

“About time you woke up,” he gets out, voice still morning-rough, a little grating. His fingers squeeze your thigh, pulling you apart further to be at his mercy, spread open all for him.

“Tomura–” you gasp, your hands finding their way into his hair, fingers gentle and weak with sleep.

He sets his mouth to you, sucks on the bundle of nerves in a way that makes you keen, almost arching away from him. He fixes his eyes on your face, watches as your expression twists up.

You can see the way his hips are twitching into the mattress. Sometimes you think he does this more for himself than you, takes pleasure in rendering you down to your most basic, most desperate.

Pleasure coils warm, simmers on the inside of you. Your fingers flex, tighten in his hair until he groans against you. When he pulls away for another moment to admire you, his lips are spit slick, a string of translucent spit and slick bridging between the two of you.

It makes you flush darkly, makes you throw your head back and whimper.

He takes you apart with the savagery and viciousness that he has always carried. Dawn spills over the bed sheets in rays of peach and honeysuckle, lovely for the impending destruction. You shatter like glass, pretty and ringing beneath his hands.

And then he’s flipping you onto your stomach, letting you claw at your pillow as he sinks deep inside of you. He hisses when he fucks into the crux of your sweet, supple thighs. Your hair is messy with sleep. He presses his chest to your back, presses you into the mattress.

You fist at your pillow, whining at the burn and stretch, and you can feel the sickle cut of his smile against the arch of your shoulder blades. He leaves sloppy kisses, scattering them, sucking at your skin until he has claimed and marked and branded you.

He nudges his nose against your cheek until you tilt your head back to his, to rub back affectionately, nudge into him like a cat. He hums in satisfaction, in pleasure, the sound of it rumbling against your back.

You feel like he’s trying to savor this. He doesn’t pull your hair, or speed up his hips. No, he waits until you arch your back for him, until you’re near begging.

He likes you weakened, maybe delirious, maybe like he’s giving you a dose of your own medicine. He’s trying to make you as addicted as he is, but there’s no need.

No need when he covers your hand with his, slots his fingers between yours. All five of them, squeezing at your hand.

“You were made for me,” he gets out, giving you a rougher thrust, his eyes flashing to your hands, “See?” he groans, fingers digging into your wrist, your knuckles, “Made for me.”

You moan, too, all wobbly and pitched, with all the pressure, with the squeeze of his hand. With the stretch of him inside where you’re vulnerable and soft and slick.

He drags everything out that morning, fucks you both into oversensitivity, until you’re both shuddering and gasping. He breaks you down, until there are tears streaming down your face, until he’s gripping you so tightly that he’ll leave a bruise in the shape of his hand.

He fits his hand against your throat at one point and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You end where you began, with the violet petal bruise of his fingertips into your skin.

You linger in bed with him that morning, letting him pet and stroke and touch you. You stay gentle, even when he gets rough.

You make cheap, bad coffee for the both of you.

You feel twenty something with a boy and his tiny apartment. A cat chirps at the window and you’re smiling when you let him in. The breeze is cool. You don’t put on clothes because you feel like an adult, with a lover.

You feel normal for a fraction of a moment after everything that’s happened.

You feel sated and tender and saddened. Your chest fills with aching as you watch Tomura drift in and out of sleep in the sunbeams.

You were made for me, he’d said and you reach out to brush a strand of hair from his face. You were made for me.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, the one that feels like needle pricks and the hard truth. You don’t have the heart to tell him that he may need you, but you don’t need him.

You want him, though, your fingers trailing down the lines of his face, you want him so badly that it hurts. Your fingers travel over the hitch of his scars, his body as familiar as a home.

You want him, but you don’t need him, you try to tell yourself in this moment. You want him, but you don’t need him. You will survive this.

Still, it’s going to hurt. You’re bracing for impact, can feel the free fall rush up to the ground, can feel your stomach swimming up where your heart is.

You’ll survive it, you think, breathing hard, trying to keep back your tears as you look at him. But it’s going to hurt, it might tear out something very precious inside of you.

You’d rather he just break your arm again. At the thought of it, you try not to choke on the bitter, furious laugh that splits from your aching ribs.

***

You get to know Eri, try to spend more time with her and Shouta and Shinsou like you’re trying to fix something you broke. The pieces aren’t quite matching up right, though. It can’t be fixed, not really, not fully.

You can’t close your eyes without seeing that villain in a pool of their own blood. Or Toga’s face made blue. Sometimes in these dreams, it’s Shinsou who is drowning. Sometimes the villain in blood is Shouta. Tomura is always the one who saves you.

You can’t look at yourself anymore. You can’t stomach to. Your lies explode out of you when you catch a glance of yourself, haggard and exhausted and beaten down.

Shouta takes you to a hospital after your fist collides with the mirror in your bathroom. Glass shatters into hundreds of reflections of your warped and terrible image. They’re not as pretty, when the sun isn’t setting in a warehouse with a boy that you think you love.

Your hand bleeds the way that man’s necks did–

Your world spins as you lean over the bowl of the toilet to throw up your lunch. You’d made it with Eri earlier, before Shouta had gotten home from class.

Shouta finds you on the floor, sitting in all that glass, with your hand clutched tightly to your chest. He must’ve heard the commotion next door.

“What happened?” he asks, voice flooding with concern. He doesn’t hesitate to step carefully over the glass to you.

The question feels too large for you.

I did something horrible, you think, that’s what happened.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly, lifting your chin from its place on your chest. “I didn’t mean to.”

(That isn’t true and you know it.

(But you’re always trying to prove you’re good. Especially now. Especially to Shouta– trying to prove you’re worthy of his love.

You suddenly crave Tomura. You didn’t have to prove anything to him.)

Shouta lifts you carefully, cradles you to his body to carry you out to his car to bring you to the hospital. He treats you like you’re fragile, made of glass yourself. “What’s going on with you?” Shouta murmurs gently, but there's almost a plea in it, concern that is so transparent it hurts, “You’re scaring me– I’m worried about you.” he confesses, almost desperate, “You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

The laugh that sputters out of you is hollow, a grating noise that gets choked off. Shouta looks at you warily, uncertain and fearful.

The hospital keeps you for three days. Eri asks Shouta about you, apparently. She misses you. Shinsou helps her decorate a card for you.

Get well soon! Is written in her poor handwriting with far too many colors, and in Shinsou’s messy scrawl at the bottom;

Miss getting my ass kicked by you.

The doctors tell Shouta you’re struggling with a lot of survivor’s guilt and you have to fight back another absurd, off-kilter laugh.

Part of you thinks you’d be better off with Tomura at this point (your coin uncertain, hanging suspended in the air), if only to relieve you of this guilt, when Shouta tends to you and cares for you and loves you so steadfastly that it makes you feel rotten and horrible and monstrous. He has no idea who he’s loving. And you don’t deserve any of it–

But you think of Eri and the way she clings to your sleeves. And how you and Shinsou share granola bars during training.

And mostly, you are terrified to be without them.

None of it’s the same, though, and you think it’ll eat away at you until you’re nothing at all but the empty lies you kept feeding them.

You want to be better, you realize, when Eri draws you in pictures, holding her hand. You want to be better, you realize, for kids like you, like her–

(Like Tomura–)

So you decide one night, with your hand still bandaged, with Eri sleeping peacefully on the couch in the crux of your arms, and Shouta at the opposite end of the couch, that you will stay with them. The easy thing to do would be to leave, to not look back. But you have always been nothing if not determined, if not a fighter.

You will become who they want you to be, who they believe you to be, even if it tears you apart from the inside out.

Which means giving up Tomura, which feels like giving up a rib.

***

You had hoped you’d be able to slip away from Tomura and leave your secrets in a rundown apartment in a part of the city you grew up in. You had hoped that you could get away unscathed, without Shouta ever knowing more.

But Dabi mentions you to Hawks.

Offhand. Something about another traitor hero. Something about Shigaraki’s bitch.

Tomura also mentions Hawks to you.

And here is your trouble, what you were hoping to avoid by never allowing him to speak about his plans; you now know that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor. However, the only reason you know that, is because of your secret relationship with the leader of the League of Villains that you have been slowly, painstakingly trying to sever yourself from.

(It doesn’t help that he’s latched on tighter–)

So, if you go to Shouta to warn him that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor, you have to also conveniently come forward with your own truth. And what if he thinks you’re a traitor, too?

Surely, it looks that way.

Truthfully, you might as well be– you killed someone.

You killed someone.

Your stomach squeezes tight.

You think of Shouta and Shinsou and Eri and the loss of their love, when you’ve been trying to earn it back.

You don’t get much time to mull this over, though, because while walking back to your own apartment at U.A., a shadowy span of wings fall over your form.

Your heart falls into the pits of you, the drop of it sharp, horrible.

You think running will make it look all the worse.

Besides, he’s fast.

You can’t decide how this will go. Maybe he’ll only want to speak with you, traitor to traitor. But then you will be confronted with the undeniable truth that you now need to share with Shouta, with the Hero Commission, for the sake of people’s safety. You will have to come clean. Maybe it will be worse. Maybe he’s not after you at all, but just in your neck of the woods because–

All other thoughts are cut short when he lands in front of you.

You try to think of a proper reaction. Should you be expecting him? On guard? Should you act surprised?

His wings flare and you realize quickly how massive they are. They throw you into their towering shadow, make you feel like a mouse.

His eyes glint when he pushes up his visor, the gold of them sharp, his pupils a pinprick. The eyes of a predator.

You try not to cower. You stand your ground, lift your lips a little like you might bare teeth in warning, your hackles raising. Backed into the corner, you feel half wild, too.

But Hawks beats you to any form of a greeting, his smile a menacing twist of his lips, like he’s trying to be pleasant but he wants you to see all of those sharp, white teeth of his. You think he doesn’t look like much of a hero in this darkness, with the way his wings look thorny and maroon. His voice is barbed wire, the drawl of it stinging.

You know you’re in deep trouble now;

“You and I need to have a little talk.”

***

You are kept in a steel room that the Hero Commission tells you is not a holding cell, but you definitely think is a holding cell.

Your mind has not slowed since you got here.

You scramble for a story to tell– for lies to sew.

Hawks is not a traitor. Not to the heroes’ at least. He is a traitor to the villains and you know, logically, that this is for the greater good, but something about it bothers you. Villains aren’t people to the Hero Commission. You feel strangely protective of Tomura’s league of outcasts, even if you know you shouldn’t.

But they’re young, with feelings and thoughts and lives and pasts.

Nobody ever mourns us.

No, they don’t, you think, trying to keep away bitter tears from springing to your eyes. They don’t bother trying to see the big picture, they don’t bother to try and figure out why villains are on the rise.

They can’t stomach the idea that maybe their precious hero system has given birth to their villains.

Or maybe they can and they just don’t care.

They need heroes for their charts and money and power, don’t they? So they need villains. A never ending cycle, forever going around on this carousel. You’re dizzy with it, you’re sick of it, caught up in it’s riptide.

You don’t look at Tomura Shigaraki and see the most dangerous, wanted criminal in the country. You see a twenty-year-old pawn, a chip in a bigger game. You see someone as starving and desperate as you were.

You see a coin flip.

(You see the person you fell in love with–)

Shouta enters silently and the moment you see him, you have to try to keep from bursting into tears. Your lip wobbles.

He approaches slowly, cooly, but when he gets near you, his eyes are livid and searching your face, like maybe he could finally find the lies you’d kept buried so deep inside of you. They’ve finally blossomed, you think, all of them sprouting from your body, creeping through your lungs and up your throat to choke you out.

“Tell me the truth finally.” Shouta says, sharp and icy. He speaks like he’s speaking to a criminal, “Now.”

You suck in a shaky breath, try not to flinch when he leans across the metal table and snarls, “And if you are a traitor, at least have the decency to tell me now, before they come in here and interrogate both of us.”

Tears catch in your lashes.

Through the throbbing of your head, you realize you have jeopardized Shouta in the way you never wanted.

“I’m not a traitor.” you get out, voice quiet but firm, barely above a whisper.

“No?” Shouta clips and you can see it now, the hurt in his eyes. He feels betrayed, deeply so, and you can’t even blame him. “Hawks says differently. Says you’ve been working with Shigaraki.”

You rub furiously at your cheek to try and keep the tears from falling, shaking your head quickly, “No–”

“Then what happened?” he snaps and through the blur of your own tears, you catch the way his own eyes glisten.

“I didn’t tell you everything, when I said I thought Shigaraki was stalking me.” you say, having readied this lie the moment that Hawks brought you to the Hero Commission’s doors. You give them the story they want to hear of you, not the one where you fell in love, but the one where you jeopardize yourself for them. You are careful to peer up at him through damp lashes, “I–I got close to him, because he let me, because he was interested in me.”

Shouta goes very, very still. All you can see is his chest rising and falling, quick, as he slowly begins to walk the path you’re leading him down.

“And I thought he might tell me his plans, I thought that I could help–”

“No,” Shouta says in disbelief as it all begins to connect, leaning away from you in shock, “Please tell me you didn’t–”

You lurch towards him slightly, naturally, your hands coming up to the table like you’re reaching for him. “I wanted to prove I could do this–” you choke out, voice breaking, “I wanted to prove I could do undercover work like you wanted– like they wanted!”

“What were you thinking?” he hisses in return.

“You never would’ve let me do this!” you snap, almost plead with him, and it must strike true because he looks away from you momentarily, “I-I saw an opening so I tried to take it– I was perfect for it. Shigaraki was interested in me. I used to be a thief. I would’ve fit in.”

The moment you say it, you realize how true it rings. It startles you, maybe, with how close you were. Almost, but didn’t, your coin doing an extra rotation in air. And why didn’t you? Why not be with Tomura now? Why not be where you fit in most? Where hero society wanted and expected you to be?

“I’m not a traitor,” you cry, tears tracking down your cheeks freely now– you think you’re trying to convince yourself as much as Shouta now, “I promise I’m not a traitor– I couldn’t do that to you. O-or Shinsou. Or Eri–”

And there is your reason. The truth to disguise your lies. You look at him, across from you, his face almost unreadable, with his furrowed brows and tense jaw. His eyes shine, though, gleam with unshed tears as he listens to you. The man who gave you everything, who has cared for you since the moment he found you– perhaps the sole reason your coin has flipped in their favor. All because he did more than what was asked of him, because maybe he just saw someone starving, too, like the way you did with Tomura.

Believe me, you plead, believe this.

There is a long stretch of silence after that, where all you can get in is hiccuping breaths.

Finally, Shouta asks, “Did you find anything out about him? Or the League of Villains?”

You exhale hard with relief, your shoulders finally falling. You collapse somewhat, exhausted, folding in on yourself.

You hang your head, then shake it slowly, “No,” you sniffle, wipe at your drippy nose, “He didn’t tell me anything. He didn’t trust me.”

Shouta eyes you warily.

“So that’s why you encountered him so much. That’s why you were there with Toga Himiko when–” Shouta cuts himself off when he sees your wince, the shuddering of your features at the mention of that incident. But he finally put all of the pieces together. All the pieces you’ve given him, at least.

You nod, stray tears falling quick, dripping off your chin, “I’m sorry for lying,” you get out, “I hated it— I hated lying to you.”

Truth.

Shouta throws you a hard look, “You shouldn’t have. It was dangerous and irresponsible. And now look at what you’ve done–”

Your stomach knots up tightly.

“I thought I could handle it.” You breathe and there is another truth, sprinkled throughout your lies.

But you were so horribly wrong–

Shouta is about to open his mouth again, but the door swings open and a man in a suit enters slowly. His gaze is cool as it falls on you and Shouta. You know this isn’t the end of your conversation with him, you know he wants to know more. But now, he focuses on the higher up that encourages him to sit, too.

He says, because Shouta has been such an upstanding hero and teacher, they are allowing him the courtesy of explaining everything now.

And then you watch as Shouta opens his mouth and lies and lies and lies for you.

He tells them that it was his idea to allow you to get close to Shigaraki. He knew, every step of the way. He tells them he bypassed speaking with a committee at the Hero Commission’s because it would’ve taken too much time. He says that they needed to act quickly and accordingly.

He takes the brunt of it, saves you from far more trouble. He’s a trusted hero. You’re an ex-thief in the eyes of the Hero Commission with a too-big Quirk. They won’t believe you and truthfully, if they did more digging, if they pried more, there is a chance that the truth might leak out of you, open like a wound.

Shouta protects you, the way he always has. You don’t deserve it and you can feel your heart tearing itself to shreds.

You know you can’t go back to Tomura, not after all this.

You watch Shouta lie for you, speak for you, get you out of the grave you have dug yourself. For the second time in your life, Shouta saves you. You try to hold back more tears, you try to hold back from throwing yourself onto him, clinging to him.

And finally, they ask, “Did you learn anything, then? About Shigaraki Tomura?”

He likes sour candy. He has trouble sleeping. He drinks too many energy drinks. There is a scar at the corner of his lip. He has a beauty mark on his chin. He is desperate and starved of love. He let’s a kitten sleep in the sunlight of his apartment. He tries to take care of the League to the best of his ability– he cares about them more than he will admit. He is not heartless. His hands are often cold but seeking, longing for what he can’t have.

Your eyes well up with tears but you take a slow, steadying breath. They don’t want those pieces of him, the human, messy ones. No, they want to know how evil he is, how diabolical his next plan is going to be. But you don’t know any of that, just that he holds you as if he never wants to let you go when you fall asleep at night.

So you’re not lying when you say;

“I don’t know anything about Shigaraki Tomura.”

Only that he wanted to be a hero– when he was a kid.

***

The days following are the worst between you and Shouta.

He doesn’t trust you anymore. You can’t fight him. You have nothing to say, which is perhaps worse than if you tried to fight with him.

There’s no defending you, especially if Shouta even knew half of the truth. He barely speaks with you some days.

He wedges the distance between you two wide, forces it apart further.

He does not comfort you, he does not hold you when you cry this time. He’s not there with soothing, hushed words or the gentle touch of his hand to your cheek.

A piece of his trust is broken, now so severely that it’s just a jagged edge, something you don’t think can ever be soothed.

(And you’re right, in some way– there’s a deep shift in your relationship with him, changed and scarred. It never returns to what you once had, when your life was very simple and all you knew was him.)

He doesn’t ever say, I forgive you. I will trust you again, in time.

But he eventually will make dinner for you again and you will sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder at his table with a respectable, lonesome distance between his heart and yours.

Nothing is ever the same again.

You think about running– from Shouta, from Tomura, from all of it. It would be the easiest option, where you never have to look either in the face again.

But the Hero Commission looks at Eri the same way they looked at you when they discovered you could destroy Quirks and you can’t stomach the idea of leaving her to them.

(Tomura was right in a lot of ways.

And when there’s a war on the horizon and the Hero Commission seeks to use you as a weapon, you will think of him again.

I’ll teach you, if that’s what you want, he’d said to you once. And he did.

You hate the system, the endless cycle, Prometheus chained to his rock, the need of villains to have heroes, the creation of heroes to make villains. The endless bodies, the using and discarding of real, human lives for a greater good. You wish you could destroy it.

But there is more than only destruction, too. What good is rubble and ruin and death?)

You stay so you can do what you can, so you can protect a child with red eyes, with silver hair, and a Quirk too big for their own body.

And you think maybe if you stay with her, it makes up for leaving Tomura.

***

You go to Tomura one last time, walk the distance to his apartment with your hands shoved into your pockets. It’s a familiar walk now. The pavement is wet from rain. It’s cold out. You don’t know what you’re going to tell him. You wonder how he’ll react– for a moment, you’re fearful. Will he lash out? For a moment you wonder if he’ll try to kill you.

But you know, deep down, he wouldn’t. Won’t.

And you won’t pretend you’re scared of him now. You won’t play the innocent hero, not in front of him.

The moment Tomura sees you, he knows something has changed. You are too expressive and now you look at him with a sense of foreboding. With a sadness that he feels uncomfortable gazing at.

You tell him, “I got in trouble with the Hero Commission.”

For a moment, he lets his hope grow and stretch inside of him. Maybe this is finally your turning point, your fall from grace that he will catch you on. But no, your lip wobbles and your eyes dart away.

“I can’t see you anymore,” you whisper.

At first, he wants to snap at you, hiss out something cruel between his bared teeth. Maybe if you had done this a few years ago, a few months ago, he would lash out, try to tear into his neck or you or the world. He thinks about hurting you, slamming you against a wall or–

The thought is unfortunately repulsive to him. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not like that.

His anger and resentment wells inside of him, swarms his chest viciously. He wants to argue, to point out every way your heroes have failed you. The world feels so absurdly unfair suddenly, to give him you– you who quiets his Quirk and touches him gently and winds your arms around him in the way he likes so much– only to then take you away, too. You who destroys with a touch, too. Who is perfect at his side.

But for all his work and care and strategy, he can’t get you to stay.

You will run back to your heroes.

You don’t need him, he realizes now. But you have his rib, tucked away inside of you. He wants to dig into you, pry it out, rip it from your body and take it back for himself.

But you’re crying.

And you’re pretty in the dark, like you’ve always been. This time, though, you’re not looking for a fight, there is no viciousness in you now. Maybe you’re too tired to fight.

So instead of erupting, instead of lashing out, Tomura steels himself. He’ll play the longer game, then. You don’t want to go, but you will. You’ll go back to your heroes and they will disappoint you. As they always do, at some point, eventually.

You will come back to him again, he tells himself.

And he will be forgiving, the way All For One has been with him. He sees it now; you, needing his hand, needing him to take you back. He will welcome you back into his arms, as if you hadn’t even left, and you will know then that you were right to leave.

He gazes at you, red eyes smoldering, “Then don’t.” he rasps and he’s trying to remain dispassionate, but his voice has a trembling note in it, the hidden fear underneath the harsh coolness.

Your eyes flicker back to him, your lips parting in surprise. You wipe at your eyes.

“So that’s it?”

And this makes him angry, the sharp tug of it like a dog at the end of it’s leash. He lurches forward threateningly, like he might hurt you.

(You don’t flinch. And he stops himself before he gets too close.)

“What?” he snaps, “Did you want me to beg for you to stay?”

He wants to, he realizes, he wants to howl and scream and tear apart everything in sight. He wants to say don’t go, don’t go, don’t slip from me, too.

He wants to bargain with you– what is it he can’t give you that they can?

Your heroes only love you because they don’t know you, they don’t know what you’ve done. Your heroes only love you as far as truth and justice go. A hero would sacrifice you for the greater good and you would agree with them, even if you were shaking and crying, even if you burned with all that liveliness.

But he’d sooner sacrifice the world for you.

You have his rib, he wants to scream, of course he wants to beg.

You shake your head, though, more tears falling free, “No,” you say, voice surprisingly strong, “No, I never made you beg.”

The truth of it burrows beneath his skin. He knows. The itch squirms beneath his skin. His hand reaches up, digs into the crook of his neck to scratch at it.

It’s Dabi’s voice in his head that says something about getting too distracted with this braindead hero. He has bigger plans than hiding in an abandoned apartment with you. More to do. You were nothing but a side quest.

His pause screen.

Besides, what’s there to be upset about? You’ll come back.

He won’t even punish you for leaving, he promises. He promises.

“Then that’s it.” Tomura tells you, a bitter curl to his lips.

There’s no goodbye, just the breeze between the two of you, the empty space that he always hated. The nothingness between that he always sought to destroy.

Eventually, he just turns away from you. He can’t stomach looking at you any longer. He can feel your eyes pressing into his retreating form– he imagines you rushing for him, crashing into his back to throw your arms around his middle. You can’t do it, you’ll cry, burying your face between his shoulder blades. And he’ll freeze, but eventually he’ll wrap his arms around yours and bow his head with the strength of your feelings for him.

Or he imagines later, when it’s the end of the world, and you emerge from the rubble to reach for him. It’ll be like his dreams, when the sky is falling, and you only want to hold his hand in yours.

He imagines you shouting to him, changing your mind, saying his name like it’s a song to sing, not mourning bells, not a curse or an affliction.

But none of it happens.

And when he turns around, you are gone.

You leave his life as viciously as you entered it, suddenly there, all furious and beautiful, and now gone, like a lightning strike, like a lifetime.

***

You tell yourself you’re going to be fine, but you spend random days weeping over a villain. You spend long nights awake, missing him, replaying it all in your mind. You cover all your mirrors. You try to be different. You wish you could say you regret ever getting involved with him, but it would be one more lie. You wish for the time before the worst of it, the strange honeymoon you never should’ve had.

You wish you’d remembered to slow down, to savor it all a little more. You try to remember what your first kiss was like and the shade of his eyes through the evening light of an abandoned warehouse.

You try to remember when you didn’t feel so heavy, so corrosive and lost.

It doesn’t help that you’re suspended from heroing; a choice made by both the Hero Commission and Shouta. There’s nothing for you to do some evenings.

Shouta lets you train with him and Shinsou still. Shinsou tries to cheer you up, though he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you. Still, it hurts because he’s trying. It hurts because he cares so much, even about you.

You don’t deserve it, after everything.

You take care of Eri more, too, now that she is nearly in Shouta’s care. You babysit her while he’s away. You grow close with her, fiercely protective of the young girl, careful to keep the Hero Commission at a distance from her. She settles in your lap on the couch in Shouta’s apartment most evenings, watching TV and movies, while he grades papers at the opposite end.

Sometimes she falls asleep tucked into your side. You stroke her silver hair and try to bite back tears.

She catches you, sometimes, perceptive as she is, and asks very gently, “Why are you sad?” even if a tear hasn’t slipped free yet.

And you always shake your head, trying to dispel the thought of Tomura and the parents that gave him such a tragic name as a child. You force a smile for her and you tell her something silly to distract her, “I’m not,” you promise, “I just think there’s an onion nearby.”

She wrinkles her nose at this, “No, there isn’t!” but she’s easily distracted with tickles or the promise of painting her nails or having a tea party with Shouta.

Miraculously, your relationship with Shouta begins to heal, despite your betrayal. You think he can tell something worse happened to you during your time with Tomura, you think he can tell that you’re hurting, so he ends up gentler with you. He doesn’t trust you, though, keeps you on a tight leash. He looks at you some days like he isn’t quite sure he knows you.

Nothing is the same. Part of you wants to regret it. The part of you that loves Tomura can’t stomach the idea of regretting it. Someone is dead because of you. Someone is alive because of you, too.

But Shouta doesn’t ask and you don’t tell, can’t seem to speak the words.

You can’t even say, I fell in love, can’t speak the truth because it is so horrible.

And you know what everyone would ask; who could love the likes of him?

Me, you think, vehement and grief-stricken, me, you think defiantly. Why couldn’t you? He was a child once–

Shouta lets you burrow into his chest, wraps his arms around you. He sways with you in the kitchen until you can keep back your tears, until your heart has slowed to the tempo of his. He kisses the top of your head.

And it’s Shouta who is with you, when you return from training, and open the door to your apartment to reveal a scruffy, mangy looking grey kitten that wasn’t there when you left.

Ryuji chirps happily at you, rushing to the open door.

For a moment, you’re so shocked that all you can do is stand, startled, as he rubs himself against your legs.

“Don’t tell me you found another stray–” Shouta starts, but all you get out is a small, choked noise.

And here is the impact from the fall, you think, looking at that little cat that is excitedly winding itself around your legs. You can feel the shattering of your heart, like he’d lobbed it against the wall. You wonder if it catches light the same way glass does, all stained with color and broken into shards.

You drop to the floor with the weight of it all, with the clean splitting of your heart.

The moment Ryuji climbs into your lap, a sob finally ruptures out of you.

Shouta is fast, coming down beside you, you think he’s asking what’s wrong, why you’re crying, but you’ve already gathered the kitten into your arms, cradling him to your chest as the tears come quick and furious down your cheeks.

You think maybe you should be more concerned as to how he got Ryuji here, in U.A. dorms, you should be worried about security and safety but all you’re thinking about is that little apartment that you hid from the world with him in.

No, all you’re thinking about is the way light fell through the lone window to turn him hazy and soft in your memory. You’re thinking about how he never denied you affection, so long as you gave it tenfold in turn. The drawl of his voice. The pressing of his fingers into your skin like you were a miracle.

To him, you were.

Another sob spills out of you, from somewhere deep inside you.

What a lonely life, to only be able to touch one person in certainty. You wonder who will be the next person that will lay their hands gently on a body that has known too much pain. You wonder if you will be the last person to do it.

The thought hurts, opens up a part of you that is tender and shaking and desperately furious.

When Shouta can’t figure out what’s wrong with you or why you’re crying, he gives up, and sits on the floor with you. He gathers you into his lap so your back is pressed to his chest, pushing your head beneath his chin, Ryuji still cradled in your arms.

You cry harder when Shouta tries to comfort you, when he hushes softly, so sweetly, only because you don’t think there’s anyone to comfort Tomura like this.

You think of Tomura alone, even without Ryuji and it just–

Crushes you.

You squeeze the kitten tighter to your chest as you cry and cry and cry. You let Shouta hold you against him, but there’s no comfort in the aching hollowness that is growing in the pit of your chest.

You want to scream at the world that tossed the coin.

But all that comes out is a garbled, misery struck, cry.

You never told him you loved him, never gave word to what consumed you. And you realize, sitting on the floor with a kitten in your arms, that you won’t ever be able to tell him now.

It will live and die inside of you, never spoken into existence.

And even though it’s too late and Tomura Shigaraki is readying for a battle with a giant without you at his side, you still whisper the words you never got to speak into the top of Ryuji’s head.

Your lips barely move with it, the quietest, most desperate, “I love you– I loved you.” that escapes you with a trembling breath.

Shouta doesn’t even hear the confession.

Ryuji nudges your cheek with his, though, purring softly, keeping your secret safe.

And in the least, you are able to twist into Shouta’s arms and bury your face in his chest to cry as hard as you need. There’s no distance between the two of you now, like you always wanted.

Always here when you need him, even now, when it’s not him you want.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

You mumble incoherent apologies into his shoulder, try to hide in him, like he might be able to shield you from all the hurt and ache of your first love. He doesn’t ask, but he tells you very gently, his voice like the hearth of your home, “If you ever want to talk, I’ll always be there for you.”

You keep Ryuji, clean him up, fit him with a new collar, a new life. Shouta helps you care for him.

Eri adores the kitten, hugging him to her smiling face every time she sees him. Thankfully Ryuji is even-tempered, eager for affection. Almost desperate for it.

Ryuji is like proof of another world, proof that it all happened.

Sometimes you rub between his ears and ask, “Do you miss it, too?” but all he does is peer at you inquisitively, eyes large and fixed on you.

You sleep with him, though, let the kitten curl up in your lonesome arms, hold tight to him the way you used to hold tight to Tomura.

***

In the middle of the night, your phone wakes you with its insistent chime and buzzing. You blink awake sleepily, slowly and blindly paw for your phone.

You turn the screen towards you and squint at the bright light, making out the word that flashes on it;

Unknown Caller.

You grimace, rubbing at your eyes. You debate putting your phone down, letting it ring and go to voicemail. Why should you answer for an unknown caller in the middle of the night?

And yet, something in you squirms, urges you to pick up. You have no idea who it might be— maybe someone needs your help. Is it possible it’s Shouta? Shinsou? What if it’s—

You answer finally, groggy voice slurring out, “Hello?”

You’re met with static.

“Hello?” you say again, voice hushed with sleep.

Still nothing.

Tomura sits on the other side, with the phone pressed desperately to his ear. He holds everything inside of him, barely allows himself to breathe on the other end.

He doesn’t know why he’s done this, only that he is on his way to proving himself with the League and he wishes you were still at his side.

He swallows, hears you call again, “Hello? Anyone there?”

He tightens his four-finger grip on the phone, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of your voice, sleepy and soft in his ear, wrapping around the jagged parts of his heart.

He exhales and you must hear it because you say, “Is someone there?”

He bites back an answer, feels his lip tremble slightly.

He hears you huff, indignant little thing that you are and his lips pull into a shaky, painful smile. “I’m going to hang up now,” you say, all prickly, the way you’d get if he woke you too soon.

He used to soothe you with lips and teeth and tongue, run diligent fingers over you until you were sighing and arching into his touch. Until all your hard, vicious edges softened with the flattening of his palm on your body.

And for some reason you try, one last time into coaxing him to answer, “C’mon,” you say, almost like you know, “Nothing?”

Nothing, he wants to echo, but doesn’t.

His heart pounds an uneasy rhythm, a haunted tempo. He feels himself shaking again.

“Okay,” you exhale, slow, like you’re giving him a chance to stop you, “Goodbye.”

A beat passes, before he feels his heart lurch painfully in the hollow place of his chest at the thought of not hearing your voice again like this, so near. He doesn’t want you to go, wants to listen to you until it coaxes him to sleep.

“Wait– don’t hang up–“ Tomura hisses into the phone at the last moment, unable to decide if he wants you to hear him or not.

He gets his answer in the buzzing silence, long and drawn out, that fills his head. His heart.

And he sits there with his phone still in hand and his heart still on the line.

***

Tomura shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be watching you from afar, in the park that he thought you’d looked like a painting in. You’re beautiful.

But what does someone like him know about beauty, anyways?

The fireburst leaves are nearly gone, barely clinging to lone and stark branches. They claw up into the sky now, but the sun is shining. It’s mid-morning. You’re in the park with your mentor, with the violet haired boy he’d seen you with before, and the little girl with silver hair. The one that was in Overhaul’s care, with the devastating Quirk.

She tugs excitedly at your sleeve now and you give her your undivided attention, your face lighting up with whatever it is she tells you.

You scoop her into your arms and her echoing giggle is like wind chimes, melodic and childish and care-free.

You look happy, he thinks, with your mentor’s hand on the small of your back, looking down at you and the girl fondly. The violet-haired boy says something that makes the girl laugh, it makes you smile as you watch her.

You look back at your mentor with a look that Tomura has come to know; one that begs of attention and approval and affection. He can see the desperate glint to your eyes, hungry for his love.

He swallows around the sharp bitterness he feels. Jealousy floods him in a way he has never fully known. But it’s more than just jealousy for you and your attention, for the way you’re looking at your mentor.

No, it’s something greater, far worse.

He’s jealous of your mentor, with the easy way he gets to touch and look at you out in public. But he’s also jealous of you and your life.

He doesn’t realize it at first, but he’s begun to shake.

Because you were saved– isn’t that it? You were saved. And he wasn’t.

Maybe he’s jealous of the boy with you, too, with the possibility of his life so much brighter already. He has more of a chance than Tomura ever had.

Or maybe it’s the girl in your arms, with eyes like his, who he is most jealous of now. He has never allowed himself to ask;

Why couldn’t it be me?

But now he does and he can feel the pit in his chest grow with a livid sort of despair. Grief for a life never lived. Didn’t he deserve to be saved, too? Like the girl in your arms? Like you? Didn’t he deserve a life like this, too? What’s the difference? He wants to demand it, what’s the difference?

You were just a kid, you know?

His fingers dig into his neck. There is no one to stop him from breaking skin, for drawing blood on his own body. His chest festers, angry, like a blister. His stomach turns, his body trembling harder, like he’s a child, like he’s going to shake apart.

He looks at your smiling face, the curve of your lips, and wants you so bad it hurts. He wonders if you ever dreamt of him as a hero, the way he dreams of you as a villain. He wonders why it feels so unfair suddenly, the turning of your lives, the coming together and falling apart.

He shudders, feels the sudden lump in his throat. He tried not to mourn you, when you left him. He told himself that there was nothing to mourn; either you would be back or you weren’t worth it. He feels the pressure of tears now, though, much to his frustration. He feels his lungs burn for breath as he watches you hand the little girl off to your mentor, who props her onto his hip easily.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, the sound of it distant, but he catches it, the outskirts of it. He used to feel that laugh against his throat, against his lips.

But now he watches you live a life he apparently never deserved.

His bottom lip trembles, a furious scowl marring his face.

He could scream or shout at a world that wouldn’t listen. The fact of it all, the helplessness of it all, burns beneath his skin like wildfire, like acid.

Tomura takes one last look at you; the expressive glimmer of your eyes, the flash of your teeth. He lingers on you, commits you to memory as if he could ever forget you. Maybe someday he will. Maybe he won’t have to, if you come back to him.

But he won’t wait on it, in an apartment that still has traces of you in it’s corners and crevices. No, he has more to do, bigger than him. Bigger than you.

Even if the horrible tempo of his heart begs differently, even if the shaking in his shoulders is an indication otherwise.

One last look of you– you’re talking, saying something with your hands. The little girl laughs again, her red eyes crinkling up happily.

Tomura turns away.

He walks a familiar path to the apartment, the wind tries to slice through his jacket, kicks up leaves and litter in shadowed alleyways.

He enters and there is no one trailing behind him, your hands twisted into the back of his hoodie, or his sleeves. It’s quiet. Empty. He surveys it once, the bed with unmade sheets. The window that let in beams of colored light, that Ryuji would sit at.

And then he sets his hands on the wall, all ten of his fingers down, the way he used to touch you.

The wall begins to decay, cracks and crumbles beneath his hands. It spreads, and spreads, and spreads like a disease filling out the body of the apartment. Dust begins to fall like early snow.

His heart squeezes painfully, his eyes suddenly flooding with pressure, with tears he tries to keep back. His head throbs, feels like it’s going to cleave apart. His ribs ache– hurt so bad it’s like he can feel the one you took from him, the gaping part of his chest.

His Quirk flares hard and hot and fast. It burns through him, floods his veins in a way that makes him cry out, suddenly shaking, suddenly pained.

He destroys the apartment, disintegrates the tiny world he created with you that existed outside of the real one. He unpauses the game. He takes apart what the world should’ve been, when he was here, with you. He sees now that a world like this cannot exist.

The peace, the ideal, the way you had understood him. Your unending compassion. It’s rare. Not enough to save the rest of them.

So he tears it all apart, pushes at his Quirk in a way he hasn’t been able to before, nudges at its strength to test it. It flares outward, eating away at the entire space, at the furniture, at the floor. Everywhere.

He seethes, blooming, finally allowing that livid and vicious thing inside of him to burst forward. It’s explosive, wrenching out of him in the form of terrible destruction.

He’ll grow into what he was supposed to–

I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.

The only option he ever really had, the hand extended to him a villain’s, gentle when he’d taken it.

He destroys the boy inside him, the one that was naive and hopeful and weak. He let’s that boy inside of him fall apart, split open and leaks gore before turning to dust, too. He kills the part of him that he had only ever shared with you, in the blue-dark of night, when you were lulled to sleep with just the sound of his heart.

He swallows down his anguish and his jealousy and his bitterness, keeps it safe inside him, like All For One always said to do. He’ll nourish it, let it grow, fester inside of him until the only thing it can do is explode out of him to tear the world apart, too.

When he’s standing in the rubble of the tiny world you’d made with him, the apartment complex demolished, the people inside gone, he knows what he has to do.

And he has so much work to do in order to achieve it.

He tries to forget you, to destroy your memory, too. He will not carry the weight of you around inside him.

(But in his dreams, you sit cross-legged in front of him, serene and beautiful, like a painting he knows nothing about.

In his dreams, you ask for his hands to have, and he gives you them to hold.)

#shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura x you #shigaraki tomura x you #shigaraki x y/n #tomura x y/n #shigaraki tomura x y/n #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #tenko shimura x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #shigaraki fanfiction

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 3

There was a mission that came up a week later, where Kelly was needed. She was good with security work, so was needed to help the team get into a highly secured building.

‘You’ll be able to do it safely from the quinjet. So there’s no risk to your safety.’ Tony said to Kelly on the way to the site.

‘No problem.’ Kelly nodded. She was just pleased to be of help. The fact Loki came along too was totally not part of it at all…

He was sitting opposite her on the jet and kept smirking at her, giving her a few cheeky winks when no one else was looking. Making her blush and a little flustered, so she tried not to look at him too much. Though it was difficult.

When they arrived, the jet was landed amongst the trees to remain hidden from the building.

‘How do we know this is where we need to be?’ Natasha asked.

‘Our radar led us to here, the signal is coming from inside the building. We just need to get access.’ Said Bruce.

‘We will keep them distracted over the back, if you can crack the code and get their defences down then we can get in there.’ Steve said.

‘Shouldn’t someone stay here in-case Miss Hill needs assistance?’ Loki drawled as he stood.

‘She will be fine. It’s safe in here.’ Tony said flippantly. ‘Let’s go. We need everyone out there.’

Kelly smiled at Loki and thanked him silently. He nodded at her once before heading out with the team. She felt a little nervous when she was left alone, especially when she heard the fighting start. She preferred being back at base and just working behind the scenes.

But she focused on what she had to do. She was working away quickly and efficiently on the laptop when suddenly there was a large explosion right on the jet. It exploded into bits and she went flying, badly hurting herself as she rolled to a stop amongst the trees. Some debris from the jet hit her, causing more injuries.

She cried out in pain and tried to focus, but her vision was blurry and she felt a searing pain in her head. But there was a strange man coming towards her with what looked like a machine gun. She was about to die, she was so sure of it, she could sense it. She tried to push herself up, but she had barely managed to get onto her hands and knees when he started firing at her.

It was like slow motion, she knew she was about to die. But there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and waited for it to happen. But it never came. Instead, she felt an arm wrap around her tightly and while she could hear the bullets, she never felt any hit her.

Opening her eyes, though still blurry, she could see a green cape covering her and then noticed Loki crouched down by her.

‘L… Loki?’ She whispered weakly.

When the gunfire stopped, Loki whipped his cape down and quickly fired a few of his throwing knives at the man, knocking him down instantly.

‘You’re alright, pet. I’ve got you.’ He scooped her up and that’s when she passed out. The pain from her injuries too much.

Loki glanced at the man he’d knocked down. He hadn’t killed him, just injured him enough. He then stormed off into the woods with Kelly in his arms. He hadn’t exactly planned for her to get injured this badly, never mind almost killed. Which would have been a shame, since she was his best hope for getting what he wanted.

But maybe the extent of what happened would work better for him.

He looked down at the passed-out girl in his arms and had a feeling if he didn’t get her back sooner than later, she would probably die. So, he put all of his energy into teleporting back to base with her.

When he got there, he took her straight to his room instead of the emergency room. He placed her down gently on his bed and went to his cupboard, taking out some healing potion he had received from Thor from Asgard. For emergencies, Thor had said.

Well, this was an emergency. If she died, he would need a new plan. And he was starting to lose his patience.

He managed to open her mouth and poured the liquid into her mouth. He knew she wouldn’t need much, since she was just a mortal. It was powerful stuff and he only needed enough to deal with her more serious injuries.

Within minutes, she gasped awake. She instantly felt the searing pain within her. All over her body. Like she had been in an explosion… oh wait…

‘Easy, pet. You’re injured.’ Loki’s calming voice came from her side as he rushed to sit on the edge of his bed.

‘Loki? It… it hurts. All over.’ She whimpered and closed her eyes, her chest was rising and falling hard as she tried to breathe through the pain.

‘Here, take some of this it will help.’ He held the potion up to her lips and gave her some more. She accepted it and swallowed the liquid without even questioning him.

Foolish girl. That could’ve been anything. He thought to himself. But he was pleased with how trusting of him she was. It would help.

‘It’s healing potion from Asgard, used for the Gods. I’m sure it will help you to recover. Just take it easy.’ He left her for a moment to get some warm water and a cloth from the bathroom. When he returned, the potion had already helped her some more.

She was able to sit up slowly, with Loki’s aide.

‘What happened?’ She asked, her lower lip wobbling slightly. ‘Are the others ok?’

‘Stark is an imbecile and should’ve assigned someone to stay with you, is what happened.’ Loki growled angrily. ‘One of the enemies got passed us, sent a rocket to the jet. Unfortunately, you got the brunt of that.’

Kelly’s eyes widened. But she felt a little warmed that he was angry on her behalf. Even though she knew accidents could happen, sometimes missions could go wrong. That was always the risk.

‘They were still there when I took you back here, so I don’t know how it’s going.’ He said bluntly and started cleaning some of her wounds, surprising her with how gentle he was being with her. But it only made her heart flutter even more for him.

‘Thank you… For saving me. And for helping me now.’ She said quietly.

Loki looked into her eyes and smiled warmly. ‘I wouldn’t let anything bad ever happen to you, pet.’

His sudden nickname for her made her feel really fuzzy inside. Loki, the God of mischief and lies, actually liked her enough to give her a cute nickname?

Loki carefully cleaned up her wounds and put some soothing cream on any ones that would need some extra help to heal.

‘Are you feeling ok?’ He asked as he gently cupped her cheek with his warm hand. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

‘I am now.’ She said quietly and nodded lightly.

Loki gently gripped her chin and tilted her face upwards, so she was to look at him properly. Her gaze was a bit skittish as she could barely keep eye contact, even though she was still sore she was very flustered.

‘I was so worried when I saw the jet blow up… I thought, I thought you were dead.’ Loki said, looking sad at the mere thought.

‘Really?’ Kelly’s eyes widened a little.

Loki nodded and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. He looked at her lips, then into her eyes. He slowly leaned towards her. She didn’t move away, she closed her eyes and a second later she felt Loki’s lips upon hers.

She whimpered slightly against him, making him back away a bit, frowning at her in concern. ‘Did I hurt you, pet?’

‘No! Not at all… I just… uhm, was enjoying the kiss.’ She blurted out shyly.

Loki grinned and brushed his thumb against her cheek as he leaned in towards her again. ‘Well, in that case…’ And he kissed her again, this time with more meaning, moulding his lips against hers. She felt like she was in heaven.

Kelly kept her eyes closed for a little longer when the kiss finished, her heart was pounding and her stomach was a swirling mess of nerves and excitement. When she finally opened her eyes, Loki was smiling so sweetly at her. Like an adorable puppy. He looked just as excited as she felt.

‘Kelly… Would you like to join me for dinner some evening, once you’re feeling better?’ He asked, putting his hand on top of hers, completely engulfing her small one.

She nodded eagerly, giggling. ‘I would love to!’

Loki’s smile grew even larger. ‘I know the perfect restaurant to take you to. I’m sure you’ll love it… But there’s one thing, I think we should keep it a secret from the others. I know they don’t trust me, or even want me around. I wouldn’t want them to think little of you for going on a date with me.’ He said sadly.

‘Don’t think like that, Loki. They’re just imbeciles who haven’t given you the chance. Don’t mind them, please. I really like your company and… I really like you. I don’t care what they think.’ She blushed.

Loki smiled again and looked a little bashful. ‘I like you too, Kelly. A lot… But I would like to keep it quiet, just in-case. I know your sister wouldn’t be pleased, I’d rather not have her after me. Or the others.’

‘I guess she wouldn’t. But they just need a bit more time to see the real you. But I won’t say anything to anyone, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

Loki nodded. ‘Thank you, pet.’ He brought her hand up and kissed the back of it, making her skin tingle.

#Tom Hiddleston #Loki #fan fiction #mcu Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki x OFC #tear you to pieces

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

Reality Check - Chapter 6

Summary: Y/N and Wanda were very close after returning in 2023.  The two bonded over the loss of their partners.  It wasn’t enough to keep Wanda grounded after she found Vision’s body though, and Wanda wants the best for her friend.  Unfortunately for Y/N, this means she’s going to be thrown into a reality she wasn’t expecting.

Notes: Thank you all for your love and support!!  I love you guys so much and your feedback makes me smile.  It’s hard to reply to everyone but I’m keeping tabs on the taglist as much as possible.  I’ve noticed a few usernames are not being tagged on this post, so I’ll be sure to contact them.  Tumblr decided not to tag them I guess lol!  

Anyway, enjoy this new chapter.  I changed things a little bit.  We’re going a little off course of what I had before, hence the reason why this is late.  The chapter I had written at first is only being stocked away for the next chapter, which means it’ll be out sooner than this one did.  I promise! 

Happy Falcon and the Winter Soldier day, everyone! 

“Well Wanda, I gotta skitty before Loki starts wondering where I’m at,” You chuckled nervously.  Watching her fix the wall was incredible.  It was unlike anything you’ve seen before.  So unusual yet so familiar. 

Wanda smiled lightly at you.  “Alright, I understand.  But please feel free to come by anytime.  Whatever you need,” She said.  You smiled back at the woman. 

“Of course!  Maybe I’ll swing by in a couple of days to see the boys!” You waved goodbye to her and opened the door. 

You took your leave, closing the front door behind you.  Vision turned to see you come outside moments later, a confused look on his face.  “Vision?  What’s wrong, buddy?  You look paler than a ghost.” 

Vision turned to look back at the fence, where Herb and Agnes once stood.  The two had left a while ago, but he seemed frozen in place.  “It’s nothing,” He smiled.  

“Are you sure?” You asked, looking back at the fence that he seemed to stare at before he looked at you.  It was cut nearly in half.  From what, you couldn’t tell. 

“Absolutely.  I suppose I’m just rather nervous about becoming a father.  It feels like it happened so quickly.” 

“Well, I’m sure it did, Vision.  You’ll be fine though.  You’re a good man and remember, Wanda’s going to be there too.  Like I said before, it’s not like you’re doing it alone.  You’ve got this whole town.”  

“That’s true.  This town seems to be quite... Supportive.” 

“Sometimes too supportive.  It feels like everyone’s connected sometimes!” You two shared a nervous laugh. 

“Oh yes, everyone here is quite connected.  Sometimes it is almost concerning.  This town is nothing like I have ever seen before.  I feel as though you can’t keep any secrets around here.” 

“Yeah, I know how you feel.” 

~

“What do you mean?” Loki asked, trying to figure out what’s going on.  The blade was pressing against his skin, close to piercing it.  His eyes scanned the man’s face, unable to determine who he was. 

“I won’t ask again.” 

“I don’t even know who you are,” Loki replied, now glaring at the man.  

Scott revealed himself to Loki, green magic engulfing his form.  He wore the same suit as he did before, but his hair was longer now, reaching down to brush his shoulders slightly.  His green eyes were sharper now, and his face was far more defined.  Loki watched as the man morphed into a mirror image of himself.  “Do I look familiar now?” He spat out, annoyed by the impostor.  

“Quite,” He said stiffly.  Loki pushed him back while “Scott” wasn’t paying that much attention.  He walked to the other side of the room, giving the two of them space between one another.  “I am Loki.  But who are you?” 

“That’s impossible,” Scott said.  “This reality’s version of me was supposed to die in 2018.” 

“2018?” Loki questioned.  “The year 2018?” 

“Yes, the year 2018,” Scott rolled his eyes.  “What other year would I mean?” 

“What year is it now then?” 

“2023.  You’ve been dead for 5 years and yet you’re here.  The T.V.A didn’t tell me about this.  Of course they wouldn’t.”

“The T.V.A?” 

Scott ignored his question.  “Now I’m stuck in the Scarlet Witch’s fake reality with another version of me.  But they told me he died.  Is it possible?” He was thinking aloud, causing Loki to grow even more confused. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Scott shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  I have a mission to carry out if I want to get out of there.  Plans have changed.” 

~

Ten minutes later you found yourself walking to Ellis Avenue.  It was close to the edge of town, and very few people lived there anymore.  The sun may have been shining and birds may have been chirping, but you felt like the air was icy as you got closer to the border.  The sign “Leaving Westview: We hope to see you again soon!” looked old and rundown, as if no one had touched it in decades.  An image of a family playing in the park was shown next to the lettering.  Perhaps once upon a time it was a cute sign.  Now it seemed ominous. 

A sense of dread and misery started to seep in as you continued walking closer to the end of the road.  It was like you couldn’t control your own thoughts anymore.  Or perhaps, it was the other way around.  For the first time this week you felt like you were gaining control again.  

Making your way to the border, you noticed that there was not a single person in sight.  The road continued on, making its way through the forest that was only a mile away.  The trees swayed with the wind soundlessly.  A part of you almost seemed to beg to leave the town.  

So you kept on walking. 

It felt like some sort of energy was trying desperately to pull you away from it.  You couldn’t understand what pulled you to this town, what kept trying to pull you back into it.  You hardly remember anything before Westview.  What was on the outside? 

You were abruptly stopped by a barrier.  It was glowing red, much like the other objects you saw a few days ago.  The vibrant color seemed to pulse and move as you walked closer.  It was an electrifying feeling, being this close to the magic that kept everyone trapped inside.  Some part of you begged, screamed for you to stay back.  The other part of you asked for the exact opposite.  

You touched the barrier, a shock running up your arm when you did.  You almost pulled back instantly, but something protected you from it.  You stared in amazement as blue shockwaves seemed to surround your hand.  They disappeared, fading off into the red barrier.  

You turned around, looking to see if anyone was nearby.  No one seemed to be in sight, but you felt like you were being watched.  You turned back to the barrier, pushing your hand further in.  It hurt, but something egged you on, daring you to cross it.  

You took a step in, watching the red engulf your entire body.  You couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t even see anything that was going on.  You had two options: Go back into the town that you’re trapped in or see what’s on the outside.  

It seemed to last forever, but it was probably because you could hardly move while you were in it.  It felt as if you were frozen solid.  Whatever it was didn’t want you to get out.  Memories were starting to seep in though.  Memories of the distant past, and memories of what had happened only two weeks ago.  

You gained feeling back in your hand again.  You had to be close to the end if you could feel it.  In just a split second you were thrown out of the barrier.  You collapsed onto the grass, taking a deep breath.  It felt like someone splashed cold water on you.  

Lights began to blind you as you heard voices all around you.  “Put her in custody, and someone get a doctor!” You heard one say.  It was distinct, clear, loud.  Whoever it was sounded like the leader. 

You felt several people pull you up from the ground, placing you on a softer surface.  A gurney, probably.  You blinked several times, squinting to see where you were.  Someone familiar stood next to you.  It was Geraldine.  Was that her name?  

At that point it didn’t matter.  Your head was in too much pain from everything else that was going on to care.  

“You’ll be okay, Y/N.  We’re going to get you checked out,” The woman reassured you.  She smiled slightly and you tried to smile back at her. 

You started to doze off, choosing to sleep and recover from the traumatic experience you just had.  For the first time in a long time you were able to dream.  These dreams weren’t normal though.  

They were memories. 

Memories of everything before Westview. 

Scott watched Loki’s body slowly disappear.  Clearly, he was just an illusion.  Something set up by the Scarlet Witch to keep Y/N in control.  He contacted the TVA on his communicator, sending them a message as he watched the body dissolve.  

He was told that this reality was created by the Scarlet Witch and that he had to get the timeline back on track.  They never told him about Y/N being involved.  They didn’t even tell him that an illusion of himself would be in it too.  

The plan would have to change if he wanted to make sure this worked.  They didn’t even give him an idea of how to set the timeline right.  Now that he knows what’s going on, he has an idea. 

And now, he’ll make sure he gets out of here in time. 

And he’ll be sure to give the Time Variance Authority hell.  

~

Wanda smiled down at Billy, sitting next to Vision who held Tommy.  She felt something turn in her chest.  Something was wrong.  Her eyes widened, and she looked out across the room, zoning out.  

Vision noticed that she seemed distracted, trapped in her thoughts.  He reached over slightly to touch her hand, bringing her back.  She turned to him and smiled.  

“Is something wrong, my love?” He asked. 

“No, nothing at all.  Everything is just fine.” She said, looking down at Billy once more.  

She wasn’t going to concern him with the fact that she knew something was wrong. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

@emberfulclass @momoneymolife @high-priestesss @hailey-the-heathen @mochminnie @dpaccione @intricate-melody @lindseyrae20 @storminateacup15 @ilovemollyweasley @bookgirlunicorn @chims-kookies @austynparksandpizza @yikesdameron @littleladdty @three-eyed-snail @kymera-casterwill @justsomerandompersonintheworld @followthepastelcloud @11mb0 @carolinesbookworld @from-hel-i-with-love @grimalkynslee @boywivlove @prettysbliss @youreobsessedwithmarvel @th3gl1tt3gram3roff1c1al @luthien-t @lokilove3000 @treblebeth @weclassygirl @justfangirlingaround @drpepperobsessed @how-does-this-work @prideofnewberk @matterdontminduntildone

#loki x reader #loki odinson #laufeyson #thor #westview #WandaVision #WandaVision spoilers #Reality Check Masterlist #Fanfic #Fanfiction #fluff #wanda maximoff #vision #avengers #marvel

[imagine-loki]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 3

TITLE: Tear You To Pieces CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 3 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was sent to make up for his deeds by helping out The Avengers at the tower. Everyone thinks he’s changed, but he is just biding his time. He manipulates and uses someone who works there, who has a crush on him, to get exactly what he wants.  RATING: M

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: DARK LOKI, RAPE/NON-CON, MANIPULATION, MURDER, VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, KIDNAPPING

There was a mission that came up a week later, where Kelly was needed. She was good with security work, so was needed to help the team get into a highly secured building.

‘You’ll be able to do it safely from the quinjet. So there’s no risk to your safety.’ Tony said to Kelly on the way to the site.

‘No problem.’ Kelly nodded. She was just pleased to be of help. The fact Loki came along too was totally not part of it at all…

He was sitting opposite her on the jet and kept smirking at her, giving her a few cheeky winks when no one else was looking. Making her blush and a little flustered, so she tried not to look at him too much. Though it was difficult.

When they arrived, the jet was landed amongst the trees to remain hidden from the building.

‘How do we know this is where we need to be?’ Natasha asked.

‘Our radar led us to here, the signal is coming from inside the building. We just need to get access.’ Said Bruce.

‘We will keep them distracted over the back, if you can crack the code and get their defences down then we can get in there.’ Steve said.

‘Shouldn’t someone stay here in-case Miss Hill needs assistance?’ Loki drawled as he stood.

‘She will be fine. It’s safe in here.’ Tony said flippantly. ‘Let’s go. We need everyone out there.’

Kelly smiled at Loki and thanked him silently. He nodded at her once before heading out with the team. She felt a little nervous when she was left alone, especially when she heard the fighting start. She preferred being back at base and just working behind the scenes.

But she focused on what she had to do. She was working away quickly and efficiently on the laptop when suddenly there was a large explosion right on the jet. It exploded into bits and she went flying, badly hurting herself as she rolled to a stop amongst the trees. Some debris from the jet hit her, causing more injuries.

She cried out in pain and tried to focus, but her vision was blurry and she felt a searing pain in her head. But there was a strange man coming towards her with what looked like a machine gun. She was about to die, she was so sure of it, she could sense it. She tried to push herself up, but she had barely managed to get onto her hands and knees when he started firing at her.

It was like slow motion, she knew she was about to die. But there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and waited for it to happen. But it never came. Instead, she felt an arm wrap around her tightly and while she could hear the bullets, she never felt any hit her.

Opening her eyes, though still blurry, she could see a green cape covering her and then noticed Loki crouched down by her.

‘L… Loki?’ She whispered weakly.

When the gunfire stopped, Loki whipped his cape down and quickly fired a few of his throwing knives at the man, knocking him down instantly.

‘You’re alright, pet. I’ve got you.’ He scooped her up and that’s when she passed out. The pain from her injuries too much.

Loki glanced at the man he’d knocked down. He hadn’t killed him, just injured him enough. He then stormed off into the woods with Kelly in his arms. He hadn’t exactly planned for her to get injured this badly, never mind almost killed. Which would have been a shame, since she was his best hope for getting what he wanted.

But maybe the extent of what happened would work better for him.

He looked down at the passed-out girl in his arms and had a feeling if he didn’t get her back sooner than later, she would probably die. So, he put all of his energy into teleporting back to base with her.

When he got there, he took her straight to his room instead of the emergency room. He placed her down gently on his bed and went to his cupboard, taking out some healing potion he had received from Thor from Asgard. For emergencies, Thor had said.

Well, this was an emergency. If she died, he would need a new plan. And he was starting to lose his patience.

He managed to open her mouth and poured the liquid into her mouth. He knew she wouldn’t need much, since she was just a mortal. It was powerful stuff and he only needed enough to deal with her more serious injuries.

Within minutes, she gasped awake. She instantly felt the searing pain within her. All over her body. Like she had been in an explosion… oh wait…

‘Easy, pet. You’re injured.’ Loki’s calming voice came from her side as he rushed to sit on the edge of his bed.

‘Loki? It… it hurts. All over.’ She whimpered and closed her eyes, her chest was rising and falling hard as she tried to breathe through the pain.

‘Here, take some of this it will help.’ He held the potion up to her lips and gave her some more. She accepted it and swallowed the liquid without even questioning him.

Foolish girl. That could’ve been anything. He thought to himself. But he was pleased with how trusting of him she was. It would help.

‘It’s healing potion from Asgard, used for the Gods. I’m sure it will help you to recover. Just take it easy.’ He left her for a moment to get some warm water and a cloth from the bathroom. When he returned, the potion had already helped her some more.

She was able to sit up slowly, with Loki’s aide.

‘What happened?’ She asked, her lower lip wobbling slightly. ‘Are the others ok?’

‘Stark is an imbecile and should’ve assigned someone to stay with you, is what happened.’ Loki growled angrily. ‘One of the enemies got passed us, sent a rocket to the jet. Unfortunately, you got the brunt of that.’

Kelly’s eyes widened. But she felt a little warmed that he was angry on her behalf. Even though she knew accidents could happen, sometimes missions could go wrong. That was always the risk.

‘They were still there when I took you back here, so I don’t know how it’s going.’ He said bluntly and started cleaning some of her wounds, surprising her with how gentle he was being with her. But it only made her heart flutter even more for him.

‘Thank you… For saving me. And for helping me now.’ She said quietly.

Loki looked into her eyes and smiled warmly. ‘I wouldn’t let anything bad ever happen to you, pet.’

His sudden nickname for her made her feel really fuzzy inside. Loki, the God of mischief and lies, actually liked her enough to give her a cute nickname?

Loki carefully cleaned up her wounds and put some soothing cream on any ones that would need some extra help to heal.

‘Are you feeling ok?’ He asked as he gently cupped her cheek with his warm hand. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

‘I am now.’ She said quietly and nodded lightly.

Loki gently gripped her chin and tilted her face upwards, so she was to look at him properly. Her gaze was a bit skittish as she could barely keep eye contact, even though she was still sore she was very flustered.

‘I was so worried when I saw the jet blow up… I thought, I thought you were dead.’ Loki said, looking sad at the mere thought.

‘Really?’ Kelly’s eyes widened a little.

Loki nodded and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. He looked at her lips, then into her eyes. He slowly leaned towards her. She didn’t move away, she closed her eyes and a second later she felt Loki’s lips upon hers.

She whimpered slightly against him, making him back away a bit, frowning at her in concern. ‘Did I hurt you, pet?’

‘No! Not at all… I just… uhm, was enjoying the kiss.’ She blurted out shyly.

Loki grinned and brushed his thumb against her cheek as he leaned in towards her again. ‘Well, in that case…’ And he kissed her again, this time with more meaning, moulding his lips against hers. She felt like she was in heaven.

Kelly kept her eyes closed for a little longer when the kiss finished, her heart was pounding and her stomach was a swirling mess of nerves and excitement. When she finally opened her eyes, Loki was smiling so sweetly at her. Like an adorable puppy. He looked just as excited as she felt.

‘Kelly… Would you like to join me for dinner some evening, once you’re feeling better?’ He asked, putting his hand on top of hers, completely engulfing her small one.

She nodded eagerly, giggling. ‘I would love to!’

Loki’s smile grew even larger. ‘I know the perfect restaurant to take you to. I’m sure you’ll love it… But there’s one thing, I think we should keep it a secret from the others. I know they don’t trust me, or even want me around. I wouldn’t want them to think little of you for going on a date with me.’ He said sadly.

‘Don’t think like that, Loki. They’re just imbeciles who haven’t given you the chance. Don’t mind them, please. I really like your company and… I really like you. I don’t care what they think.’ She blushed.

Loki smiled again and looked a little bashful. ‘I like you too, Kelly. A lot… But I would like to keep it quiet, just in-case. I know your sister wouldn’t be pleased, I’d rather not have her after me. Or the others.’

‘I guess she wouldn’t. But they just need a bit more time to see the real you. But I won’t say anything to anyone, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

Loki nodded. ‘Thank you, pet.’ He brought her hand up and kissed the back of it, making her skin tingle.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #tear you to pieces #chapter 3 #fanficshiddles

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Cross the Ocean

A/N: Requested by @starry--skies​. Sidenote: this may be a good story for a sequel sometime.

Summary: Neal once told you he would cross the ocean to be with you, but when you know he’s in danger, you’ll cross the ocean yourself to save him.

Word Count: 2,955

           How could an apartment feel so cold and empty when the same number of people dwelled in its walls? You supposed it had been long enough that all the signs of him had faded. Spare clothes, returned to June, because there was no one else to return them to; the extra toothbrush trashed because no one was using it, anyway, and why have it take up more space? The linens could only go unwashed for so long, the last flowers he had offered died months ago, and his necklace was sitting in your jewelry box, unseen, because it hurt too much to wear it.

           The same number of people lived in it, true. But Neal hadn’t needed to live there to leave his mark, and now that mark was gone, jumped on a plane without a goodbye, just like him.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           “Don’t go,” you said, unprompted, staring across the room to the dark shadows covering the wall.

           You could feel his movement as Neal picked up his head. “Where would I go?” He asked, confused, sleepiness adorably muddling his voice.

           You shrugged halfheartedly, already regretting having said it out loud. He felt your shoulders under his arm and tightened his warm hold on you, tugging you closer to the heat of his chest.

           “Just don’t go,” you said again, hugging yourself comfortingly.

           The idea that the man beside you could leave – had a history of leaving – without a trace left you feeling cold already. You were a cautious person, but loving someone the way you suspected you were growing to love Neal made you want to let down your guard. It was scary, like taking off the Kevlar vest to assuage someone with a gun; you were reasonably certain that you were safe, but you were also making yourself vulnerable to massive injury.

           Neal moved his hand slowly, probably just so you would know that he hadn’t fallen asleep. He didn’t answer right away. The silence and the stroking of your arm sent mixed messages and you had just about settled on reading it as pity, and almost curled up tighter and moved away. Did he think you were clingy? Did he think it was pitiful that you expected him to stay with you? Maybe you had misread everything.

           His hand stopped moving and he moved again, just enough to press his lips to your forehead. “Y/N,” he said, softly, his voice clearer. Thinking on it had woken him up more. “I don’t plan to go anywhere. Definitely not anywhere you can’t follow.”

           Whew. There was a softness and delicateness to the way he talked to you, but it sure didn’t sound like pity or exasperation. More like… empathy, and maybe apology, for your evident insecurity and any role that his past played in it.

           “I guess I just – I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be an ocean away.” Without me, you wanted to add, but figured it was implied. And unnecessary, probably, since he had done it to Kate before, or close enough. He had likely learned the kind of damage that did to a relationship.

           Neal resumed his gentle stroking of your arm. “Oceans aren’t a big deal. We’ve got cruises and airplanes now,” he reassured with a playful bit of teasing. More seriously, but very simply and matter-of-factly, he continued, “And if someday we wake up an ocean apart, I’d cross the ocean.”

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           It was easy to be bitter and easy to resent. In the beginning, you had been insecure, nervous that he would leave overnight when an opportunity arose. How could you not? Neal tried to leave forever without so much as a goodbye to anyone, only stopped by a bomb and a lost love. It had irked you then, and it scared you when your rapport deepened. He had fake documents ready to go, an agreed-upon rendezvous point with Mozzie planned for any given time. Neal worked hard to assure you he loved you. You weren’t sure he ever managed to convince you there was no chance of his leaving, but you at least had confidence that he would say goodbye, give you a chance to have closure.

           No such luck. Part of you knew it wasn’t out of lack of desire, but rather lack of opportunity. The other part wanted it to shut up. Love him as you did, you knew Neal’s situation was a product of his own choices. He made his bed, and he should have lied in it, but for the family he had found in the city who loved him too much to let him rot in the pocket of a man who’d use him as a tool and throw him back in prison the second he stopped being useful – or, worse, leave him to die when it became too much trouble.

           Whenever you embraced the anger, because the sorrow was too overwhelming, you resented Neal for all his stupid choices. Keeping the painting, pulling those stunts on the aerial tramway, and baiting Kramer for months with constant near-misses that could’ve been avoided if he had just stopped breaking the law. It was such a simple solution. And you were angry. The last six months of your relationship had been rocky, because the anger wasn’t new, it wasn’t just because he had gone away. It was because he kept compromising himself, and his coworkers and friends by extension, and yourself by association.

           Holding onto anger was never your forte when it came to Neal, though. Sooner or later, usually within a couple of days, you would see or hear or do something that would remind you of the man, and you’d be hit with a wall of all the good memories, all the things he did that made you feel pride and adoration and contentment. Then came the longing and loss, and finally, the blame. The blame that you had just failed to pin on Neal himself, so you embraced the bitterness instead.

           Peter had one job and instead, he turned Neal loose. Gave him the green light to run. At least if Neal had gone with Kramer, there was the chance of a happy ending. There was a reasonable chance that, with the WCCD at his back, Kramer wouldn’t be able to keep Neal past the two years left on his original sentence, and when it was over he could have come home. Peter had ruined any chance of that, his silent gesture telling Neal that there was no alternative and that he had the approval of his family here. Most importantly, that nod was a goodbye, and acceptance, and an “I love you, so I’m letting you be free”. You’d never begrudged Neal his close relationship with Peter but you felt cheated that, on top of ruining any slight chance of your partner returning to you, he got to say goodbye while you were left blindsided and heartbroken.

           The first time you resorted to bitterness to cope, it lasted several weeks. You avoided Peter and dodged his team. They were worried, and El reached out, but you politely assured her you were fine and just didn’t want to see any of them. She respected your wishes and must have told her husband because he, Diana, and Clinton all stopped trying to find you. Neal’s friends were like salt in your wounds, even the ones who hadn’t told him to go. It was too deep and too fresh to handle the reminders. Hell, you could still barely handle your own apartment. You really didn’t know how deeply in love you were until Neal was gone.

           It took longer, but the bitterness and betrayal ran its course and became exhausting, as well. Finally, you cycled back into sadness and mourning, which took so much out of you but demanded so little. Roses made you cry because you thought of the roses Neal would give you. So did your favorite dress, which was only your favorite because it was his favorite, too. Tiny things that you could expect to encounter at least once every few days would make you feel hopeless. You were grieving, as if he had died. Knowing he was alive and well didn’t soothe the pain because the permanence of his decision to flee the authorities put him so out of your reach, he might as well have died.

           Every run through the stages hurt a little bit less, wound up a little bit shorter. You were healing, you knew, but the ache in your heart persisted. Learning to function again, learning to be prosperous and content without him, was an option, no matter how impossible it seemed on some days. On those days, you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Neal had earned such a place in your life and in your heart, and even when the things he did made you see red, you still knew in both heart and mind that he loved you and was yours. Some little piece of you wanted to still be his, so that you could keep that connection, that last thing you had of him.

           That little piece was such an asshole.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           A deep delve into your professional life helped keep you occupied so you didn’t think too hard. It wasn’t the healthiest way of processing a breakup, no matter how messy or devastating said breakup was. Still, it was better to be productive and helpful than to let yourself continue spiraling and cycling through destructive emotions and patterns. The summer passed agonizingly slowly but when you looked back, it was like the blink of an eye. Suddenly it had been a whole season since you had last seen Neal. The romantic side of you wanted to say that it hurt just as much as it had before, but… it didn’t.

           You felt awful thinking it, and then awful for feeling awful for having a life after him. Neal was gone. He had no choice about leaving New York, but he did have a choice about how, and he chose the route that left no possibility of a reunion. Why the hell should you wait around for him, wishing you kept hurting for a man who clearly was more interested in his freedom than in recovering what you had together?

           Going home the day you had that thought, you looked at the button for the 21st floor and for the first time in a long time, you actually thought about just poking your head in and seeing how Neal’s other friends were doing, and then you realized the anger was running out. You didn’t have the energy or the will to keep deliberately resenting Neal or Peter.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           By August, you could look back on everything and understand the decisions that were made. You didn’t agree with them, but you understood the desperation fueling them and the fear that Neal must have felt. The moment Neal’s handler, whoever that was, tied his hands and threw him aside, the man was as good as dead, just in a matter of time. Kramer wasn’t above that. If he were free – even just by flight – Neal could protect himself. You could forgive him for leaving, but you weren’t sure he was forgiven for leaving without even a phone call to you as he booked it to the airport.

           Later that month, though, your personal grievances didn’t seem to matter all that much. A man approached you while you were at work. You thought he was the man you’d asked to come answer some questions, but no – you were the one being questioned. He was cynical, evasive, and exacting, and clearly after information on Neal.

           As soon as he left, you went to the twenty-first floor and beelined for Peter’s office, ignoring the tentative, sympathetic greetings from familiar faces. Peter glanced up when you entered and then did a shocked double-take. It was the first time you had voluntarily approached him in months, after all.

           Peter stood up so quickly his chair legs scraped loudly on the floor. “Y/N,” he said right away, but then obviously had no idea where he was trying to go, unable to figure out what to say. You could see the sympathy and sorrow on his face. Not only did you lose your partner, and Peter had lost his friend, but the other agent had encouraged your partner to leave. He knew from your avoidance that you blamed him, at least partially.

           With a wave of your hand, you dismissed it. Nothing Peter could say would fix the situation. You knew what he had done was in Neal’s best interests, weighing his wellbeing over your feelings. Where Neal wasn’t forgiven, Peter was, finally, and the avoidance that remained was just about trying to distance yourself from reminders of your blue-eyed artist.

           “Someone just came asking questions about Neal,” you said, crossing your arms and peering across the office at Peter. “Agent Collins. He said he’s just tying up loose ends, but he’s not, is he?”

           Peter’s openmouthed surprise turned into a grim purse of his lips. He shook his head, looking frustrated, and gestured for you to close the door. You did, and leaned back against it. “He’s the bureau’s version of a bounty hunter,” the agent confided, putting his fists down on his desk and leaning onto it. “Neal was almost commutated, then slipped out under their noses. It makes them look bad. They want to get him back.”

           You didn’t miss that Peter was using pronouns that excluded himself, but didn’t comment. It was no surprise – he’d made his stance clear when he encouraged Neal to go. “Why now?” You demanded. “It’s been months, surely the trail’s cold.”

           “Best guess?” Peter hazarded, sighing deeply. “They’ve spent this time trying to find him other ways. Now they’re realizing that Neal’s better than they thought and all they want to do is make an example out of him.”

           Oh, hell no. “Like they haven’t already?” You asked snidely. Peter tilted his head aside, not explicitly agreeing but getting his point across all the same.

           The bureau had your trust – for the most part. When it came to their treatment of Neal, your eyes had been opened to how even organizations seeking justice could be completely unjust in their treatment of people who lacked recourse. Neal was frequently put in life-threatening situations with no training and no choice in the matter except to be put back in prison. Enough people knew Neal was working with the FBI for Sing Sing to be a life-threatening situation, in and of itself. Neal was nothing but a tool to them because he lacked the normal resources of walking away or pursuing litigation.

           You looked aside, glowering at the drab office wall. “It gets worse,” Peter wearily told you. “Collins is looking for a win. And at this point, a dead fugitive is just as good of an example as an incarcerated one.”

           “Not happening,” you refused furiously. “What the hell happened to proportionality?” Neal may have pissed some people off, Robin Hood-ing from the one percent, but he was never violent. Sending a bounty hunter after him with permission to kill was wildly inappropriate and inhumane.

           “I’m afraid proportionality isn’t the first thing on the mind,” Peter warned as you stalked further into his office, toward his desk.

           “We have to warn him,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to Peter. Neal was “run at any time” paranoid, not “stay away from windows” paranoid.

           “Yes,” Peter nodded, “But we can’t. We don’t know where he is. There is no way of telling him.” The agent wasn’t giving up or resigning himself to being useless. As much as there was disappointment and worry in his face, there was also stubbornness.

           “So we find him,” you quietly suggested. “No one knows him better than we do.”

           “Y/N.” Peter dropped his voice to match your volume and spoke with a soft, concerned tone. “You have to understand, finding Neal and not turning him in, much less tipping him off about Collins, is outside the law.”

           “The law is apparently saying it’s okay to murder a man who has, at worst, taken money that isn’t his.” You fervently stated. That wasn’t your first concern, Neal was, but you needed Peter to know that you weren’t just in this because you were in love with the man in question. There was a principle at stake, and a moral obligation. “The equivalent of chopping off a pickpocket’s hand, coming from the government that supposedly despises cruelty and injustice. I won’t support that, and I sure as hell won’t stand by and let it be done to someone I love.”

           While you had been talking, Peter had slowly started to smile. It was the smile he used to always give to Neal when he was proud, when your boyfriend would remind him that Neal was a kind person with a good, loving soul. Having it directed at you reminded you far too much of the smile Neal always gave back and your chest tightened – not just at the memory, but at the decision which meant you were bound to see it again.

           “I knew you were going to say that,” Peter admitted with a small, relieved grin, like the shared challenge and conspiracy were washing all the sourness and distance under the bridge. You really thought that maybe it was. His confidence in you and his commitment to your boyfriend reassured you that you weren’t losing your mind and you weren’t alone, no matter how lonely you’d been feeling. “I just need you to understand what you’re putting at stake.”

           “Wherever he is, when we find him, I’m coming. No matter what.”

#lawmen and conmen #white collar #white collar x reader #reader insert #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #fanfic #oneshot #cross the ocean #requested #angst #sad #breakup #tw: abandonment #grief

[twdeadfanfic]

Stranded Pt.1

TWD|Death Stranded AU with aspects of both worlds and my own thing, and mostly TWD characters showing up as we go.  

Daryl Dixon x OC

Summary: 30 years have passed since the Stranding ended the world as it was known, as if pretty much the apocalypse came, and now people live in isolated communities or by themselves, while the dead walkers roam the world and so do hostile groups of people. Daryl Dixon is a freelance porter that during a delivery finds an orphan baby who he takes, unsure of what do with her, and not much later stumbles into Rick Grimes, and ex-guard looking for his missing family with the help of Grady Memorial Settlement, in exchange of working for them by joining to their net the other settlements, reconnecting the world, and with the help of Vikki, a scout sent by Grady to take Rick to those settlements, and to help them reach Alexandria, the final destination, a big, distant settlement, where his family is supposed to be.

Chapter 1/25  Words 3751

*

The sky was getting darker and darker, black clouds following him. Daryl could hear the timefall storm behind him getting closer and the moans of the dead as he rode on his bike as fast as he could, trying to leave them both behind. He could smell the rain falling, that rain that if it poured over you long enough, it would turn your body, mind, and soul into whatever those walking, flesh-eating, corpses were, and so he speeded up even more. At least those walkers were easier to leave behind than the rain, the storm was approaching fast, too fast.

Daryl knew he had to find a place to take refuge from it but as he frantically looked around, he couldn’t find anything. He could already hear the rain splattering on the ground behind him, and as he looked around again for somewhere to hide, one of those walkers seemed to come out of nowhere. Suddenly it was in front of his bike and Daryl slammed the brakes out of instinct, turning the bike, but it slid down the hill on the already wet ground, and both Daryl, the bike and the cargo skidded through mud and stones, right towards a cliff that Daryl had been trying to avoid getting too close to.

Daryl rolled to the side in time to avoid falling off the cliff but his bike wasn’t so lucky, and he couldn’t reach it fast enough to stop it from falling down the cliff. Shit dammit.  There was no time to curse or complain, though, the timefall was approaching fast and the walkers were approaching…well, rather slow, but approaching still.

Daryl looked around once again, trying to see something through the darkness, some place to hide from the rain, and then he saw it, a small prepper’s bunker some meters away. He ran to it as fast as he could, some droplets of timefall hitting him right before he reached the tiny, covered porch of the bunker, but his suit protected him, unless he ended up drenched in the rain.

Panting, Daryl closed the grating doors so no walkers could get in, and he let himself drop down onto the metal floor, trying to recover his breath. He had lost his damn bike, his brother’s bike, the one he had stolen from Merle, so many years ago. His brother used it to deliver drugs and what not for his business, so it was good for a freelance porter like Daryl. He’d stolen it from his brother, to take from him something that he loved, like he felt then that Merle had done to him…but no, he shouldn’t let himself think about that, he couldn’t, that dreaded fist was already clenching his heart and something was stabbing his stomach…he couldn’t.

He needed to focus on what he was going to do now… damn, he was such an idiot, how he could have been so careless and so clumsy. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to that area, it was famous for having an almost incessant timefall and a good share of walkers. But the delivery was very, very well paid, and heaven knew he needed the money. Now he had lost not only that cargo and he knew he was going to get an awful review for it, but he had also lost his damn bike, and he couldn’t afford one. Maybe he could get some pieces and build one, he worked as a mechanic before he was a porter, maybe he could find some junk pieces and turn them into something…

But for that, he needed to leave that damn place, but there he was, trapped in a bunker’s porch by the timefall, he didn’t know for how long, trying to be as silent as possible so walkers wouldn’t notice him, he didn’t want a herd rattling the grating doors, he’d be trapped forever, and the prepper that lived in the bunker wouldn’t like to find its outsides full of walkers.

The prepper…maybe Daryl could try and explain them his situation? But he hated the idea of having to ask for help, he didn’t need it, he could manage on his own like he’d always done. Besides, those kind of preppers that lived isolated weren’t the most friendly and social people in the world…and coming from Daryl, who was quite a loner and liked his solitude, and who couldn’t remember the last time that he talked to a person who wasn’t in a terminal making a delivery, that was saying a lot.

Still, maybe he could check the bunker’s terminal, see if the prepper needed some delivery, earn some much-needed money, especially now that he had messed up his last delivery and lost his bike, and maybe the prepper would have something useful to give him and help him with the deliver…sure, not a bike, but…something.

With that in mind, Daryl got up and checked the terminal, but when he pushed the button nothing happened. Weird. Daryl tried again but nothing, and he frowned, looking around. Maybe their power generator didn’t work? It happened sometimes, a few of his delivers had been pieces to fix those generators, most were handmade and didn’t work too well, and sometimes he was paid extra if he helped to fix it. He couldn’t go out to check, though, not until the timefall stopped. Maybe the bunker was abandoned? It wouldn’t be strange, in the middle of nowhere as it was, but then again, most prepper’s bunkers were, just not in the middle of a seemingly eternal timefall rain.

The bunker seemed taken care of, though, so maybe their power generator had indeed broken down? If that was the case, they’d be in need of help, trying to survive with no power at all, if they hadn’t sent a message on time asking for help and pieces before the emergency power ran off, nobody would know that they needed help. Well, if he helped them, then maybe they could give him something useful to get back on his feet, or at the very least they might allow him to wait inside for the timefall to leave, instead of at the porch.

“Hello? Is there anybody in there?” Daryl called, not too loud so as not to attract walkers, but he wasn’t sure if someone inside the bunker would hear him. They were made so the sounds of the inside couldn’t be heard at the outside, so as not to attract walkers, but he wasn’t sure about the other way around. “Do you need help?”

There was no answer, and Daryl didn’t know what to do, chewing on his lip, but finally he decided to try another time, and he knocked on the bunker’s door. However, as he knocked on the door, it opened as if it hadn’t been locked and just a push could open it, and no sooner had the door opened, Daryl heard the cries of what sounded like a baby.

What the hell.

Daryl walked into the bunker, barely illuminated by the emergency lights, the cries getting louder, and there it was, a rudimentary crib with a baby in it, crying. Daryl was so stunned he couldn’t move or do anything, looking at the baby in shock, before he came back to his senses and rushed to close the door so walkers couldn’t hear the cries. Then he walked to the crib and the crying baby, looking at her but doing nothing, before looking around, but nobody else seemed to be there…what the hell…what was going on…what was this…

The baby’s cries were getting more desperate, and so Daryl reached down and hesitantly picked her up, unsure of how to hold her but trying to at least not to hurt her or drop her. The baby kept crying her heart out, but she didn’t struggle, letting him hold her, and an instinct that Daryl didn’t even know he had seemed to kick in, so he found himself holding the baby against him carefully and rocking her from side to side as he shushed her.

The baby stopped wailing and Daryl pulled her a bit away to look at her, tears still streaming down her face as she pouted, but she was holding onto him. “The hell’s going on, baby?” Daryl asked more to himself than her, stunned and confused. Then, he noticed a paper inside the crib, and he took it.

“If you’re reading this, I hope that you’re the help and you have arrived on time. I’ve messed up everything, and I’ve failed my baby and I’ve failed my wife, she was sick, died shortly after the childbirth, and now I’ll die too and I’ll leave our baby alone, and who I’m kidding, she’ll die too, unless you have arrived on time and you have arrived to help, and not to murder us or rob us.

The generator broke down and we were left with the emergency supply. I should have called for help, but I had some pieces hidden in a warehouse not far, I thought I could fix it myself, and so I took my daughter and went, but we were attacked by a herd before reaching it. I managed to save my daughter, hidden under my clothes, and to outrun them, but not before one of them took a bite off my arm.

You know how it works. It is not as fast as the timefall, but eventually your flesh turns into that, and so does your brain, and you become one of them. I feel good, but I also can feel my temperature getting higher. It’s only a matter of hours before I’m one of them. I know I have to leave before that, I know I can’t be near her when I turn. And so I’m writing this, after sending a message for help with the emergency power that’s left, but the terminal shut down as I sent it, and I don’t know if it worked, but I do hope that it did and so that’s why you are here reading this. I hope you didn’t take too long, I hope my baby is alive and safe with you.

There are bottles of milk in the fridge over the table, it should last you for some days. She’s perfect and you’ll love her, or whoever you give her to, but what would I tell you. Please take care of her, please take her to safety, even if you are not the help, even if you came to murder us or rob us. Help her.

I don’t feel that good now. I’m burning. The skin in my hands is starting to change. I have to leave.

Help her please, and tell her I love her, and that I’m sorry.

Please, help her.”

Shit…

Daryl looked at the baby again, who was holding onto him, whimpering as tears fell down her face, and then again at the letter. The man writing that had to be insane. Leave a baby alone like that in a bunker? She could perfectly have starved to death, and with the door unlocked, someone could have gotten in, he had, and his intention wasn’t to murder the baby, but there was all kind of people around…not to mention that a walker could have stumbled into it, they weren’t smart to open doors, but it could have pushed it open somehow. The worse was the idea of starvation, though, it sounded like a horrible death…but sure, the man had called for help and was expecting someone to show up as soon as possible…and what was he supposed to do, knowing that he was going to turn into one of those brainless monsters, living in the middle of nowhere, too far from anyone to deliver the baby before he turned and devoured her.

Yeah, sure, the guy hadn’t had many options, but it still seemed absolutely reckless to leave a baby alone like that to Daryl…but maybe it showed how desperate the father had been. Still, that baby could have starved to death so easily, dying in such a horrible way…

The thought made Daryl kick into action, no matter he was still stunned and in shock, and he looked around for the fridge. He left the baby on the crib and she began crying loudly again, so Daryl rushed to get a bottle of milk from the fridge as fast as he could, picking up the baby again.

He held her with one arm as best as he could, scared that he was going to let the small baby fall to the ground and he’d kill her, so he could feed her the bottle. Daryl had never held a baby before, much less give a bottle to one, and he was panicking as if he were fighting a herd of walkers at the thought of doing it wrong.  The baby didn’t fall down, though, neither it seemed like he was hurting her, or that she was uncomfortable, snuggled on the crook of his elbow, and once he clumsily placed the bottle close to her mouth, the baby latched to it and began drinking.

“Yeah, that is…hungry uh?” Daryl said quietly, and he didn’t dare to move while the baby fed herself, seeming hungry, until she finally stopped drinking and began to fuss as she tried to get away from the bottle. “It’s alright, baby.” Daryl took the bottle away, and feeling a bit more confident, he kept holding the baby just with one arm, holding her against his chest, to place the bottle on the counter.

Then, Daryl looked down at the baby again. She wasn’t crying anymore, though her very tiny hands still held to him as if she were holding for dear life, no matter she hadn’t any strength… in a way, it was true that she was holding for dear life. Then…then she smiled at him, a very little but very cute smile, even Daryl had to admit it, and the corner of his mouth lifted up into a tiny smile too, as his heart did something it hadn’t ever done before.

“The hell are we gonna do now, uh, kid?” He muttered as he looked around, feeling clueless and helpless before he let himself fall down onto the tattered sofa that was on the middle of the bunker, near the crib, still holding the baby. He glanced towards the letter again and let out a sigh. “So…it seemed your daddy had to leave before he turned into one of those dead assholes, so he wouldn’t hurt you…I’m sorry about it, baby. I don’t know if you understand shit of what I’m saying…you don’t, do you?” Daryl said and then the baby cooed, looking up at him. “Or do you? I haven’t talked to a baby before, you’re the first one I meet…” He could have met a baby before, though, but he’d messed that and no, no he couldn’t think about that, stop it.

Daryl closed his eyes tight, trying to stop his brain, and then he heard the baby making another noise and felt her tiny hand holding to the sleeve of his suit, so he looked at her, and the baby made another of those babbly sounds at him. “Yeah, baby, I’m sorry about your daddy…but I’ll help you, alright? Ain’t no sure how, though…” Daryl couldn’t leave the baby, there was no way, no matter he didn’t know what to do with her, he knew he had to help her, and he didn’t know if the message asking for help had been sent or not, but he didn’t feel like waiting there to find out if someone arrived to help the baby, if nobody did, he’d run out of milk for her waiting in the middle of nowhere. “Alright, let’s see…”

Daryl had lost all his things, that fell down the cliff with his bike and his cargo, except the bag attached to his suit, and he held the baby with one arm again, this time without panicking that much about dropping her, to rummage into the bag, taking out a map.  “Alright, we’re here, see…” He pointed it on the map and kept talking to the baby, for some reason, even if probably she didn’t know what was going on. “Ain’t sure if there’re preppers around, but see this here? That’s the Grady Memorial settlement. It’s big, sure they can help a baby like you, yeah? We got no bike or nothing, so it’s a couple of days walking or more…” That, if they didn’t got trapped somewhere by timefall or a herd, or both, like it had happened to him now.

Daryl didn’t know much about that settlement, didn’t like it much either. It was the biggest in the area, with all sort of facilities, so they thought of themselves and their settlement as big shit, they wouldn’t make dealings with a porter like him, they had their own company. Yeah, he didn’t like those uppity assholes at all, and the only time he’d been around to offer his services, to be dismissed as if he were ridiculous, he hadn’t liked the vibe of the place either, even if he couldn’t really say why, he’d learned to trust his instincts. But sure, there would be someone there who could help the baby, doctors, and nurseries, and people to adopt her probably and what no.

Still, Daryl didn’t like the idea of leaving her there, in that place he didn’t like even if he couldn’t put his finger on why, but what else could he do? That plan would have to do, maybe he could come up with something else on his way there, and if he didn’t…well, the baby would sure have a good life there, in a place protected of timefall, walkers, hunger, and hostile groups.

“But how do we get there, uh, baby?” Daryl muttered…how was he going to walk around with a baby when there were walkers around for sure and the continuous threat of timefall, and of finding hostile groups, especially now that he had lost his stuff, he was lucky enough he’d kept his crossbow, strapped to him. Carefully holding the baby to him, Daryl got up and walked around the small bunker, trying to find something useful, but there wasn’t much.

Glancing at the crib again, Daryl noticed some sort of clothing hanging from the side of it, and when he took it, he saw it was some sort of baby sling, but as he touched it, he realized it was made with a material resistant to timefall, like his suit. “Your daddy knew what he was doing, uh?” He said quietly to the baby, who whether understood him or not, she always cooed or made a sound when he talked to her, and Daryl kind of liked it. “Okay, it can work.”

He could carry the baby on the sling and she’d be protected from the timefall, as long as they didn’t get caught up in it for too long, he could even place her and the sling under his clothes, let just her head out, covered with the sling, and he could be careful not to get caught up by a group of walkers or of bad people, he always was. It’d have to do, even if he didn’t like the idea of walking for days instead of riding, with so many threats around, with a little baby with him.

“But first,” he kept talking to the baby. “We gotta wait for the timefall to stop and for the walkers to disperse.” He walked to the door and carefully opened it, only to find a big timefall storm still raging outside and everything pitch black around.  “Alright, I guess we still have to wait…we should rest anyway, we got a long journey ahead.”

In all honestly, Daryl was exhausted and his body ached. He knew he could keep going if he had to, but it seemed like all he could do for now was rest, so better take advantage of it and caught up on some sleep. It’d been a while since the last time he’d slept in someplace as protected as a bunker…which reminded him, there was no power to lock the door, but still he had to make sure the door was properly closed so nothing and no one could get in while he slept.

Daryl placed the baby on the crib and as soon as he did, she began crying again. “It’s okay, baby, you wait a minute.” Daryl pushed a heavy looking metal shelf towards the door, grunting, until he managed to block the door with it, so nothing could get in. Once he was done, he rushed to pick up the baby again. “I got you, hey, I got you,” he murmured, rocking her side to side carefully, and soon the baby had stopped crying, looking at him and reaching a tiny hand to hold to his clothes, and somehow Daryl found himself smiling softly at her again. “Told you I got you…now come, let’s get our head down.”

The sofa could pull out as a bed, he realized, but Daryl didn’t bother, just letting himself flop down on it again. “Wanna eat some more?” He told her, taking the bottle from the table and carefully offering it to her, and the baby drank the milk that was left, looking at him. “I hope we got enough milk to last until we reach Grady…”

With a tired groan, Daryl lifted his feet onto the sofa and shifted to lie down on it, being mindful of not letting the baby fall down. He had the feeling that if he tried to leave her on the crib, she’d began crying again, and so he rested her over his chest, and the baby looked at him. “Sure you miss your daddy, uh? I’m sorry, baby…” Daryl told her quietly, carefully brushing a finger over the small cheek of the baby, and when she smiled at him, Daryl felt something tugging at his heart again. “I’m gonna get some sleep, we don’t know when I’ll be able to do so once we’re out here…you sleep too, alright?” He told her, and the baby cooed at him.

Daryl secured an arm around her, holding her safely against his chest, and then he began to hum to her quietly. He didn’t know who fell asleep first, him or the baby, but soon they were both asleep.

*

There you have it, the first chapter of this thing. I’m so scared about this, thanks to the people who gave this a chance and I hope you didn’t hate it! Please, if you enjoyed it and  have a moment, let me know your thoughts.

As always, excuse my English, is not my first language

If you want to be (un)tagged, let me know. I also can remove you only from this fic.

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon/oc #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon & oc #death stranding au #twd au

[tamorapierce]

Tammy's Spring 2020 Reading Recommendations For the Bored

Sooner or later the bookhounds among us are going to start joining my relentless song, from age five on up, of “I don’t have anything to read!!!!”

 I am here to help.  In this space, as I get to it (knowing, as my readers do, that I have no sense of deadline), I will be posting a constant set of collections of book titles by authors my team and I have read and will recommend in a wild variety of genres and for a wild variety of ages.  (And I’ll give a short hint as to the subject of the first book/series—if I did them all I’d never finish this.)  This last is for the many of you who are reading teen and adult books in grade and middle school, and those adult readers who are reading teen and kidlit. These people are for those who love books and don’t care who is supposed to be reading them.  

 Also, you may have to look far and wee, since we will be drawing upon not only recently published books but older ones that we have either read recently or that we read long ago and have re-read or have never forgotten.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you when the writing is archaic.  If you’re a true nutsy reader like the rest of us, you won’t care.

 -Tammy Pierce

                                                        *     *     *

Assume the book came out within the last 2 years unless I put LO next to the title, which means you have to check libraries and bookstores online and paper for copies.

 *     *     *

 Diana Wynne Jones  LO

A generation or two of fantasy writers, particularly those who love humor, bow to this woman as our goddess.  Not only was she out of her mind in a very British and manic way, but with her TOUGH GUIDE TO FANTASYLAND she taught a number of us to ditch some ill-considered tropes of our genre.  If you write historic fantasy in particular, move heaven and earth to track this book down.  There’s a bonus: some of the entries will make you laugh till you cry.

           She is best known for her books for middle grade and teens, but they are enjoyable for all readers.  I cannot list them all here because my fingers will break (curse you, arthritis!), but these titles will give you a jumping-off point.  And remember, authors change with each book, so you won’t encounter the same author with each title as the author you read in the previous one!

           The Chrestomanci books, all in the same universe, in order of story,

                       not publication

Charmed Life  (1977) An innocent lad follows his plotting egotistical sister to live with England’s chief wizard

The Lives of Christopher Chant (1988)

Conrad’s Fate (2005)

Witch Week (1982)

The Magicians of Caprona (1980)

Short stories

 The Dalemark Quartet begins with

The Spellcoats (1979)

3 sequels

 The Derkholm books are

Dark Lord of  (1998)

Year of the Griffin (2000)

  The Tough Guide to Fantasyland is standalone, but is a kind of offshoot of the Derkholm books.  You don’t have to have read the Derkholm books to get Tough Guide!

 There are other books and stories by Jones—I’ll let you find them on your own.

  Philip Pullman

To this day I am unable to call him anything but Mr. Pullman—that’s how much in awe of the man I am.  We’ve had dinner together, talked on the phone, talked at an event or two, done a conversation on audio with Christopher Paolini—it’s still Mr. Pullman to me.  (I was an assistant in a literary agency when I discovered his work, and I never recovered.) He is, in a word, brilliant, and his interests range through all kinds of areas, particularly history and religion.  I could have talked with him forever that night we had dinner, but the poor man had jet lag and I let him go to collapse.  It was one of the best exchanges of ideals, values, and books I’ve ever had.  

Read his work carefully, because what he discusses is never just the story on top.  No matter what he writes, he is making strong points about social justice, human nature, religion, and history without preaching.  He is one of the few male writers out there who can write female characters as people, not Something Different.  And you never know, with his work, where he will go next.

 The Ruby in the Smoke,

book 1,  the Sally Lockheart mysteries

Victorian mysteries with a female hero and male assistants,

           The Book of Dust and sequel,

first 2 books of The Secret Commonwealth

           His Dark Materials trilogy

                       The Golden Compass

                       2 other titles                

           THE COLLECTORS

           LYRA’S OXFORD

           THE WHITE MERCEDES

           FAIRY TALES FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

           I WAS A RAT!

           TWO CRAFTY CRIMINALS

           COUNT KARLSTEIN

           (I will stop here and let you find the rest. Most are available as Nook books.)

  Sharon Shinn

I discovered Sharon Shinn with JOVAH’S ANGEL, but a shortage of funds left me unable to pursue my interest (I am an economic disaster with libraries, so I buy rather than borrow) until, with a job and money to spend, I spotted THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET.  It is the story of a medieval-ish world and a small village where a baby was left with a childless couple.  She is raised as their daughter and discovers, as she grows, that her mother is an important, a Safekeeper, the person to whom a secret can be told, relieving the person who told it of the weight of guilt from it, to be carried by the Safekeeper until the owner either decides to tell or dies.  (And if they die without giving permission, the Safekeeper never reveal the secret.)  The baby who is adopted by this town’s safekeeper becomes the safekeeper in her turn.

           The next book is THE TRUTHTELLER’S TALE, about a girl who acquires the gift (??) of telling the truth, whether the person she tells it to wants to hear it or not. The third book is The Dream-maker’s Magic.  The three main characters now learn why they have been brought together over the course of the two earlier books, in what I thought was a satisfying, if unusual, conclusion.

           And there’s more!  I just did the two I love best!

             THE SAFEKEEPER’S SECRET (book 1, two sequels)

           ARCHANGEL (4 books)

           TWELVE HOUSES (5 books)

           ELEMENTAL BLESSINGS (4 books)        

SHIFTING CIRCLE (2 books)

           UNCOMMON ECHOES

           GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER

           GATEWAY

 Daniel Jose Older

 I was a Daniel Jose Older fan before I was sent DACTYL HILL SQUAD for a blurb (preodactyls in flight!  Of all sizes!  Confederate spies!  Thuggish bigot northerners!  The backlash of Gettysburg and the forced recruitment of blacks for the war effort! And strong, smart, fierce kids of various ages, sizes, colors, national heritage, and skills doing their best to help the war against the slaves, keep escaped slaves safe, duck the cruel managers of the homes and jails where they are being kept, find a half-decent meal, free other kids in trouble, learn who’s killing their friends, and help the dactyls!  That’s part of it, anyway!

Yeah, I loved it.  And there’s at least one new book, and once I’ve mowed though that, there are his older teen books, and his grownup mysteries, with their half-dead taxi driver who doubles as a part-time troubleshooter for the undead powers in his Bone Street Rhumba series.  {happy sigh}

  Edgar Allen Poe

Yes, some of these are reminders of why we ended up to be the readers we are and to nudge us to corrupt—I mean, “introduce”—­new readers to the glories that are our legacies.

­

THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE

           Here are the greats:

poems like “The Raven,” and “Annabelle Lee”

stories like “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Telltale Heart,” and  ::shudder:: “The Pit and the Pendulum” (yes, a deep pit and a swinging pendulum topped with a razor-edged blade will be featured in this story).  

My dad would read these to us on dark and stormy nights when we lived near the Pacific ocean, when the fog came rolling in, softening every sound, when there were no cars driving by and no other sounds in our house but his deep voice and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.  We would listen, soundless, as he wove the stories and poems around us and the foghorn sounded offshore.

           That’s the power of Poe.

  N. K. Jemisin

I think I began with Jemisin’s THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS, soon followed by its sequel THE BROKEN KINGDOMS.  The series ended with a third book, THE KINGDOM OF THE GODS.  She presented a rich and varied world from the aspects of people of different classes, showing the growth of societies and their formation.  I have a secret passion for society-building and social interaction, and whether or not a book is difficult to read (as Jemisin’s books are in spots because she refuses to insult a reader by talking down to them) is immaterial.  I want the world and I want the characters, and with her far-reaching mind and her respect for her characters she delivers each and every time.  I have read almost everything she’s written since that first trilogy: if I’ve missed something, it’s because I was in the middle of a deadline and on the road and somehow didn’t see it.  I’ll catch up!  This is just a sample:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

 The City They Became (pub’d April 2020)

 The Inheritance Trilogy:

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

           2 book sequels

Novella: The Awakened Kingdom, 2014

                       Triptych: Shades in Shadow, 2015 (3 short stories) 

             The Dreamblood Duology:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

                       Two sequels

 The Broken Earth series:

         The Fifth Season (August 2015)

                       Two book sequels

And there are plenty of short stories out there.  I may even have missed a book or twelve!

For those who prefer to hear my ramble in person, a video!

#tamora pierce #tortall #book reccs #book recommendations #YA #fantasy #science fiction #diana wynne jones #edgar allen poe #philip pullman #sharon shinn #daniel jose older #nk jemisin

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (Part 10)

Title: Healing as The Pain Fades (gunpowder and fire don’t mix well)

Summary: While Purpled and Ranboo recover, Sam is reminded of his past. It takes Puffy to get him to open up, but he does. His past is an ugly one, but his family doesn't love him any less.

- Chapter One - Chapter Eleven

Masterlist

_______________

Purpled was fast asleep, mind clear and dreamless, for once. Ranboo’s was the one that was running, but from what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe nothing. Perhaps he was just paranoid. He was thinking about the end, and the way that they left the portal shining and vulnerably open on their way home. 

All three of them were home now, safe, warm, and healing, but Ranboo couldn’t shake the deep pit of concern that had settled itself in his stomach. The portal had been closed for a reason- to protect the End from the people that roamed the over world. Ranboo knew that if the wrong one found its way into the portal, it would be over. Ransacked. Looted. 

Even after all that it had done to him, the End was still connected to him. He’d never sever that tie, he’d never be able to cut off that past. He was fine with it, though. Besides the obvious bad parts, the End really was beautiful. When he wasn’t being abandoned, he liked it there.

Maybe it was just his enderman instincts feeling comfortable there.

Ranboo pushed the thought away for a few minutes as Purpled stirred on the bed. They had both crawled into it after Sam deemed them bandaged up enough (although, their wounds were really just minimal. It was Sam’s they were worried about. He assured them that he’d get it looked at, but some small part of their mind doubted the truth of his words.), and fallen asleep. Or at least, one of them had. 

Purpled blearily opened his eyes, and saw Ranboo looking right back at him. “What d’you want?” He groaned, burying his head into the pillow. “It’s too early.”

“Just making sure you’re doing alright.”

A small hum formed in Purpled’s throat. “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that.”

Ranboo snorted. “I wish I could. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Purpled rolled over to cling to Ranboo’s arm as the enderman hybrid was sitting up. “Why’re you so concerned?” He laughed almost deliriously at a joke that he hadn’t made public yet.

“What?” Ranboo asked, amused at the scene unfolding before him.

“Ranboo? My brother? More like a bother!” He laughed for a little before quieting and snuggling closer. “I’m sorry. That was mean.” He whined in a sad voice.

Despite that, Ranboo felt a grin creep onto his face. He ruffled Purpled’s hair and let the grin widen as Purpled leaned into the touch. “Nah, that’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

They let silence linger, heat radiating off of both of them. 

“Hey, Ranboo?”

The enderman made a little noise, waiting for Purpled to continue.

“I’m not going to have to fight anymore, right? I can rest?”

Ranboo knew in that moment that healing was going to be even more intricate and difficult for Purpled than he had thought. Purpled had been left alone for so long, he learned to give up on others and rely on himself. Of course he wouldn’t immediately trust again. It was a process.

Realizing he hadn’t responded, he spoke. “No, Purp. You’re safe here. You can rest.”

Purpled was already asleep, and Ranboo wasn’t far to follow. They were both still sleeping when Sam came to check on them, side healing but not quite properly taken care of. He pulled up the blanket to cover them, and smiled softly as he left. It was a good thing he had arrived when he did, because he didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he’d gotten there a little later.

Sam knew the scene that he’d seen in the stronghold a little more than he’d care to admit. 

__________________

When Ranboo woke up, he was alone in his room. Purpled’s side was cold, so he must’ve gone a while ago, but he had no desire to get up. He needed to, at some point, but he didn’t really want to. Who does, honestly, when they’re in bed? The blankets were warm, the pillows were soft, and Ranboo’s mind was still muddled with the weight of sleep, so really, he had no reason to get up. What did the waking world have to offer him that his dreams didn’t?

The sound of laughter echoed into the bedroom, and Ranboo managed to lift his head up a little. He swung his legs over until his feet hit the floor, then made his way over to where the noise was coming from. 

Only a few of the family was in the living room (Most were missing, like Fundy and Eret who were restoring the castle and Tubbo who was in Logstedshire), laughing at a joke someone said. Ranboo wasn’t sure who said the joke. Probably Tommy, if the way his wings were proudly puffed up were any indication. 

“Ranboo!” Purpled called from next to Tommy on the couch. “You’re up!”

All eyes turned to Ranboo, and he chuckled uneasily. “I sure am. What’ve you guys been up to?”

Sam spoke up from a recliner that was in the corner. His voice was quiet, almost concerningly so. “No much. Just resting.”

“Are you alright?” Ranboo asked, tilting his head.

Sam just shrugged sluggishly. “Yeah. I think.”

It got quiet. “I’m gonna call Puffy.” Tommy mumbled, leaving the room. If the only responsible adult wasn’t being responsible, then they needed another one to make sure they were all okay. Who better to reach than Puffy?

“What? No, don’t call Puffy.” Sam sighed. “I’m fine.” He was met with blank stares. “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly. “Call Puffy, if you want. It’s a waste, though, I promise I am okay.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talking, big man.” Tommy yelled from out of the room. His voice softened when it was clear that Puffy had picked up his call. “Hey,”

Ranboo turned to Sam. “I don’t believe for one minute that you’re fine. What’s wrong?”

“I dunno.” Sam fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. “That’s a lie. I do know. I just don’t like looking at it.”

“Looking at what? Sam, if you say your wound, I swear-”

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Sam giggled. Ranboo didn’t like how Sam sounded when he giggled- it was concerning and almost scary, because Sam had always comforted them. What did they need to do when Sam was the one needing help? “Ranboo?”

“Hmm?”

“Is Purpled okay? Are you?”

Ranboo scrunched up his eyebrows and looked at Purpled, who was sitting on the couch, staring back. “Of course we are. You brought us back. Remember?”

Sam’s eyes started to water. “I remember. I just didn’t want it to be like last time. Needed to make sure you made it out alive.”

“Sam,” Ranboo began cautiously. “What do you mean by last time? None of us have died.”

When Puffy burst into the room, Tommy was trailing behind her. Sam never got to answer. “I came as fast as I could,” She fretted, looking over Sam and clicking her tongue in sympathy when she saw his wound. “Alright, big guy, let’s get you into the medical room.”

The three boys listened to Puffy berating their father on his lack of care for himself for a little bit, before leaping up when they heard the door close. Sure, maybe eavesdropping was a little morally wrong in this instance, but they wanted to know why Sam wasn’t tending to his wound. Would he be okay?

Puffy’s voice was muffled, because it was soft and laced with concern. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? Those boys need you, and they can’t have you if you die.”

Sam’s was loose and tired, “I didn’t want to think about the wound. It made me think about that… thing, standing above Purpled and Ranboo, like back then.”

“Back… when? Sam?”

They didn’t hear Sam’s answer, because he never did. They could, however, hear Puffy panicking. Tommy frowned. “C’mon, guys. Let’s go watch a movie.” He wrapped his wings around the other two, and turned up the volume to try and pretend that they couldn’t hear Puffy yelling at Sam to not fall asleep.

It was a while before Puffy came out of the room, and when she did, Sam didn’t follow. She made sure that they couldn’t see into the room, so they just waited for her to come over. 

“Hi, boys.” She sighed, “I’m sorry you had to hear that. We’ll probably have to talk once he’s awake, but he’ll be fine for now.”

They made room for her on the couch, and they all sat in silence. At some point, after Puffy made them all dinner, they fell asleep, but Puffy woke up alone. The boys had all moved to sleep by the door to the medical room, in a large cuddly pile. She had to smile, but it faded when she remembered how Sam was.

It was rough, she had to admit, but he’d make it. If the nonsense he’d let out in a fit of distress about his past was any indication, he’d gone through much worse. They’d have to talk about that.

The room was cheerful, not the plain white that the Community House room had on its walls. Here, there were soft lights, not harsh, and it was welcoming. On the far wall there were a few beds, only one long enough to fit Sam. Clearly, he’d planned to end up there at some point. Given the server, Puffy couldn’t say she blamed him. 

Sam was sitting up, which she wasn’t pleased about. She didn’t want to redo the stitches, but his weary grin made her decide not to be so fussy with him.

“Hi, Puffy. I’m guessing my boys called you?”

So he didn’t remember. That was a little concerning. “Yup. You’ve got some good ones, there. Do you know how you got here? Any recollection of anything from when you got home to now?”

“I… yeah, pretty much everything, except from a little after I sat down in the recliner. I can’t remember what, but I know I definitely spilled something to you.”

Puffy gave Sam a tense smile. “Yeah. It was a bit of your, your childhood. Do you want to talk about it?”

She could see the confliction in his eyes before he sighed and looked down. “I probably should. Talk, I mean. To both you and the boys- you deserve to know. The only person who really knows turned out to be a pretty awful person.” He chuckled harshly, sniffling a bit. 

“Dream, you mean?” Puffy asked slowly, wincing at the mention of her… of the child that should’ve grown up so different. What had happened to the happy little boy that had been so innocent? “He knows?”

Sam nodded. “He was the one that brought me here.”

Abruptly, to change the subject, Puffy spoke up. “The boys slept outside the door last night because they weren’t sure if they were allowed in. They’re worried, Sam.”

“Can I go see them? I should apologize.”

“You can go see them, but you don’t have anything to apologize for, Sam. You were just trying to avoid the past. We can all understand that.”

It was comical, they all had to admit, watching Puffy try to help someone two feet taller than her walk, so Ranboo stepped in. He was the tallest, besides Sam, anyway.

They all sat in the living room, and they chatted aimlessly until the others came home. They’d been messaged, saying that Sam needed to talk. 

“It started when I was younger, I guess. I forget how old, exactly, at this point. Young, innocent. Impressionable. I lived with my mother, because my dad was never there. She would never tell me why, but I know, now. Hunters got him. Hunters that are hired to go after hybrids, to make sure that they never felt safe. My mother must’ve fled, at some point. I’m not sure if I was born yet or not when they got seperated, but we found a nice server and lived there for a bit. Recovered. Spent time together because she lived in fear that it would get cut short.”

Sam looked out the window and smiled ruefully. “We had a nice life, the two of us. Until the hunters found her, and then me.”

________________

The sun was beating down on the plains, hot and fierce. Of course, little Sam had always liked the heat. It was comfortable. His mother wasn’t all that fond of it, but she tolerated the heat for him. She really did love Sam, she loved him with all of her heart, and would do anything, give anything to keep him safe.

And so, the day started off. Sam woke up and had breakfast, and since it was a weekend from the homeschooling that his mother insisted on doing despite how much he begged to go to a real school, he had plans laid out. They were elaborate, they were detailed, and they would take up the whole day, right up until he ran inside to have dinner with his mother. It really was a shame they never got carried out.

“Good morning, you little munchkin. Sleep well?” His mother had asked, smiling fondly at him as she mixed up some eggs.

Sam grinned as he climbed onto one of the seats by the table. “Yup! I had a cool dream, too. Wanna hear?”

He rambled about his dreams, which were elaborate in themselves, because he had such a vivid imagination. He wouldn’t know it, but those were the last dreams in a long time that wouldn’t be plagued with fire and death. His mother listened as she continued cooking, fiddling with the old, rickety stove every now and then to coax it to work.

Eventually, she sat down and handed him a bowl of eggs. “Make sure you eat all of those before you go and run off, okay?” She said, propping her chin up on one of her hands and smiling at her son.

“I will!” Sam promised, not knowing that the bowl of eggs would be overturned, chipped and forgotten, before he even got halfway through.

It was quiet for a moment, but his mother got up to get a glass of water at some point. She was at the sink, filling the cup up, when she looked out of the large window. “Sam,” she started, voice shaking slightly, “Go downstairs and hide, okay? We’re, uh, we’re gonna play a game of hide and go seek, okay?”

Sam scrunched his face up. “That doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun, if you know where I’m hiding.”

“Sam,” she said, sharper this time. Tense. “Go. I need you to stay down there, okay? Even if you hear people calling for you. Stay here until I come back and knock three times, alright?” She demonstrated a small rhythm, easy for the child to remember.

“Okay.” Sam said. “But momma, you’re scaring me.”

“It’ll be okay, honey.” She promised, tears filling her eyes. Which one of them was she trying to reassure? “It’ll be fine. Just go now. I love you.”

“I love you, too!” Sam called as he went down the stairs into the cellar.

His mother could spare no time to think about Sam anymore. He was a great hider, he was too smart for his own good. He would be fine. He was a good boy, but it was a shame he didn’t get to be a child any longer than now.

She went to her room, grabbing some armor that had been hidden. Really, she was just glad that Sam hadn’t found it when he was looking for a spot for hide and go seek. Next, she went into her bedroom closet and took out her weapons. She was a little rusty, but she hoped it would be enough. She’d given up the blade for motherhood, chosen her battles and chosen life. Now, their time was up. 

If she listened hard enough, she could hear Sam scratching around for the perfect place to hide, but it settled down. She opened the door, whispered a prayer that he’d found it, and stepped into the fields, where a group stood waiting for her. 

Hunters. 

She’d been expecting them. Not this soon, but she had been. She only hoped she’d done enough to ensure Sam’s survival. As she raised her weapon, she tried to smile. Best case scenario, she’d see her son again. Worst case, she’d see her husband. 

Sam wanted a fun game. He really liked winning, and his mom had seemed a little stressed, so maybe he could win if he found a really, really good spot. 

He searched for a little, but a small part of his brain told him to hurry. He wasn’t sure why, it was just a game, right? Maybe his mom was going to trick him and give him less time to hide so that she could win. She wouldn’t do that, though, right?

The hunt for the perfect spot ended when he spotted a small part of the wall that looked like it was loose. She wouldn’t expect him to go into the wall, right?

A piece of the wood came off, almost as if connected by a hinge. It swung outwards, harder to access from the outside than the inside. It was perfect. He gave it no thought, then, at least, as to why it had opened so easily, like it had been made for that very purpose.

He was expecting to be met with whatever the inside of a wall looked like, but as far as his little brain knew, walls didn’t lead to empty tunnels. Did they? Was this just an abandoned mine from when they had first moved in and his mom went mining?

The small part of his brain urged him forward. He played it off as finding an even better place to hide, but he was getting scared. It was dark down there, he’d just woken up, and he hadn’t eaten much before he was sent down here. Without his momma.

He wandered down the small corridor, which looked as if it was for a child, so surely it wasn’t used by him mom. What was the use of having a mine if no adults could go down it?

“For a child to escape,” His mouth said. Where had that come from? Escape? From what? The word ‘instincts’ appeared vividly, and as he continued down the poorly lit passage, he started to cry. 

He didn’t want to play hide and go seek. He wanted his mom, but she had told him to stay down there until she came knocking, and he didn’t want to disobey her. It was a good thing he had started crying, in a way. If he had been quieter, he would’ve heard his mother’s screams and the laughter of men as they approached his home. He would’ve heard the crackle of fire, a little later, and the sound of horse’s hooves as they searched for the child they’d been told lived there too.

The child, however, had reached the surface, a long ways away from home. 

Sam surfaced next to a lake. He’d never really seen a lake before, because his mother wanted to live in the plains so that she could see around them. “Momma doesn’t like being sneaked up on.” He said to himself as he climbed out of the tunnel. He vaguely remembered this lake, he thought. He wasn’t sure why, as he was almost positive that he’d never actually seen it, but the more he stood there, the more he felt like he knew it. 

He was in a forest, but his mother had always told him to never go in the forest. The forest meant getting lost.

“Momma?” He asked, looking around. His tears had stopped for a moment, but they started up again. He felt like he shouldn’t shout, but he really wanted to. “Momma?” He asked, a little louder this time.

“What is wrong, child?” The voice wasn’t his mother’s. It wasn’t soft, honey-like, or comforting. It was smooth, and it sounded like a hiss. “Why do you weep?”

Sam turned to see where the voice was coming from, and he gave a little yelp when he saw the green-speckled face of a creeper staring at him from under one of the trees a little further into the woods. 

“I want my momma. She told me to go hide, but now I’m lost.” He sniffled. “Do you know my momma?”

“Oh, child.” The creeper mourned, hissing softly. “You’re the hybrid who lives in the plains.”

Sam nodded, “Can you bring me home?”

The creeper shook its head. “I can’t, little one. There’s nothing left. The hunters came and burned your house down. They search for you, now. I was worried you’d been found. It’s a good thing your mother had prepared for this.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “It’s gone? But where’s momma? She promised that she’d come back.”

The creeper hummed, burning slightly. “Then that is your first lesson in survival, child. Never trust promises.”

Sam didn’t stay with the creeper long. It was killed by a lone player before morning, and he was left, alone, in a forest. Crying, most of the time, dirty, and tired. He fell asleep in a bush that he had crawled into, cold after spending most of his life in the sun of the plains.

The forest became his home. His safe place. It was easy enough to evade the hunters for a while, if he let his instincts override his mind, but he never liked doing it. He hated the explosions he caused, loud and disruptive. His skin was always sore and tender when he cowered in a crater of his own making, and he had to limp back to the shelter of the forest before the hunters brought more backup.

As the explosions grew more frequent, the barrier between creeper and human thinned. He hissed more than he spoke, he lurked more than he walked, he exploded more than he fought. He was still a child, small and vulnerable. The creepers of the forest gave him a wide berth. To be by him meant to be hunted. 

He was a little feral child, at best, before someone from the server who had known his mother found him. It was a miracle that it was someone who didn’t support the server’s choices to let the hunters in, and even more of a miracle that they were leaving it.

It had taken a while to convince Sam to leave with them. 

“Sam? Oh, my god, Sam? Is that you? I thought they’d gotten you, oh, Sam,”

The words fell on empty ears. He’d learned to survive, not to live. He ran as soon as he had gained passage out of the server, because to be with people was to cause death.

Sam grew on pilfering and server-hopping, often illegally. No one knew his name, just his face. As he grew older, better at hiding, the pictures grew outdated. His older features were his own disguise from the wanted posters that displayed the badly drawn photos of a small creeper hybrid, but it was better to still hide.

A few years later, Sam managed to find himself a friend. Unnamed, now, the title they went by blocked from his memory once he’d grown, either because of the pain the memories caused or because of how long ago it was. They didn’t last long anyway, despite how much the two trusted each other. Their friendship was for survival, but it meant a lot to both of them. Unnamed was a hybrid, too. A blaze hybrid. Fire and gunpowder was dangerous, but they made it work.

Sam had been injured, pushed into a corner, Unnamed standing over him as the hunters approached.

“Hey there, sonny. Been a long time since we caught your trail, huh?” One of them sneered, and Sam whimpered.

Unnamed snarled right back. “You aren’t getting him.”

“And why’s that?”

“He’s lived too long to be taken by you filth. Sam,” Unnamed said desperately, knowing how grim their situation was, “I’m lighting up. You know what to do.”

“No,” Sam responded, sobbing at either the pain or the sorrow he felt, “It’ll kill you.”

“But not you,” Unnamed retorted, “And isn’t that the point of me? To ensure your survival? Sent by your mother to protect you?”

“What?” Sam had asked, mouth dry, but it was too late. The gunpowder had risen, and he was alone, in a crater raging with flames as his blood fell onto the ground. 

He made sure to travel alone after that. Trusting no one was in his very genes at that point. He was tired of life, but he needed to keep going. His momma would be mad if he went to see her this early. 

___________

“Yeah.” Sam said, looking at the ground. “At some point, Dream found me. It was many years later, anyway. You don’t want the whole story.”

“Sure we do,” Ranboo protested. “If it’s important, we want to hear it. As long as you want to share, of course.”

Sam just shook his head. “No. You don’t want to hear it. What I did, how I survived… It’s not a story you should hear. Just know that I’m doing okay, now. I guess this family is as much for me as for you guys, though, huh?”

Ranboo hummed, then snuggled into Sam’s side. “I love you. You know that, right, dad?”

Sam couldn’t respond immediately, though, because Ranboo had spurred a whole chorus of ‘i love you’s from the group, and once they were done, he was laughing. 

“Aw, I love you guys, too. Now, it’s late, and way past your bedtime.” 

They didn’t move, though. They just let Tommy use all of the blankets to make a giant nest for them to sleep in, right in the middle of the living room. Niki had traveled over to spend the night with Puffy, and Eret stayed as well. They were a big, happy family, and though they all had pasts that they didn’t want to think about, they had a future that they looked forward to. 

#ranboo #tommyinnit #dream #dreamsmp #awesamdude #captain puffy #eret #purpled #awesamdad #tubbo #angst #found family #momma awesam #fluff #hurt/comfort #ao3

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! Could I request the V3 boys reactions to their s/o becoming the blackened because they were trying to save them.

Yesssss more angst! These were fun to write!

TWs: Blood, Death, Suicide Mentions, and Major DRV3 Spoilers

..............

Ryoma

No..it couldn’t be true..could it?

Ryoma couldn’t believe you’d actually kill someone, though your reason came as a shock: It was to save his life.

Kirumi was plotting to murder him after the second motive came out. And she obviously panicked when you showed up instead of him, so she tried attacking you.

But you retaliated, leaving her body in the bathroom and altering the crime scene to make it look like she slipped while cleaning it.

You didn’t want to kill anyone, but you were terrified she might target him some other time if you didn’t stop her.

Yet Ryoma vehemently denied you did anything, arguing with Shuichi up until he pointed out incriminating evidence.

He was crushed, knowing he’s going to lose another loved one.

He can’t understand why a criminal like him was worth saving.

But the deed was done. And as your final wish before being executed, you plead for him to survive and see that life’s worth it.

While he’s never been good with promises, he’ll try to keep this last one...for your sake.

Shuichi

He learned the truth earlier than anyone else.

Someone knew he was too smart, always leading the trials and making the swift deductions.

So they believed eliminating him would guarantee them escape from the academy, as everyone would arrive to wrong conclusions without him.

However you put a stop to their plot, accidentally killing them with their own weapon they prepared.

Shuichi didn’t want it to be you--not you, of all people--so he’s far more reluctant to accuse you of murder. 

He’s pretty much mute throughout the trial, but you take notice fast and see him slipping back into that cowardly detective persona.

“Shuichi, don’t you dare go back into hiding. Don’t you dare look away from the truth again.”

“..but...”

He just absolutely refuses to. He can’t....not this time.

So instead, you reveal the truth about your crime. Every last detail--from when the motive came out to how you disposed of the evidence.

By the end of your explanation, he’s in tears--realizing you saved his life..in exchange for your own.

Every night since then, he cries as he hugs the Helping Yacchi plush you gave him the day before the body was discovered.

It hurt so much to condemn you, someone he truly loved.

Kokichi

You learned very quickly that Miu was plotting to kill Kokichi, after noticing her put a bottle of poison in his seat before returning to hers and logging in.

That made you livid. But more scared than anything else.

So you formulated a plan after learning everything (or almost everything) about the virtual world.

You overheard Miu and Kokichi planning to meet on the mansion rooftop, and you didn’t like that idea one bit.

Little did you know, he and Gonta were conspiring to murder her, too, but you beat them to the punch.

Obviously he was pissed someone foiled his plans....but imagine his shock when it turned out to be you.

The two were suspects for a long time as they explained the “Killing Game Busters” scheme.

But since Miu died by your hands--their names were cleared.

Kokichi was in frustrated tears, yelling at you for not telling him sooner.

But he ultimately breaks down when your punishment was announced.

He clings to you, crying and begging you not to leave him--he even pleads with Monokuma to let him die with you.

This time it’s not an act.

He feels genuine sorrow and heartache for a long time after the trial.

Gonta

It’d be impossible to think anyone would try to kill him.

But someone tried taking advantage of his gullibility. And you happened to be there at the exact same time, attacking the assailant while your entomologist boyfriend ran off in fear.

You cleaned as much evidence as you could before finding and consoling him, lying that you just talked to them.

He believes you and is relieved---until the body discovery announcement plays later on.

Even though you lied, he doesn’t blame you. Not even during the trial where you made up an alibi.

But when Gonta himself is questioned...he clams up, knowing exactly what happened and being too scared to say the truth.

He doesn’t want to condemn you! Gentlemen don’t-

You reassure him it’s okay. Shuichi has you in a corner and there’s no point in letting the trial drag on.

So he eventually admits what he saw, and he can only cry as he votes you as the Blackened.

You two share one last hug, and he says he’ll never ever call you a killer, thanking you for protecting him even if he failed to protect you.

Korekiyo

It doesn’t come as a surprise that someone would try murdering him. He could see the hatred in their eyes whenever he looked at them.

His menacing appearance seems to be more than enough of a reason to target him.

However, after finding their body and signs of a struggle surrounding the crime scene, he arrives to the conclusion that the culprit knew he was in danger and killed to protect him.

Ah...how beautiful that realization was.

Or so he thought.

When it’s revealed you carried out that deed, using his golden sword to swiftly kill the victim, his heart is completely shattered.

‘No..no, no, no, no, no!!’

He feels anger, sorrow, confusion, and..so many other unpleasant things at once as you confess to the crime.

Not even Sister calms him down. He becomes belligerent, trying to steer everyone away from the truth and claim he killed the victim in self-defense.

You have to step off your podium to console him, as he was screaming his head off and scaring everyone.

When the trial is over, he just holds you close, begging Monokuma not to take you--his one true love--away from him.

But alas, it’s all for nothing as you’re sentenced to your execution.

Though you remind Korekiyo of what he’s taught you about death, as you didn’t fear it, and you promise you’ll watch over him in the afterlife.

Kaito

He’s incredibly outraged when everyone suspects you as the culprit in spite of the evidence that piles up.

“Shuichi, you're not actually gonna believe their crap, right?! Stop screwing around--!”

“He’s not, Kaito. It's the truth."

Stunned, he looks at you. Since your podium was conveniently next to his, he didn’t have to look far to see the guilt in your eyes.

Learning your motivation, however, is what ultimately crushed him.

You killed...to protect him?

No..

That couldn’t be right! He was suppose to protect you! Didn’t he always tell you how killing was wrong and-?!

But the truth was you did try talking some sense into the victim...but they attacked you instead, and you retaliated in self-defense. So it was purely accidental.

Kaito is pissed when Monokuma jests that “murder is murder” no matter what and he actually tries fighting the Exisals.

You insist he doesn’t interfere, and plead for him to use that strength to help protect everyone else instead.

His spirit is broken for a while, but...he’ll recover and keep fighting on. For your sake.

K1B0

Something in you snapped when you overheard Kokichi taunt your robot boyfriend for the last time, actually hurting him physically as well as emotionally.

K1B0 went to you in tears, not understanding why he hated him so much.

After comforting him, you’ve finally had enough. You were sick of him being harassed nonstop.

So you sent him to see Miu while you met with Kokichi to “talk”. 

While the Ultimate Supreme Leader seemed suspicious, he let his guard down...sealing his fate as you strangled him with his own scarf.

Then you inflicted numerous wounds on his corpse to disguise the true cause of death.

But when the truth was revealed, K1B0 was in total shock at your motive.

He couldn’t believe you’d do something so barbaric.

Even if Kokichi bullied him relentlessly, there’s no reason you had to go as far as murder him!

However he understands anger can be a powerful emotion--one that throws any and all sense of logic out the window.

Still..it hurt to watch you get executed. He went into shutdown for the rest of the day/night.

And here he was, thinking you two had finally torn down the wall of “forbidden love” between human and robot for good.

Rantaro

You managed to kill Tsumugi before she had a chance to murder Rantaro and Kaede’s final part of her plan went into motion.

The shot put ball’s sudden appearance startled him into forgetting about the hidden room and running out of the library..

And up the stairs as the obnoxious music stops and one of the girls yelled for everyone to come into the bathroom--where Tsumugi’s body was.

At that point, the game should’ve ended since you actually killed the mastermind.

But of course, Team Danganronpa had backup plans and thus the game kept going.

You had rearranged the crime scene to make it look like a suicide, leading everyone to assume the time limit’s pressures are what killed the cosplayer.

But eventually your crime was unraveled and Rantaro was utterly devastated.

You’re the first Blackened in yet another killing game he was forced to participate in.

You only killed Tsumugi because you found it suspicious she suddenly ran off on her own near the time limit’s end.

In doing so you unknowingly saved Rantaro’s life in exchange for your own.

He was upset you did something so rash when he clearly told everyone not to, but...at the same time he’s grateful to be alive because of you.

He swears your death won’t be in vain. He’s gonna escape this game with everyone else.

#clanas #anonymous #danganronpa x reader #drv3 #ryoma hoshi #ryoma hoshi x reader #shuichi saihara #shuichi saihara x reader #kokichi ouma #kokichi ouma x reader #gonta gokuhara #gonta gokuhara x reader #kaito momota #kaito momota x reader #korekiyo shinguji #korekiyo shinguji x reader #k1b0 #k1b0 x reader #rantaro amami #rantaro amami x reader #tw blood #tw death #tw suicide mention #danganronpa spoilers #headcanons

[elisaphoenix13]

Delusional (Ch.1)

Okay, so this is something that won't be for everyone. It's a trope that me and my friends got into while RPing so this was born. I think this will be one of those fics that I'll only continue if there's enough interest. Let me know what you think!

Tony had been pissed when his parents told him that his mother was pregnant. He had no idea what possessed them to think having another kid was a good idea when they could barely pay attention to the one they already had, and he even said that. It ended up turning into an argument between him and Howard and Tony gave them both the cold shoulder for the entirety of Maria's pregnancy. Whether it was because of her age or possibly because of Tony's ongoing silent treatment stressing her out, his mother went into labor a month early. Tony couldn't even bring himself to visit his parents or the new baby at the hospital, but they eventually came home with his new baby brother that he almost considered ignoring completely.

But then he realized that would make him exactly like Howard.

So when his parents went gallivanting off to some party one day, leaving their preemie baby in the hands of the maid, Tony finally decided to properly meet his brother. A seventeen year age difference wasn't unheard of, but it still felt weird to walk into the nursery with the knowledge that the baby inside was a sibling. He decided he would make sure the baby was still alive and then go back to his bedroom to study for his physics final, but when he approached the crib the baby was sleeping in...he softened.

His baby brother slept peacefully on his back with his arms stretched out on both sides of his head and every so often snuffled in his sleep. He wasn't covered with a blanket and he vaguely recalled hearing that he shouldn't be at his age, but he was at least dressed warmly in tiny blue footie pajamas. He had wisps of dark hair that looked like they would be soft to the touch and Tony was tempted to reach out and see but he refrained. He didn't want to disturb the baby.

Tony had been so focused on ignoring Howard that he had to wrack his brain for his brother's name, which he knew his mother had told him. He was pretty sure he had been studying at the time and was only half listening, but it eventually came to him.

Scott.

Scott Harris Stark.

It was barely seconds later that the baby started to fuss and Tony looked around a little lost before finally giving in and leaning down to scoop him up. Tony was a goner after that. Scott's hair was just as soft as it looked and Tony was worried he could break his brother if he so much as sneezed. It didn't stop him from taking over most of the responsibilities of caring for Scott from that moment on though. Tony did his research, watched his mother, and even asked the maid for advice, but soon he was changing diapers. He fed Scott, stayed up for hours on end when he was colicky or sick, dressed him, played with him…

Tony was determined to make sure Scott had the love and attention he was deprived of. At least Maria tried with both of them.

But when Scott was just under a year old, tragedy struck. Both their parents died in a car accident on the way to a party, leaving Tony alone with his infant brother. Fortunately he was freshly eighteen so he could have legal guardianship over Scott and Tony had Rhodey and Obadiah for support and help with the company he now had control over. Scott always came first though. Tony made sure he had a decent childhood despite the fact that he easily got sick, and the adorable smiles he got in return were well worth it as Scott grew up.

So was the boy's first word. Dad. Tony never corrected him since he did raise Scott, and his brother never knew their parents. So as far as Scott knew, Tony was his father and Tony made sure to hide away the truth. As far as he was concerned, the lie wasn't hurting Scott and it was partly true in a sense.

He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Because Scott was born premature, he had special needs in the form of allergies (both food and environmental), asthma, and he even got sick constantly. Most days found Scott in Tony's room because the boy whined whenever Tony tried to put him in his own room, and he was terrified Scott would stop breathing in the middle of the night. Scott slept in Tony's bed until well into his grade school years when he finally started to grow out of his need to be near his father. Tony was still nervous and checked on Scott before he went to bed and at least once in the middle of the night when he woke up.

When Tony first found out Scott was allergic to peanuts, he was a wreck. He threatened the doctors to help his kid when he heard Scott wheezing for breath, and when the boy was finally recovering, he demanded they do whatever they had to do to check for any allergies he might have had. Tony didn't think he could handle seeing Scott as sick as he was again. The wheezing, the hives, the overall misery his little boy had been in…

It turned out Scott was severely allergic to all types of nuts. Peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts...if it was a nut, Scott couldn't have it. That was easy enough to plan meals around but then there was also shellfish, sesame, parsley, and pineapple. Whenever they went out to eat, Tony scrutinized every ingredient on the menu if it was available, and if it wasn't, he demanded to talk to the chefs. Fortunately once he learned what food Scott could have, it became second nature.

Tony always made sure to carry an inhaler and epipen with him, had extras held for Scott at school, and more in the boy's backpack. He taught Scott as early as possible what he couldn't eat because it would make him very sick and for the most part, things went well enough. There was only one incident at school when Scott unknowingly ate something he wasn't supposed to, but he was quickly treated with one of his pens and sent to the hospital. Scott was quick to bounce back from that since the school staff had been prepared, so the only constant issue was his asthma.

Scott never let it slow him down and Tony swore he was going to either go gray at 25 or suffer heart failure. The little boy was constantly climbing everything, and Tony once had to pull him off the bookcase that he managed to climb up to the fifth shelf. The fifth shelf. Rhodey had his fair share of retrieving Scott from high places whenever he visited too.

Before Tony knew it, Scott had grown into a young man with a talent for hacking and engineering and had a penchant for tacos, oranges, and lollipops. He helped Tony with a lot of his projects but absolutely refused to help with anything related to weapons. Scott never liked violence and always hated that Stark Industries was solely based on weapons making. Tony never faulted him for it.

"Scott, have you seen my--?" Tony stops mid sentence when he looks over at the young man and finds him at his computers with his feet kicked up on a small part of the desk, dozing with a lollipop in his mouth. "Oh, that's safe."

He walks over and takes the lollipop out of Scott's mouth and he jolts awake. "Hey! I was eating that!" Scott complains.

"Yeah, you were very proactive about it. I didn't raise you for 21 years so you could choke and die because you fell asleep with candy in your mouth." Tony rolls his eyes and sticks the candy back in Scott's mouth before he could protest. "Now have you seen that little screwdriver you like to steal?"

"You had it last, and I've been busy updating Jarvis's code." Scott answers.

"I saw that. I guess you're so good you can do it in your sleep."

"It was uploading!" Scott drops his feet to the ground with an annoyed huff. "And I told you I wouldn't help you with your stupid weapons. That includes finding misplaced tools."

"Fine, fine."

Tony tries fixing the cow lick in Scott's hair and rolls his eyes when it only floofs back into place. He learned very early on that his kid's hair was untameable but that didn't stop Tony from trying. Hair gel, pomade, hair spray...none of it could contain and style Scott's hair. The cow lick worked for him though so Tony wasn't too obsessed with trying to find something to keep it in place.

"Well while you wait for your new code to upload, why don't you make me a sandwich?" Tony says. "I gotta get the Jericho prototype finished tonight."

Scott frowns. "Why do they want you to fly all the way out to Afghanistan? What's wrong with how you usually sell this stuff?"

"It's just for a couple of days volpino. Now where's my tuna sandwich?" Tony asks.

"Probably in the fridge. It's deconstructed." Scott says as he leaves the lab.

"Oh, haha. Funny. I like mine constructed so get on it. Chop chop."

Tony smirks when he hears Scott mumble something under his breath along the lines "slave driver", but with no heat. Things had gotten easier as Scott got older but he never really grew out of his physical problems. He still had his food and environmental allergies, his asthma, and even his tendency to get sick, but that had mostly been remedied when Tony moved them to Malibu. The warm weather helped with that and Scott didn't get sick nearly as often as he did in New York, and that had been a huge relief for the both of them. Tony only wished he had thought of it sooner.

When Scott comes back with the sandwich and sets it nearby for Tony, the man looks up at him and rolls his eyes when he finds the younger man drinking out of a juice box. "You know you can have beer now right?"

"Juice is better." Scott says. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You'll probably still be asleep. Even if I leave late." Tony grabs the sandwich and takes a bite. "So try not to blow up the lab while I'm gone." He adds around his mouthful.

"That's no fun." Scott says sarcastically. "Pepper called by the way. She said she has some paperwork for you to look at before you leave."

Tony groans. "Tell her I'm not home."

"It'll be true in a few hours anyway."

"Don't underestimate Pepper. She'll be waiting on the tarmac for me to look at those papers if she has to." Tony grumbles and then looks up at Scott with a suspicious smile that makes his son narrow his eyes at him. "You're 21. Maybe it's time to start giving you some responsibility with the company."

"I do. It's called making sure my dad doesn't blow himself up because he writes codes when he's half asleep. How are we still alive?"

"Rhodey and Happy." Tony replies dryly before whapping Scott upside the head. "Don't sass me."

Scott rubs the back of his head as he walks back over to his personal workstation to check on the progress of the code. When he had shown an interest in engineering and computers, Tony had immediately set up Scott's own work area with age appropriate equipment that he either replaced or updated as Scott got older. He was good at it too. Tony couldn't count the number of times he got calls from the FBI asking him to get Scott to stop leaving them viruses with laughing cat videos or something. They were always harmless and easily fixed, so Tony's response was to tell them to update their security so Scott couldn't get in.

Apparently they had yet to find a way to keep Scott out and Tony wasn't about to take away one of his son's very few joys in life. As long as it all stayed harmless, Tony would look the other way. He knew Scott was very capable of hacking into pretty much anything, and he was glad his kid was a pacifist. Because Scott was definitely very capable of getting his hands on nuke codes.

Tony actually wouldn't be surprised if Scott had already gone in and changed them.

Some whirring pulls Tony out of his thoughts and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E making smoothies again. A quick glance told him that there was at least peanut butter and almond milk in it so it wasn't safe for baby boy consumption.

"Hey! Are you trying to kill your little brother with that?" Tony asks and DUM-E beeps sadly when the blender goes off. "You know he can't have nuts!"

"There goes my social life." Scott says and Tony makes a face.

"I don't want to hear about that."

"Says the man whose one night stands I had to chase away."

Tony laughs. "To be fair, it was funny to see them get creeped out when you just stood in the kitchen and stared at them while drinking your juice box."

"...yeah. That was pretty fun." Scott admits.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on her way down." JARVIS says and Tony groans.

"Ugh the dreaded secretary with her paperwork."

There's a few beeps before the lab door hisses open and then the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum.

"Tony-"

"I know," he sighs. "Paperwork. Give it to Scott."

Pepper places the small stack next to his arm. "He's too busy making sure you don't blow yourself up."

"You know I had to teach him how to do that right?"

"And now he's better than you." Pepper says and Scott cackles.

"Ouch. My pride." Tony clutches at his chest in mock hurt.

"Please just look at this and sign. It won't even take you ten minutes." Pepper sighs.

"I trust you."

"Nice try."

#tony stark #scott lang #pepper potts

[hotchley]

mortch having a girl, specifically hotch coming home after a bad case to see derek-with glasses ofc- holding their babygirl while reading hotch’s high school play script

Grace I am in love with your brain and I need you to write this properly, but for now, enjoy this little drabble... thing whatever, we’re going with it (and I hope you liked the other mortch headcanons!!) 

the best thing they ever did

I don’t know what else to call it and all of the songs I’ve been listening to are sad and look... either of them with a daughter is just the best thing and yeah so please be gentle

Also where in canon is this? Fuck if I know, Tara and Luke are on the team but Derek left and Jack is a teen and Hotch is retiring in a few months and like Mr Scratch the episode did happen but not the shit after?? but that’s not that important just go with it 

read on ao3! (I cannot believe I am doing this)

tw: vague crimes against children, the slightest implication of child abuse

Cases with children were always hard. But cases with children, when he had two at home and Derek wasn’t there to ground him or make everything better by simply holding his hand and drawing circles were awful.

So awful that he just wanted to bury his head in the lumpy pillow at the hotel and scream. He missed feeling Derek’s arms around him as he slept, and he missed falling asleep on his shoulder, and he missed the scent of his shower gel.

He just missed Derek. And Jack. And their little girl. He couldn’t believe he had a daughter. He had always wanted to give Jack a little sibling, but his own failures had meant that never happened.

Until it did. Just in a completely different way to what he was expecting. He lost Haley to George Foyet, yes, but he gained a new family that he thought he would never find. And he knew Haley, wherever she was, was at peace, watching over him and the loves of his life with pride and happiness.

In the end, they saved the children. Their lives would never be the same and this would stay with them forever, but they would, with the right support, recover and flourish.

He used to tell the team that saving a victim was the best thing they could do because he needed them to carry on having faith in what they did and not start doubting whether or not they made a difference because they did.

But he too had wondered whether or not it was worth it. When he thought of everything Foyet had put him through, had his life really been worth saving?

And then he saw Jack. Jack who would always miss his mother and the person she had been to him, the woman he remembered, but Jack that looked at Derek and called him Papa without feeling guilty. Jack that sometimes got angry and threw tantrums but was every bit the boy Haley had raised.

And he knew that it was all worth it. As he thought of Derek- good and kind and beautiful Derek that had stuck with him through everything and held him after Mr Scratch had forced him to see his family die- he smiled. 

Derek Morgan was the best man he knew. And every single day, every single moment, he considered himself lucky to call him his husband. He knew how difficult it was for Derek to wave goodbye each morning, knowing first-hand the horrors of the job. But Aaron only had to do a few more months before the Bureau would give him his pension.

And when that day came, he was going to retire and join Derek at the local community college, where they would teach the next generation of lawyers. Together. Like they were meant to. Because even before they had fallen in love- unwillingly and resentfully realised that actually, they did care about each other a lot- they had been partners.

But before then, he would carry on with the BAU, writing reports until his eyes started to hurt and he has to fight back tears every time he looks at the photos. This time though, his desk was suspiciously void of paperwork that wasn’t absolutely essential to the case.

When he looked into the bullpen, Emily and Luke’s piles seemed significantly bigger. Tara and Spencer also had larger piles, but those were decreasing at an incredibly fast rate. 

He smiled to himself and pulled his phone out to text Derek that he would be home sooner than expected. But as he gazed at his lock screen- subconsciously counting down the days till he could change it to the family photo- he decided he would surprise them instead.

With the knowledge that he would soon be home and in the arms of his loved one, the paperwork was slightly more bearable. It was still brutal and heartbreaking and he kept needing to pause to stop himself from sobbing, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Derek’s presence had always been more than a light, but still.

He finished before anyone else of the team, but he didn’t feel guilty leaving. They didn’t need him to hold their hands anymore. They hadn’t for a while, but Derek’s departure after the birth of their daughter- their beautiful daughter- had driven the point home.

It was why he was going to be able to leave without any regrets.

It was dark when he unlocked the front door to their home. Home. He thought he had lost that after Haley left. He never thought he would find it in Derek, but he would never stop feeling grateful that he got a second chance at a family. A second chance at being happy.

All the lights downstairs were off, so he assumed they had all gone to sleep. He checked Jack’s room and saw that he was peacefully asleep. Maybe it was the case, or the nostalgia that came with leaving, or maybe he was just a better man than his father was, but the sight of him sleeping without stirring or being haunted by nightmares bought on a wave of emotion so overwhelming he had to hold the door handle.

With every passing day, Jack looked more and more like his mother. Once upon a time, it would’ve been like a dagger to Aaron’s heart, but now it just made him smile with a fondness he hadn’t realised he was capable of.

Even though Jack wasn’t a child anymore- he was almost as tall as Hotch- he still found himself quietly entering to press a soft kiss to his forehead. He closed the door properly as he left, knowing his son would appreciate the thought in the morning.

The door to the nursery was also closed. Either she was sleeping, or Derek was still awake with her. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the second. Derek loved their daughter the way he did everything in his life: with passion, the utmost care and his entire soul.

He hesitated in the doorway of their bedroom, wanting to enjoy the sight for just a moment.

Derek, in nothing but a thin t-shirt and pair of shorts, clearly ready for bed, and glasses that he somewhat resented wearing because it reminded him that he was getting older, holding their daughter in his arms. He held her like she was the world.

And in some ways, she was.

Aaron smiled at the two of them. And then he heard what Derek was saying.

The book in front of him was not the storybook Haley had bought Jack when he was a baby. Nor was it one of the many gifts they’d received from the team.

It was the script for the Pirates of Penzance. The same one Hotch had scribbled his notes all over, so he would know exactly where he was meant to stand and when he was meant to enter and leave. He wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Theatre had been the start of his and Haley’s love story. He loved that Derek was so willing to celebrate it.

“I hope you’re doing the voices right,” he quipped, as Derek started to recite the first of Pirate Number Four’s two lines.

Derek turned and Aaron was still so taken aback by how stunning he was that whatever he was going to say died on his lips. He smiled slightly, trying to not give away how much the case had affected him.

“I thought you could use something good today. Em told me what happened. Do you want to talk about it?”

Not today. Tomorrow he would, but tonight he was going to love his daughter and fall asleep in Derek’s arms. So he shook his head and went over to the two of them.

His daughter babbled and smiled at him, wrapping her little hand around his finger.

“Hello darling,” he cooed. “Did Papa make you stay up for me? Or did you do that yourself?”

Derek laughed, a joyous and warming sound. “She did that herself. In fact, she almost woke Jack up with her screaming. I think she knew her daddy would be home today. Didn’t you?”

Aaron smiled as she carried on smiling at the two of them. “Thank you for staying up. I know I’m back earlier than usual, but it’s still late.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Derek said, still rocking the baby in his arms. She was a beautiful baby. And one day, she would be an amazing, strong and vulnerable woman. But for now, she was his little girl.

“I know. But I want to,” Aaron said in response. “Did she really almost wake up Jack?”

“Yep. She wanted to be held, and then I thought I would read to her, and I remember getting this out for Jack earlier. It just felt right. Haley had so many lines, how she remembered all of them is beyond me.”

“She was ethereal on that stage,” he said. But thinking of Haley didn’t hurt now. It hadn’t for a while. JJ had been right. He was happy.

“I’m going to change out of this suit,” he said, after a few moments of silence passed. Derek nodded, not even moving to put her back in her crib. When Aaron returned wearing Derek’s old pyjamas, he was still rocking her gently.

“You’ve never looked quite so beautiful as you do when you hold her,” he confessed quietly.

Derek smiled, passing her over. “And you never look as relaxed as you do when she’s in your arms.”

He laughed, then responded with: “Gas.”

Derek rolled his eyes in that fond way he always did, but he laughed along nonetheless. And when Aaron’s eyes started to droop, he took the now sleeping baby from his arms and went to the nursey.

As he set her down, he brushed his lips across her forehead, wishing her a peaceful sleep. 

“Goodnight, Penelope Haley Hotchner-Morgan. Have the sweetest dreams,” he said, leaving the door slightly open so some of the light could get in.

Aaron had fallen asleep in the few minutes he had been gone for, on top of the duvet and with his feet dangling off the end of the bed. Derek smiled at his sleeping figure from the door, wondering how anyone could look so sweet as they slept.

Derek moved him to be under the covers, having done it enough times to know how to do it without waking him up. When Aaron’s breathing remained even, he breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in on the other side.

As if he just knew, Aaron rolled over, burying his head in Derek’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his husband, feeling like home was perfect once more.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #mortch #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #tw implied child abuse #tw implied crimes against children

[drwcn]

I really do think mianmian and lwj deserve to be like, close friends. from their meeting in the show it doesn’t seem like they ever saw each other after jinlintai and i have no idea when they would’ve gotten the chance, but just afterwards, you know?

yes, I think they definitely deserve to be friends! One of things I always found troubling about these novel based xianxia dramas is the lack of sustainable friendship beyond the main romance line. I guess in order to create angst and emotional investment for the audiences, a lot of times, friendship get sidelined or destroyed when characters die or betray each other. As well, most non-romance relationships that we see lasting to the end of the story are family relations and sometimes servitude (aka a lackey that hangs on until the end). Real friendships where both parties are roughly on equal footing and station rarely last in these epic adventure dramas. You couldn’t even say Wen Ning is Wei Wuxian’s friend of equal station, not when Wen Ning doesn’t call Wei Wuxian by his name, just “young master”. Perhaps this is to isolate the main character, who knows.  Even so, friendship between men is portrayed more frequently than friendship between women, or men and women. 

So with your prompt, it inspired me to write a little something Luo Qingyang centric, ft our Hanguang-jun and juniors.

~~~ 

Lanling Jin’s entourage stood by the gates of Cloud Recesses, patiently waiting for their admission. What seemed like a life time ago, Luo Qingyang had been on these same steps with Jin Zixuan. She’d been a girl then, barely bloomed, barely grown. Life had been simple, and she had thought she knew what the future would hold. 

So much had come to pass, yet these grand arches, white granite stone pulsing with spiritual aura, never seemed to age. 

She glanced down at her Jin Clan robes, the pale yellow and white, embroidered with peonies and a strip of blue accentuating the lapel edge. She never thought she’d wear these colours again. Her mother had been a Jin, first cousin of Jin Guangshan. Once upon time, she’d been proud to be one of them, to be part of a powerful and wealthy clan. Then the war came and went, like the debriding of a wound upon their world that revealed the flesh underneath had caseated to the bone. She’d been so disillusioned, so aggrieved by her elders and disappointed by her peers. 

Even Zixuan.

He had been a good man, her cousin. But he wasn’t strong of heart nor clever of mind. She was sorry to know he had died, but she wasn’t surprised. If he could not see the game his father had been playing, then there had never been any hope for him.

Luo Qingyang glanced towards the youth in front of her just slightly to the right. From the view of his back, she could almost picture his father, standing there with Suihua in his clutch, a proud son of the house of Jin. Time seemed to fluctuate, the eighteen years between then and now barely a drop in the ocean. If she breathed deeply enough and closed her eyes, she could almost be Mianmian again, could almost see Zixuan again. 

This was the first time Jin Ling had come to Cloud Recesses without his jiujiu. The boy was rightfully nervous, but this push towards independence was necessary. Sooner or later, baby bird had to learn how to fly. Like his father, Jin Rulan had a kind nature, even if he was awful at expressing his feelings. He was young, but the burden on his shoulders were heavy. For the mess that was the Jin Clan post Jin Guangyao's demise to fall into Jin Ling's lap was the best and worst case scenario. If he hadn’t risen to occasion, the subsidiary sects - vultures circling a carcass- would’ve torn Lanling apart. 

Perhaps that was why Luo Qingyang had agreed to return to her mother clan.

Wei Wuxian had arrived at her doorsteps one day some months after the incident at Guanyin Temple. Even on the outskirts of Yiling where she had lived, she had received news of what had happened. Wei Wuxian explained he’d been travelling, but between his subtle hints and unsubtle nudges, she had understood his intentions. 

Jin Ling had no one to help him man the helm. Jiang Cheng could only do so much without the other sects accusing him of overreaching into businesses beyond Yunmeng’s jurisdiction. Jin Ling was Jinlintai’s heir, not Lotus Pier’s, a fact that most people had slowly forgotten over the last decade. Childless, Jiang Cheng’s seat would one day go to his prime disciple, but not to his nephew.   

“Lan Zhan had written a decree for you, in case you encounter trouble going back. It’s a lot to ask for, I know. You’ve got such a lovely home here. But...you are needed, Mianmian, if you could forgive them.”

Forgive them? Luo Qingyang sighed. What’s there to forgive? She had left of her own volition, married well, and had a wonderful family. Her husband grumbled a bit about moving to the big city, but in the end he followed her back to her clan, just like he did to her night hunts. Her husband had been a merchant once, and she had no doubt he would thrive in Lanling. So far, she had not been proven wrong.  

“I am Jin Rulan’s biao’gu*. He is as much your nephew as he is mine. Tell His Excellency that I will return to Jinlintai shortly. He can be assured Sect Leader Jin will not be alone.”  

Lan Sizhui, Gusu Lan’s Head Disciple greeted them at the gates with a deep bow. Like his de-facto cousin, Sizhui had grown taller and more mature. 

“Welcome, Jin-zongzhu, Luo-zhangshi*, and honored guests. Cloud Recesses thank you for your patience. Please, come with me.” 

He gave Jin Ling a private smile, and the latter perked up immediately. “Lan-gongzi, you’re too kind. It’s been some time since we last spoke. I trust His Excellency is of good health and spirit?”

“Hanguang-jun is very well, thank you Jin-zongzhu.” In a lower tone, Sizhui commented. “I would’ve visited Lotus Pier with Wei-qianbei last harvest, but I was sent to Qinghe for sect business.” 

Boys playing at being men. 

Luo Qingyang hid a smile, slowing down her steps to give the youngsters some privacy from the party that followed them. 

Such innocence. How lovely it was. The boys she’d known were forced to grow up amidst fire and chaos, and did so in such brutal, unimaginable ways. So many had died, and those who had lived would never get to experience their ‘what-could’ve-been’s.

~

After, when the official businesses were settled and the disciples were dismissed, Luo Qingyang and Lan Wangji sat together in a quiet pavilion. Sizhui and A-Ling were some distances away down the lang, standing a reasonable distance apart and conversing politely. Though, it was more than obvious that they were itching to shed their gentlemanly exterior and scurry off to whatever shenanigans boys their age got up to when their guardians weren't looking.

Lou Qingyang observed the man sitting across from her and found some irony in the fact that they were strangely similar. Though talented in cultivation, Lan Wangji was not the type she would’ve imagined being Chief Cultivator, and certainly she herself could’ve never imagined that one day she would be chief of staff of Lanling Jin. 

Life dealt them both a funny set of cards and all they could do was keep playing. 

“I know Wei Ying had delivered my message, but I want to thank you properly in person, Luo-zhangshi, for agreeing to come back. Those early days after Jin Guangyao’s death was...precariously to say the least. The situation at Jinlintai is much better now thanks to your efforts.” 

“Hanguang-jun, we’ve known each other for a long time. Your husband has a scar on his chest from saving me from a Wen branding iron, and my daughter has received lucky money from the both of you. I think you can call me Miamian, if you’re comfortable with that.” She smiled, taking a sip of her tea. The scent of jasmine was calming after such a long, arduous morning.

Lan Wangji nodded, turning to his own cup. “We used to be classmates, now we are colleagues. Perhaps you are right. Formality in private is unnecessary.” 

“As for coming back, it is my duty. Jin Ling is bright and kind. With the right guidance, Lanling Jin Sect will recover. I knew him, Jin Guangyao. He was... nice to me, most of the time anyways. Whether that niceness had any truth behind it, I don’t know, but even then he’d been so unreadable. I only wish I’d seen through it all sooner. So you see, there is no need for thanks, Wangji-xiong. We Jins have done enough wrong against your family. Pray, how is Zewu-jun?” 

 “Brother is still in seclusion, but he is no danger to himself. He is better now. Time heals all wounds. Though...” 

Though knowing Lan Xichen, knowing what Lans were like when faced with tragic love, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure what his brother’s future would hold. 

Luo Qingyang nodded, understanding. Suddenly, their tranquility was interrupted by a disciple rounding the corner, footsteps heavy and voice decidedly too loud. 

“Sizhui, did you meet up with Young Mis -” 

Lan Jingyi’s holler aborted immediately when he saw who was sitting in the pavilion. “Erm... Hanguang-jun, Luo-zhangshi...” Smiling sheepishly, he bowed. 

“Sizhui.” Lan Wangji gave his son a pointed look, which the youth instantly understood. 

“Ah, Jin-zongzhu. Perhaps you would like for Jingyi and myself to you show around? Cloud Recesses’ scenery is really one of a kind this time of year.”  

“Yes, yes!" Jin Ling leaped to his feet from where he was sitting on the bench. He paused, casting a cautious glance towards his aunt, before clearing his throat and continuing in his most ‘adult’ voice. “Yes, I would like that. Lan-gongzi, Jingyi-xiong, if you wouldn't mind leading the way.” 

Luo Qingyang and Lan Wangji focused their attention back to their tea cups, both turning a blind eye to the way Sizhui and Rulan all but ran to join up with Lan Jingyi. 

They were out of sight in a heartbeat. 

“Do you know who they remind me of?” Luo Qingyang tilted her head as a sense of deja-vu washed over her. 

“Mn?” 

“Wei-gongzi, Nie-zongzhu, and Jiang-zongzhu, during our guest disciple days.” 

Our long summer. 

“Mn.”

“Remember when they got drunk on Emperor’s Smile? They really were audacious even then.” Luo Qingyang reminisced with a fond chuckle. 

“Yes. Uncle was furious.” The corner of Lan Wangji’s lips tilted upwards. 

Was that amusement she detected?! 

Mianman blinked, suddenly realizing, “Oh but you were amongst them too, if I recall correctly.” She gave him a sly smile. “The girls said you were discovered in a drunken coma in Wei-gongzi’s room the next morning. Is that true?” 

“Yes.” 

Oh the scandal! “How did they rope you into it?”

“I was willing,” confessed the venerated Hanguang-jun without so much as a blush. The shameless scoundrel! 

Luo Qingyang laughed, the sound ringing like a clear bell that cut through Cloud Recesses’ tranquility. 

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore; he’s your husband now. For the record, we all saw it coming.”

Lan Wangji raised a quizzical brow. “Oh? I did not think it was obvious.” 

“Well, not to the male disciples perhaps, but the female disciples, we all knew.” Luo Qingyang took a deep breath and sighed. “Sometimes I miss those days. Simpler times.” 

“Mn.” 

“My daughter has started cultivation lessons with the other children at Jinlintai. Someday she may visit here as guest disciple, as I once was. I hope her future will be a better one.” 

She met his gaze steadily, and the understanding in between had no need for further words. 

Lan Wangji smiled. 

“That is my wish as well.” 

  ~

biao’gu 表姑 = a type of aunt, a distant female cousin of one’s parent that’s in the same generation as them.

zhang’shi 长史= an antiquated government position that’s akin to Secretary General. 

#cql #the untamed #luo qingyang #lan wangji #corie replies #i love ouyang zizhen #he's just not in this one #don't worry they're all friends #cql ficlet #corie fics

[alvacchi]

Phantom Thief Hanako-kun AU Story: Chapter 11- Blood

Guess what got continued 👀

I'm feeling pretty rusty after not writing for a month and a half aha. Thank you all for waiting 😂. It takes pretty long to write.

Warning ⚠️: Dark themes ahead (in the tags)

Anyways, here's another chapter uwu~ Enjoy!

---

-Previously in Chapter 10...

-Yashiro got sick yet continued to persist on investigating with a broken heart

-She was personally invited to the heist by Hanako

-Tagging along with police detective Shijima Mei, they encountered Hanako during the heist

-And a sudden gunshot occurred after a striking revelation

-In that moment

-Yashiro's mind went blank

-Blood was shed right afterwards

-Screams and bloody horror erupted

-And Yashiro suddenly found herself on the ground

-What just happened?

-Yashiro's sight was blurry, perhaps from the tears she shed out of shock

-There was an irritating ringing in her ears so she couldn't hear much

-But all she could think of right now was if Hanako was okay

-She tried to look for him in her vision

-Adrenaline rushing through her

-She couldn't find the energy to get up for some reason

-And then she was lifted up by someone

-Hanako, who showed a horrified face that keeps getting paler by the second

-was now crying while holding Yashiro in his arms

-Breaking his promise to not touch her

-He appears to be yelling at her too but Yashiro's hearing was impaired

-After a sense of relief came to Yashiro seeing Hanako was alive, a sharp pain also came along with it

-Yashiro gasped, clutching the spot where it hurts

-The stickiness of the area dawned upon her

-She somehow took the shot in that split second

-and the bullet landed in a vital area

-Shijima was frozen in her spot in the midst of the chaos

-In disbelief that she shot Yashiro like she did with Hanako

-she couldn't help but stare at the scene unfolding before her.

-Deep in Yashiro's thoughts

-and recalling the promise she made to stick by Hanako's side

-She felt sorry that she couldn't keep it as her eyelids grew heavy

-Hanako stopped yelling when he saw her eyes closed

-He paused and appeared to be thinking

-Then, he gently laid Yashiro down and pulled up his sleeves

-What was he up to??

-He grabbed the knife he'd been keeping on him

-Hanako: "This is gonna hurt"

-But no matter, Yashiro had fallen unconscious and her pulse was getting weaker

-Hanako gently lift Yashiro up again with one hand, the knife in his other

-Shijima snapped out of her trance when she saw what he was doing

-She ran to where the two were, grabbing Hanako

-Shijima: "What are you doing?! You're going to kill her!"

-Hanako: [cold] "Get out of my way. I know how to save her."

-Shijima: "You're going to cause more blood loss! Why can't we just go to the hospital!"

-At the word "hospital", Hanako flinched

-Hanako: "Damn it woman! We don't have much time! She's already dying!"

-And Shijima just shut up right there

-Hanako proceeded to carefully dig out the bullet

-Luckily it didn't go too deep and he managed to get it out

-If Yashiro was awake, she would have been screaming bloody murder

-Immediately right after, Hanako took the knife and made a small slash at his wrist, grunting a bit

-Sucking up the blood that appeared, Hanako then placed his mouth over Yashiro's

-If Shijima didn't know any better, it would have looked like he's taking advantage of Yashiro

-In the next few moments, Yashiro's bullet wound was slowly closing itself

-Color was returning back to her face

-And Shijima couldn't understand what was happening

-This was the most bizarre thing she has ever seen

-The sounds of sirens were coming closer

-They were still in the middle of the heist

-Hanako had to get out of there

-He bandaged up his wrist and pulled back down his sleeves

-Listening to Yashiro's breathing, he reassured to himself that she was okay now

-Hanako then turned over to face Shijima

-Hanako: "You take care of her. She should be fine now."

-Shijima: "Huh? Wait!"

-But Hanako disappeared behind his cape into the night and Shijima was left with an unconscious but alive Yashiro

-Sirens continued to echo throughout the night

---

-The next day

-Yashiro slowly opened her eyes to find herself in an unfamiliar room

-Shijima: "You're awake now?"

-Shijima was sitting next to the bed with a sketchbook and files in hand

-Yashiro's eyes took some adjusting before she realized

-Yashiro: "Shijima-san?...Where am I?"

-Shijima: "You're in my room. You fainted during the heist. Since I couldn't wake you up, I just took you to my apartment."

-Yashiro: "Oh."

-After a moment, Yashiro jolted up with a start

-Yashiro: "Wait I fainted?!"

-Shijima laid Yashiro back down

-Shijima: "You've just recovered so please rest for a bit."

-Yashiro: "Huh? But I'm actually feeling fine. My cold is gone and I don't feel any pain. Strange...this almost feels like a dream. I....I thought I died."

-Shijima's hands gripped the papers on her lap at Yashiro's remark

Shijima: "I honestly thought you were going to die as well. It was a miracle. Truly."

-Yashiro: "...Wait, what happened to Hanako-ku--san?"

-Slip of the tongue. Whoops

-Shijima noticed the slip

-She had a feeling something was going on between Hanako and Yashiro since the moment Hanako was yelling in desperation at Yashiro last night

-But mentioning it now may not be the right time

-Now, she wasn't even sure what to think of Hanako

-Whatever he did was not normal

-Shijima: "He got away....Yashiro-san, I'm truly sorry for what happened last night. I was careless and got you involved in my mess..."

-Yashiro: "It's...alright."

-Was it really? Someone could have died that night

-After a moment of silence, Yashiro spoke up about what was bothering her

-Yashiro: "Shijima-san. There's still one more question I have."

-Shijima: "Yes?"

-Yashiro: "How did I survive?"

-Shijima froze for a second. Vivid images flashed before her eyes

-Shijima: "I'm...not exactly sure. Hanako performed some miracle on you. I was only able to watch"

-Yashiro: "I see..."

-Shijima: "I know I've said we would talk about the missing Misaki case after the heist but I think after yesterday's incident, you should rest a little longer. It must have been frightening. I already let Tsuchigomori-san know that you're taking the day off so you don't have to go to the agency."

-Yashiro: "Ah. Thank you."

-Shijima: "I'll be off to do more investigating."

-Shijima showed off her sketchbook and smiled

-Shijima: "Besides being a police detective, I'm also a sketch artist! Someone reported that they need a drawing of a criminal on the loose. And who knows if it might be related to our case~"

-Yashiro: "Heh"

Shijima: "I'll see you later, Yashiro-san. Please have some pancakes for breakfast on the table!"

-Yashiro waved her goodbye

-She got up to go eat a moment later

-As she ate, she realized she could have asked Shijima about the past heist since she was a part of the team

-It might be an uncomfortable topic though

-Shijima didn't seem like she wanted to talk more about what happened

-At the same time, Yashiro was being patient for Hanako so she decided it was for the best

-Yashiro later on left to go to her own apartment

-When Yashiro arrived, she found a pink Mokke at her window

-The pink Mokke gave her a letter and she opened it to read:

-"There's something I should tell you. You deserve to know. Please wait for me tonight. - Hanako"

---

-Later that night

-Hanako showed up at Yashiro's apartment window

-Yashiro was waiting for him

-It was almost like they were back to their usual hangouts

-But they knew otherwise that it was different tonight

-Hanako: "Care for some donuts?"

-He held up a bag of donuts in his hands

-Yashiro couldn't help but smile

-It relaxed the mood around them as Hanako went to sit down at a small table in the room

-Yashiro sat next to him

-The room was silent for a while

-It seemed like Hanako was trying to gather his words

-Yashiro put her hand over Hanako's

-Hanako looked at her, an expression mixed with worry and fright

-Yashiro: "You don't have to avoid touching me. I never agreed to that promise anyways so relax"

-Hanako slightly relaxed as Yashiro told him to

-He spoke softly

-Hanako: "It's a long story"

-Yashiro softened her eyes

-Yashiro: "I'm listening"

-As she waited, Hanako started

-Hanako: "Hanako isn't my real name, obviously. If a thief uses his real name, he would have been caught sooner or later....everything began from this cursed bloodline"

-Hanako's hands clenched while Yashiro clenched his to comfort him

-Hanako: "I was born into a reputable household by the name of Yugi. My mother from that household had a duty to produce an heir to succeed the family. So, she was set up in an arranged marriage with two husbands. That was the tradition withheld for women in the family for generations. Great way to keep a family going, right? Laughable even."

-Yashiro: "..."

-Hanako: "I couldn't laugh though because we were born like that."

-Yashiro: "'We'"?

-Hanako: "You've met Tsukasa before at that place...He was also born with me as part of the Yugi household. We have the same mother."

-Yashiro: "So Tsukasa is your twin brother?"

-Hanako: "It was a rare case of heteropaternal superfecundation, with the odds of one out of four hundred. We are twins born from separate fathers"

-Yashiro: "Born from separate fathers?"

-Hanako: "Yeah. And right after we were born, one of the fathers was discovered to be a criminal. In other words, one of us is born as the son of a criminal."

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #hananene #tbhk #jshk #jshk au #hanako kun #tw blood #tw injury #tw death #read at your own risk #the plot is planned like this #hope you guys enjoy #im not good with tagging warnings