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septicbro1005 · 4 years

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Paint Me How You See Me

A/N: Okay, you have no idea how excited I was to see that I had permission to write this. I literally am so happy I could scream. Will I? Not out loud. This actually made me so excited that I got up and started walking around my room and smiling holy shit. Alright. Enough of that. I was inspired to write this story by a comic made by the fantastic @venadorosas and I just am so damn excited to write this! I am not an art student myself, but I will do my best to replicate it with what I know. I hope I do the comic justice! Just a few more things before this thing starts: I'm gonna do myself and make this a Quirkless AU as well as make Yuuei a university instead of a high school. This is unedited, so if there are sentences or misspellings, that is why, and I apologize. Anyway, let's get rolling!

Kirishima's POV

One stroke after the other.

Small, swift.

One stroke makes a world of a difference.

So don't… mess… up.

I only have one canvas left after this one, but I'm saving it for something important. Something special. Just need to figure out what.

I mean, yeah, I have others on back order, and Mr. Miyoshi is usually pretty cool with giving me some, but I still need to think about what to do with the 106 cm by 106 cm canvas.

A canvas that big needs something worth being put on there.

"Psst, Kiri--" "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhut," I hissed out through clenched teeth.

"You nee--" "I said shut,"

"B--" "No. Shut. Lemme finish,"

The person who proceeded to pester me, even after I told him to be quiet, was none other than Hanta Sero.

He was an art student, along with myself and several others I know by name.

One of which was Katsuki Bakugou.

And damn, was he confusing.

He was this aloof dude who talked to maybe two people by his own volition.

Some random girl who I see him talk to ever now and again. I think we've spoken twice? All I remember is she told me to call her Tsu.

And then me.

Sure, he'd talk to the professors and people like that, but if he didn't have to speak, he wouldn't.

Yet, he spoke to me.

Not only did he barely talk to people, but he also is probably one of the best looking people on campus.

I kid you not, the first time I saw this dude, I was totally sure I'd met Adonis in human form.

His ash blond hair was styled into a fluffy undercut that I would pay money for to be able to run my hands through, even once. His gauges and helix piercings gave him a bit of an edge, but that's what made him more alluring. He came into class one day, wearing a wife beater, which put a tattoo on full display, resting on his right shoulder.

It isn't just his looks that are attractive either. The way he holds himself, presents himself, just his whole aura is indescribable, to keep it brief.

And he was the person I was painting this for.

This wasn't his first commission. Not by a long shot. And this one was fairly simple as well. Still, I poured my heart and soul into it, just like every piece.

But with his commissions, I feel the need to work that much harder. To push myself that much farther. To make it perfect, in a word.

Now, I know that perfection is impossible, but I still want to achieve it.

I mean, if Bakugou could, I could too, right?

"Kirishima, I've been talking to you for the past couple of seconds and you haven't shushed me. Don't zone out on me right now, man,"

Sero's voice managed to pull me out of this trance, but only a bit.

The ash blond with the scarlet glare was still in the back of my mind.

"What?"

"You need lunch, man," Sero said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Listen, I thank you for your concern, but I had a protein shake maybe six hours ago. I'm dandy," I mumbled, doing a few more soft strokes before standing up. "Plus, I'm not even hungry,"

"Dunno what kind of protein shake you're drinking, but you still need sustenance. C'mon," Sero attempted to persuade me as I walked to the sink to clean the small brush.

"I'm cool, dude. I have a granola bar or two in my bag. I'll eat when I'm hungry," I chuckled lightly, turning on the water and cleaning the brush.

Sero sighed in defeat, as this marked the second week in a row where I substituted breakfast with a protein drink and lunch with a granola bar.

"Alright, fine. Make sure you eat dinner tonight, or Mr. Miyoshi is gonna kick you out again," Sero said, beginning to walk to the door.

"I know, I know,"

"I'll be off, then,"

"Peace out, dude,"

I heard the door to the studio shut, and it was just me in here.

Just me and the paint.

"Hey, Siri,"

My phone lit up, hearing its name.

"Play Rex Orange County on Spotify,"

As I began to finish up some touches on the snow covered forests surrounding a bright red cardinal, the song Uno filled my ears.

The song had no real relevance, but I love that song so much. I dunno if its just because it sounds so simple and sweet, but I just think the song's pretty great.

I'd say after maybe forty-five minutes of doing seemingly pointless touch-ups, I stood back, admiring my work.

Not much needed to be done, but I needed this to be phenomenal.

"I'll just use a simple varnish once everything is dry, then I can move it into the back," I muttered to myself, as if someone was there and I had to be quiet. "Can I finish it today? I could tell him where it is, and wait for the money to come in, I guess,"

A few seconds pause later, and I continued.

"Wow, great job, Eijirou. You sound like a dickwad who just wants money,"

A short sigh, a granola bar and maybe a half an hour or so later, everything seemed dry.

"Let's varnish this motherfucker, and I'll text him when that's done," I mumbled, going into the cabinets, looking for the varnish.

No other assignments at the moment… okay! Cool! I can probably head back to my dorm, chill there, and text Bakugou when it's done!

When I finally found it, I got to work on the varnish.

***

"And sent," I whispered as I approached the dormitories.

I just sent Bakugou a short text, telling him where to find it, how to send me the money (although he probably knows the process by heart at this point) and all that jazz.

My dorm building was in sight when my phone buzzed once.

It was a different buzzing pattern than all the others.

"Oh, Bakugou responded this quickly?" I thought aloud.

Opening my phone, I checked the message.

Sent the ¥321.7K

My eyes widened at the number.

"I sure as hell didn't tell him to send me that much, what the hell?"

What!? The commission was only ¥48.2K?!

His response was immediate.

Left a tip.

Get yourself something nice.

"Whoa," I murmured.

Now, I knew Bakugou was on the higher end of the economic spectrum, but hot damn!

He did usually give me more money than I told him to, but that fact that he gave me that much more this time just seemed to solidify the thought of him being rich.

So manly.

Heading into my dorm building, I looked to the elevators, only to see an out of order sign on them both.

"Are you kidding me?" I whispered. "Fine, guess I'm just gonna take the damn stairs,"

I got a notification, seeing the ¥321.7K was successfully put into my account, and I knew this commission was over.

But at this point, I knew what to expect from Bakugou. Next time I see him, he's gonna ask me about another one.

Not that I mind, not one damn bit. I'm cool with any excuse to talk to him, and I'm happy to please him with my art.

I just gotta brace myself for the next time I see him.

Trudging up the stairs, I began pondering what he would want next.

He seems to really like requesting animals, mainly birds such as crows and cardinals, but will he do something different? Ooh, maybe a peacock! Or maybe he'd want some other winged creature… like maybe an insect? Or possibly he'll switch it up on me.

As I ended up on the next staircase, I heard someone else's footsteps approaching.

Looking up, my eyes were met with a familiar scarlet pair of eyes.

"Oh, hey, Bakugou!" I said with a wave.

"Hey," he replied with a simple nod.

Fuck, he was just as gorgeous as always.

A grey turtleneck hugged his torso, with a black and white pinstripe button up on over it. The shirt was tucked into a pair of black jeans, a wallet chain dangling on his right side. A pair of black converse and a dog tag finished his look, alongside my composure.

"Thanks again for the great work," he said, his husky voice hypnotizing me further.

"You haven't already picked it up, have you?" I asked, cocking my head to the side. "I don't think I saw you walk past me to get to the parking lot,"

"Nah, but I know it's gonna look good," his compliment was accompanied by a smirk.

Short-lived, yes. But a smirk nonetheless.

"Aw, thanks dude! Always happy to make something for my best customer!" I felt myself beam at him.

"See you around, Red," he said, continuing down the stairs.

"Bye," I waved with a small smile on my face as he disappeared down the stairs.

I quickly hauled ass up to my floor, speed walked to my door and slammed the keys in.

Gay panic in private, dude.

Opening the door, I pulled my key out and shut the door.

"I'm back, Omi!" I shouted into the apartment to see if my roommate was here.

"Hey," my roommate responded from his bed.

"Is it cool if I hop in the shower real quick?" I asked, jerking a thumb toward the bathroom.

"Sure thing. Keep it brief," Omi said, making me roll my eyes.

"Okay, dad," I sighed, but I gave a smile to show it was all in jest.

After locking myself in the bathroom and stripping myself down to absolutely nothing, I got in the shower and had a gay crisis.

Because that's the only place you can have those, y'know?

But a good ol' Panic! In The Shower was enough to calm my nerves.

As I stepped out of the bathroom to grab clothing, I heard Omi laughing.

"What?"

"That Bakugou guy really messes you up, huh?" his laughter was thrown in between words, but I knew exactly what he was referencing.

"If I'm being too loud, just knock on the door, dude! Tell me to shut it, I don't care," I flushed, looking at the ground, my hand tightening around the towel that hung on my waist.

Omi just kept laughing at me as I grabbed my clothes; a simple crimson riot shirt, boxers, black shorts and my wave socks.

It isn't like I'm going anywhere tonight, right?

…

Is what I originally thought until I was dressed and realized I left my motherfucking cardigan at the studio.

"Ugh, fuck," I groaned, rubbing a towel on my head.

"Left your cardigan again?"

"Perhaps,"

"You might as well just wrap it around your waist," Omi suggested.

"And risk getting paint on it?" I looked at Omi like he was a motherfucking psychopath. "Hell no. The cardigan was my grandmother's, so I ain't doing shit to it,"

"Clearly, if you're leaving it in the studio again," Omi mumbled.

"Shush!" I whined, grabbing my keys and slipping on my red sneakers. "I'll be back,"

"Okay,"

Leaving my dorm, I began going down the stairs when I ran into someone.

It was Bakugou, again.

And just when I thought my gay panic was over for the day.

"Oh, hey," I said as casually as possible.

Which probably sounded forces as fuck, because it felt like my heart was just about ready to implode.

"Red," Bakugou was looking me up and down.

I don't think I've ever felt more self-conscious about my appearance in my life.

"I've got another request, if it isn't too much,"

"O-oh, okay!"

Why did I stutter?! That was so unmanly!

"So, what is it?"

I looked into his gorgeous eyes, trying to see further into him, but I was only met with his right hand slamming into the wall next to my head.

Oh shit, oh fuck. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna collapse, right here. Right now. I can't handle this.

"Uh, dude? You--" "Paint me how you see me, Kirishima,"

Uh, what?

I was stuck between saying "Got it," and "What?" so my dumbass just responded with this:

"Gweh?"

We sat there, in silence, staring at each other.

My face was flushing bright red, and I wanted to look away, but I didn't. I couldn't. His eyes just drew me in.

He moved his arm to his side, and began to head up the stairs.

Quick, say something coherent!

"O-on it!"

I swear, I saw him smile a bit before he was completely gone.

What was I doing again?

***

It's been around three weeks.

It's been three weeks of planning, sketching, and small, swift strokes.

And plenty of panic, but that's irrelevant. There was a bit of disco, so it balances out anyway.

Mr. Miyoshi did end up setting a curfew on me, to make sure I didn't pass out at the studio, but it wasn't set until it had already happened.

But, since I wanted to work on it after the curfew, I brought it to the dorm, keeping it on newspaper and buying the paint I needed.

I had the picture in my mind, which I did my best to replicate without him genuinely modelling for me.

It was a ¾ shot of his shirtless back, with him looking over his right shoulder, giving a perfect view of his side profile. I also made sure I replicated his tattoo to the best of my abilities, and I think it came out okay.

But that isn't all!

Monarch butterflies lined his back, as a fiery looking echo was placed slightly to the left.

Those warm colors contrasted like hell, compared to the blues and navy of the background.

Just to fuck around with more color, flecks of brighter colors adorned the background, giving it sort of galaxy look.

I thought it looked gorgeous.

And not just because it's Bakugou.

You know how when you make something, and you worked so damn hard on it, and when it's done, you're just filled with pride?

This is one of those works for me.

"Omi!" I yelled about before cringing.

It's 01:35.

"Yeah?"

Why the fuck does he sound like he's been awake?

"First of all, have you been awake this whole time? Second of all, could you grab me my phone?" I said a little quieter.

"It's done?" Omi asked, coming over with my phone.

"I'm happy with it," I said with a huge grin.

"Looks fantastic," Omi pat my shoulder before walking off.

Using my nose, I unlocked my phone and took a picture before putting my phone down.

I just looked at the painting, with Bakugou's slight pout catching my eyes.

I have absolutely zero clue what came over me, but I lifted my forefinger to my mouth, and pressed a small peck to it.

My forefinger rested against the painting's lips, and I just felt warm.

And that was probably the best feeling ever.

I gotta give this to him in person. It's about time I told him.

***

What floor are you on again?

Number two. Room 204.

Okay, I'm coming over.

I let out a shuddery breath, looking at the canvas, which I covered with a blanket.

I need to tell him.

It's time.

I kept opening my phone, making sure I had the song ready to play at the click of a button.

He needs to know.

A loud knock landed on my door, and I jumped.

I walked over to the door, playing the song as I opened it.

"Hey, Bakugou! Come in!"

The ash blond entered, wearing a button up and jeans again, just no turtleneck this time.

"So, I wanted to give this one to you in person… because I…" I was stumbling over my words.

Calm down, Eijirou. You got this.

"Because this could very well be the last commission you want from me,"

This made Bakugou's usual deadpan change ever so slightly. His left brow rose up as his head tilted to the side.

"And why might that be?"

"I…"

Fucking say it.

Spit it out.

"I like you," I barely got out before throwing my gaze at the ground. "I like you a lot. You're just so cool and collected, and from what I know about you, I like it. And I want to know more. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I just had to get that out,"

Before I even looked at him, I walked over to the painting, still looking at the ground, and pulled the blanket off.

Everything was silent, except for the music in the background. But even the song was at a quieter part than the rest of it.

I felt Bakugou's eyes on me and not the painting, which terrified me to no end.

Should I have even said anything?

"You don't have to pay if you don't want to or if you don't like it. And…" I took in a shaky breath, looking at the ground, lazily gesturing to the painting and then myself. "If you don't want to be friends anymore, if you even thought of us as friends, then you can ignore me,"

His footsteps were soft, but I knew they were coming. So when his black converse appeared in my vision, I looked off to the side as my vision blurred with tears that threatened to spill.

A finger went under my chin, turning my face to him.

His eyes met mine, and he was smiling.

"You really are oblivious, huh?"

"Gweh?"

Fucking, again?

Bakugou laughed before leaning in a bit, his head turning to the left.

"Can I kiss you as a tip?"

My whole brain has short-circuited, but I turned my head to the right and leaned in closer.

My eyes slowly closed, and when his lips met mine, I was immediately thrown into a state of euphoria.

Holy shit, this is happening.

This is actually happening!

I couldn't help the smile that bloomed on my face as I draped my arms over his shoulders, and I couldn't stop laughing either.

It was so fucking amazing.

Small blazes of tears made tracks down my cheeks, but I didn't care. Unless my nose starts running, I'm not gonna let some tears mess up this kiss.

But, all good things must come to an end, as Bakugou pulled back.

His eyes were on mine, and for once, they were soft. A small grin was pasted on his features, his hands on my face.

"Why are you crying?" he asked as his thumb rubbed at my dampened cheek.

I just felt myself giggle in response.

"Well, I was originally gonna cry because I thought you wouldn't be cool with my confession, but these tears quickly turned sweet," I just couldn't stop laughing. "Shit, I'm so happy,"

We just stood there for a few moments of content silence before Bakugou spoke up.

"So, how the hell am I supposed to bring this painting to my dorm?"

"I can help you bring it up there!" I offered.

"I get to bring two masterpieces to my dorm? Great!" Bakugou oozed confidence as he said that.

"Dear christ," I began giggling again, since that was unexpected.

We grabbed the painting, and I made sure Bakugou was careful with it, but was also holding it properly.

"Hey, Omi! Could you get the door?"

"Sure,"

"Your roommate was here?" Bakugou asked.

"Well, it's his dorm too." I pointed out as Omi got the door for me. "Plus, it isn't like I wasn't so obviously crushing on you,"

"It really wasn't," Omi said, patting my back carefully. "But congratulations to the both of you,"

"Thanks, Omi,"

Bakugou just gave a small murmur to thank Omi.

"Alright, Bakugou, you go through the door first, then we can keep walking," I said, turning us so Bakugou could walk out the door properly.

"Okay,"

After a quick minute of maneuvering, we managed to get the painting up the stairs without damaging it.

"So you're which dorm?"

"302," Bakugou said as we got to his door.

"Coolio!" I grinned.

"Dork," Bakugou snickered at me. "How d'you want this to be put down?"

"We can just rest it against the wall," I said, propping the painting up on the wall.

"Give me a quick sec," Bakugou mumbled, unlocking the door.

He swung the door open and made sure it stayed open.

"Alright,"

"At this point, I'm gonna follow you. You know where you wanna put this?" I asked him.

"Uhm… I think Misumi wouldn't mind if I placed this on his side of the room until I know exactly where to hang it," Bakugou said as we walked into the room.

***

My paintings were all on the wall. The snow surrounded cardinal, the murder of crows, all of them.

Except one.

The other paintings sort of made a frame, with a 106 cm x 106 cm square in the middle.

"Hey, honey?" I called out.

"What's up, Rourou?" Katsuki asked from the other room.

"Could you grab me the step ladder?"

"Shorty," I heard Katsuki laugh.

"I heard that, Katsu! You aren't as quiet as you think!"

"Says you, of all people!" Katsuki chuckled, coming on with the step ladder.

"Thank you, baby," I said, pecking his cheek.

"Of course. Putting up the last one?" He asked.

"Yep!" I said, grabbing the painting I made all those years back.

The monarch butterflies dotting his spine, his scarlet glare, gorgeous fluffy hair, all of it brought together, and hung up on our wall.

I got off the step ladder, and looked at the paintings. Every single one of them.

A hand snaked around my waist and pulled me in close.

"I love you so much, baby," Katsuki whispered, kissing my forehead.

"I love you too,"

His hand rubbed against my waist, but I could feel one thing that was inconsistent with the feeling of the rest of his hand.

A golden band sat on his left ring finger, practically identical to the one that sat on my left ring finger.

A/N: And that's all! Honestly, I'm very pleased with this, and think this came out well! I hope that those of you who see this like it too! I want to thank @venadorosas for allowing me to write a story based off of their comic and for making such fantastic art. If you like my writing, I'm also on Wattpad, so check me out there, if you're up for it. Same username and profile picture. I do believe that this is it! I apologize for the ending, as it feels a little odd to me, I just don't have any idea how to end it properly. I sincerely hope that I did the comic justice. Love y'all! Stay safe and healthy! - Septic

#kiribaku #bakushima #eijirou kirishima #katsuki bakugou #fluff #fanficition #seriously when i saw i could do this i was so excited #holy shit #okay #inspired by a comic #gay #college au #art student au #i also threw in references to the game a3!#because why the fuck not #septic #unedited #so it's messy and i apologize for any misspellings

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dxlansfxck · 5 years

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EVERY WOUND WILL SHAPE ME [G.D] • 01

Summary: The higher I’ll get, the lower I’ll sink, I can’t drown my demons they know how to swim. // When the demons in your mind get out of control, deciding over your life and everything you do. Over luck and happiness - both long gone - but also over sadness, anger and frustration. When exact those demons try to ruin your life and no escape is in further sight. When your best friend turn into your worst enemy. Then, you��ll realize how small hope can be.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING! [contains explict content, like depression, self harm and maybe even anorexic behavior. please, please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with that! try out one of my other fics, then], also some smut, hehe.

Chapter 01 • The anxiety I feel overwhelms me

Red meets black and white. Over and over again. Drop for drop. A small puddle of blood is slowly forming on the tiled floor. The strongly lighted room is starting to move while her body gets colder each second that passes. Then, it went black.

The fear, the fear of falling apart.

She is currently sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the cold surface of their modern bathtub, head placed on her boney knees while she is trying to regulate her breathing. Slowly, she tries to raise her head, pushing the way too long strand of hair out of her sweaty face. Then, she dares to look at the most destroyed part of her body – she shouldn’t be shocked about the way her legs looked by now, covered in scars and fresher cuts, but sometimes she is. Sometimes, it feels like another person was hurting her, anyone but herself.

It was already one of her easiest routines to clean up after what she just did, grabbing an old towel that nobody else used anymore, dipping it into lukewarm water to wipe her leg clean from all the blood, wrapping a fresh bandage around the fresh cuts before she gets dressed again. Then, she starts wiping the floor, cleaning off whatever was left on it and stands up, smiling into the mirror. Look how good I can fake it.

She walks right into the living room, where one of her two best friends was sitting on his laptop, probably scrolling through his social media or doing some of his weekly online shopping. Licking her lips, she tried to hide her shaky voice before speaking up. “Gray? You can go take your shower now, I’m done.”

Grey smoke was dancing through the air as she was sitting on one of the stylish – and fucking expensive – deck chairs on their patio, watching her blunt being the reason for this piece of art in the air. Smoke was more than the waste of a cigarette or a blunt for her, it was so beautiful and fine, could be destroyed by the smallest breathe of air and would never last longer than a couple seconds. She was inhaling once more, her fingers were shaking as she was holding her blunt, and as soon as she breathed out another cloud of smoke, the previous one was gone, and Y/N would never see it again.

She lets out a deep sigh, feeling like the now gone cloud, blurry and ready to dissolve. Scratching her fully clothed thigh without even realizing it, she gets lost in her thoughts once more. The weed was blurring her mind, loosening up her brain while her thoughts got louder and louder, comparing her to any other girl she’s ever met, any other girl her best friends, Ethan and Grayson, have ever met. Hell, they were some of the most famous teens right now, their youTube channel exploding while Y/N was in their house, living with them and being their best friend – but left out of anything that relates to their fame.

Of course, Gray and E were the most handsome men she’s ever met, but she’s seen them pre puberty, knowing how they looked like before their success – and how no girl ever wanted to go out with them. They were always the infamous trio, there was nobody that could be part of their clique because no one was like them. It’s always been the three of them. It still is, but things have changed. Things will ever change. The saddest part is, the twins have changed. But Y/N, she was still the same girl – with different feelings.

As soon as the last bits of the addicting drug were filling her lungs up to the top, she tries holding her breath as long as possible before slowly blowing out one last cloud, letting her fingertips swirl up the grey strings before throwing the end into the overflowing ash tray. She was going to empty it. But not now. Maybe tomorrow.

Yawning, she stretches her aching body that gets number with every second before standing up and slowly making her way back into the house. Grayson and Ethan had no clue about her problems; not that drugs, alcohol and cigarettes should be considered a problem, because both of them knew and took them as well. They were the ones that got her hooked up on weed, having to calm their own social anxiety with it before going out to public meetings.

No, they didn’t know about her feelings. About the way her brain worked by now, about anything that went through her mind every second of the day. And they didn’t know anything about her wounds.

Ever since they moved out to Los Angeles, she had more than enough space for herself, her bedroom was just filled with her necessities: a huge bed, the newest TV that Ethan got her for her birthday – including the fitting sound system. A desk and her wardrobe, that was all she needed in there. The only pop of color was a painting on the wall, that Grayson got her when they went to some art exhibition, it was a red lake in the middle of nowhere. It fitted.

Y/N wasn’t taking her “mental illness”, as most people would call it, too serious. Sure, she felt horrible. Of course, she was cutting her legs open on a daily basis – but wasn’t it funny that neither of her “best friends” knew about that? That they didn’t realize any of her daily breakdowns? It was humorous to her, almost feeling like Hannah Montana, living a secret life.

A few rooms further, it was probably in the kitchen, a loud crash was heard, followed by an annoyed scream. Groaning, she made her way into the kitchen, feeling the urge to check if Grayson was actually hurt or if he was just being clumsy again. Arrived at the scene of the accident, the first thing she realized was Grayson sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and remains of muesli which was supposed to be inside the glass.

“Y/N! Surely you are an angel and want to help me clean up, right?”, is the first thing Grayson says while smiling up at her with a frown. Shrugging, Y/N kneels right next to him, trying to get rid of the largest pieces of glass without getting anyone hurt. She smiled sadly, feeling that the broken glass symbolized her life more than perfectly. It was him that let the glass fall, it was him that shattered her heart. And it was him, only him, who could fix it.

“… brush up. Yo, Y/N! Do you even listen to what I’m saying? Fuck, what are you doing? Be careful!”, his calming voice makes her jump the slightest bit, letting her directly fall into one of the glass pieces which directly digs into her palm. Grayson takes her hand carefully into his own, holding it close to his face to take a look at it, examining it before slowly pulling the glass out. “Thanks, Gray, but I’m sure I could’ve done this by myself”, Y/N tries to pull her hand out of his much larger one, but Grayson keeps on holding it. His gaze wanders from her hand to her face, her full lips that have several bite marks on them, her freckled nose, her eyes. And then, his eyes met her soul.

It feels like thousands of seconds, but Grayson kept his eyes on her. Y/N’s brain on the other hand was messed up, feeling like a hurricane, completely out of control. She tries to look away, but the only thing that she could concentrate on was the little freckle on Grayson’s face. Biting her lips once more, she looks further down, letting her eyes rest on his tattooed thighs. My body is a journal, my tattoos are my story.

Out of instinct, she checks her arm, seeing the same angel tattoo that he has on his leg. They went to get it together, back when nothing was standing between them. Back when life was good.

Then, Y/N looks back up at him with watery eyes – Grayson did it again, brought her out of concept. Suddenly, she feels another stinging pain, the sound of more glass breaking and the well known feeling of blood running out of the wound. She can’t hide a giggle, making Grayson raise an eyebrow in confusion. “We need to disinfect the wound and clean it. Put a bandage around it. No, wait, we’re going directly to the doctor, I don’t want it to get infected. Imagine, you could die from a blood poisoning because of that! I bet there are lots of people that died because of something like a cut. C’mon, get dressed, I’m going to grab my keys!“, Grayson speaks in rage while Y/N just sits there and watches him, not caring about her cut at all. “Calm down, Gray. It’s just a small cut, nobody would die from that, believe me”, otherwise I’d be dead for a long time by now. The tensed face of her best friends relaxes slowly, almost in slow motion. Slow motion could be funny, for example while destroying a watermelon. But this kind of slow motion was making her heart skip yet another beat. “Are you sure, Y/N? Aren’t you feeling any pain?” Pain? Because of that? Cutie, I’ve got more scars than friends. One more or less doesn’t make a difference. Resigned, she just shakes her head while trying to give him a soft smile and mumbles “No, I’m fine, really” while throwing the left over glass into the trash bag. The bleeding already stopped, but she goes to the bathroom anyways, cleaning it before letting Grayson wrap it up in a bandage. “Something like that only happens to you, girl. Promise me you’re telling me once it hurts again, alright?”, the strong bathroom light made his eyes look more green than they usually do, but Y/N tries to not get lost in them once again. “Sure, bro. Don’t make an act about it, I’ll be fine. Did you smoke one too much or why are you on the ‘let’s take care of Y/N’ ride again?”, the amusement in her voice was rough, just like the bittersweet pain that fills her body once more. She wanted to test his reaction, wanted to make him aggressive. It was one of her favorite things to do: Let’s see how long you can get on Grayson’s nerve before he turns into an angry supersaiyan.

Grayson just stands up, hovering over Y/N while looking down at her. His jaw clenches while his eyebrows narrowed once more this day. “Smoked one too much? Who of us is the one that smokes on a daily? Listen, it’s not that I’m too innocent when it comes to weed, but you’re the one that smokes more than usual as soon as some stuff is in the house”, his eyes sparkled in anger while his entire body tensed, making him look more giant than he already was, muscles popping out of his veiny arms. But Y/N wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t impressed at all. It was what she was expecting, so she just shrugs her shoulders while smiling at him provocative. “Thanks for your time, doctor. I hope I won’t be a problem to you in the future, but I would love to have some time for myself in my room now”, with those words, she turns away before going straight into her play-room. Nothing ‘Shades of Grey’ like, it was really a gaming room, filled with any gaming console you could imagine.

Throwing herself onto the soft couch, she starts one of her favorite games to get rid of her anger, shooting some soldiers but getting even angrier in the process. Grayson made her fuming, even though she was the one to see him frustrated. She rummages in her “secret” drawer, pulling out whatever she was in the mood for now: even more weed. She made sure she’d always be stacked up without Grayson or Ethan knowing about it. This little treasure was meant for emergencies, just like this was one. She needed it to kill any remaining feelings. The purest cannabis in LA.

It was around midnight when the tiredness – and weed – were winning over her body, making her turn off the console she was currently playing on before walking into her bedroom to fall onto the soft mattress. She grabs the blanket, wrapping it around her before closing her eyes, making her way into her own world: where she was deciding what would happen and nobody – except for her own demons – would destroy her dreams.

Warm hands were roaming her body, not as carefully as she’d expect, no. Those were huge hands, rough and they knew what they wanted. Her eyes were opened, but she couldn’t see anything besides darkness. The hands made her way around her cheek, her neck and her stomach while her chest was rising heavily. It doesn’t matter how worked up she was right now, she needed to know who was touching her. But when she wanted to use her voice, she couldn’t bring out any words. Winding under the touch, that was now on her lower region, she tried to escape. Once the hands were trying to get into her pants, she started kicking her legs, a panic attack rising in her mind and her breathing got even faster. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t, her voice was gone.

“The world is ugly, but you’re beautiful to me.”

Surprised, she holds her breath, tensing every muscle in her body. Just as she wanted to talk, the well known voice spoke up again.

“Right now I feel invisible to you, like I’m not real.”

The stranger’s face came closer and closer and Y/N was able to taste his breath on her lips, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey.

“There’s a voice in my head says I’m better off dead.”

Her mouth was still sealed, no sound coming out of her lips and her heart was racing so fast, she felt like having a heart attack anytime soon.

“And when you go, don’t return to me my love.”

Rough, dry lips were meeting hers, the only body parts of them that were actually touching right now. She didn’t see anything, didn’t feel anything and now she wasn’t even hearing anything. All her senses were concentrated on his lips. The taste of his lips. The bourbon he must have been drinking, the menthol cigarettes he must have been smoking. She didn’t kiss him back, didn’t push him away. She just laid there, hoping that this nightmare would be over soon enough. Not knowing what she was supposed to feel, her heart seemed to break over and over again, making her chest feel tighter than ever. A billion tears were burning in her eyes, but none of them made their way out. His lips weren’t moving anymore, they were just laying on top of hers, sofly, calming, gentle. The two hands were back again, opening something behind her head, allowing her to see again. But as soon as she saw who was really kneeling in front of her, she was able to open her mouth. But instead of talking to the person in front of her, she let out one of the loudest screams in her life.

In front of her was Grayson, but it wasn’t him at the same time. Almost as if a different version of him was here, almost dead. His wrists were cut open, bleeding onto the white bedsheets. Empty eyes and a weak smile on his face. “I can’t love you when I’m dead.”

Once she opened her eyes again, she was still in her bed. Without the blood, without a dead Grayson. She just lays there, starring against the wall.

Didn’t realize how the door opens slowly.

Didn’t realize how the bed dips in as someone sits down next to her.

Didn’t realize how the same rough hand caresses her shoulder and engulfs her in a tight hug, trying to keep her save.

Didn’t realize how she gets lost in her dreams again.

11:27 AM. Sun. Dry throat. Heavy body. Sleeping man inside her bed. Everything was the same as usual, besides the sleeping man in her bed. Her head was buried inside his arms while she was checking out the tattoos that were covering the light skin. The tattoos that wandered up his arm to his neck, leaving her gaze on the soft face covered in slight scruff. Closed eyes. Messy hair. Closed eyes. Welcoming lips. Opened eyes.

Scared, she jumps back while pulling the blanket up to her nose, looking at him like a shy deer. His lips turn into a loving smile. “Good morning”, his raspy voice was pure beauty in her eyes, making her grimace as she heard her own, croaking one. “Morning.” She wanted to run. Wanted to get distance between their cuddling bodies. She disliked cuddling, disliked any kind of body contact. Turning around, she tried to get out of her bed, but she was still just in her sleeping shirt and panties, revealing her bandaged legs – which she would never show Grayson. So she kept laying there, looking at her best friend. “What was wrong last night?” He sounded worried, almost scared.

The thing is, Grayson Bailey Dolan wasn’t as bad of a person as it might seem, no. He was the one. Literally. In every aspect. The most loving one, the kindest, the funniest. And the one that Y/N loved. But too much happened in their past. They could never be a functional couple. They were still best friends, Grayson and Ethan seemed like the only people that truly cared about her. And she hated herself how much her feelings made her act like she does. Like a heartless, cold bitch. She didn’t want to be like that, but she couldn’t stop her monsters. Not now.

“Nothing, I think I’ve just had a nightmare.”

We’re all suicidal kids, telling other suicidal kids that suicide isn’t the answer.

#Grayson Dolan #Dolan Twins #Fanfiction #Dolan Twins Fanfiction #Grayson Dolan Fanfiction #Angst #Depression #Smut #Grayson Dolan Smut #dolan twins smut #DXLANSFXCK

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laindir · 6 years

Text

[fic] ember dunes

Series: Tales of Zestiria Rating: T Genre: AU. Post-apocalyptic Science Fiction, Cyberpunk/Dieselpunk. Character(s): Sorey, Mikleo, Atakk, Lailah and Rose. Brief mentions of Michael, Muse and Zenrus. Warnings: Descriptions of minor violence (?? I think it’s minor-ish but YMMV), blood and injuries, pseudo-science terminology/technology. Also, slight hurt/comfort feels... kind of. I love to die in pain and feels. Summary: In which Sorey treads in his mother’s footsteps and ventures out beyond the City Dome, only to stumble upon an injured young woman and her strange companion droid. Prequel one-shot to verdant green. A/N: And... of course, the first fic I share for 2018 is one with more pain and feels. Of course. Anyway, this was an extremely self-indulgent excuse to write more sci-fi AUs and to experiment/go back to writing more descriptive action scenes set against a backdrop of introspection. Or something, lol. Inspired by many things, but mostly by this track playing on loop.

Fic can also be read on AO3.

The dunes were a burnished bronze, glowing embers under twin suns. Sorey could feel the scorching blaze through the blue-and-white layers of his tunic and cloak, his skin prickling with the heat and sweat. The tinted goggles and mask strapped over his face provided some relief from the harsh weather at least, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare as he gazed ahead.

The Dust storms have not yet begun this morning. He paused midway through his trek up a rise, allowing himself a brief respite to bask in the solitude of the golden landscape, to take in the sight of the horizon before him. Clear weather was a rare enough occurrence—he was more used to the feel of grit and sand lashing across his mask and clothing; to sullen, dreary grey and dusky yellow mist even within the City Dome.

But out here today, despite the relentless heat and the imperceptible glint of Dust all around him—today, the sky was boundless, a splash of brilliant azure, and Sorey felt strangely content.

The thin wisp of clouds above brought with it also a glimmer of memory—a conversation from years before, when he and Mikleo were still children and a weekly terror in the basement lab, much to Uncle Michael’s chagrin and to Aunt Muse’s amusement. Sorey smiled, the memory tempered with both fondness and a touch of embarrassment. Simpler days, remnants of what was and a lingering ache that never truly went away…

“And that one there—that looks like a Klein bottle, doesn’t it, Mikleo?”

Twelve-year-old Sorey can barely contain his excitement as he peers through the eyepiece of Uncle Michael’s refurbished spyglass. He pushes the contraption closer to Mikleo, nudging his best friend for a better look. Mikleo crinkles his nose doubtfully at first, but Sorey recognises the spark within those violet eyes; knows that Mikleo is as eager, as curious to see it for himself. He watches with hushed anticipation as Mikleo peeks cautiously through the eyepiece with pursed lips.

Then with a soft, almost begrudging huff—“You do realise it’s impossible for that phenomena to exist in 3D, don’t you?” Sorey frowns, then chuckles, arms crossed over his chest now. His tunic sleeves are still too long for him; only his small fingers are visible at the hems. “Well, yes, but imagine, Mikleo, if you will. Imagine if one end of the cloud dissipates fast enough just as the other end passes through the nexus point—and you’d get a Klein bottle! Don’t limit yourself to spatial constraints!” Mikleo, stubborn as ever, only grins smugly, even as his eyes are aglow with mirth. “And you have your head up in the clouds all the time. Besides, that’s non-Newtonian!”

The ghostly whispers of their shared laughter echoed still through his mind when there came a sudden electronic screech of surprise, followed by a muffled thud. Atakk’s shrill whistles quickly drew Sorey out of his reverie; he scanned the track marks snaking through the sand ahead of him. The droid had trudged along only to tumble off the edge of the slope.

Sorey carefully picked his way down the incline, sliding to a stop beside Atakk. The droid had tipped over its side, its domed head half-buried in the sand.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you now,” Sorey said gently, even as Atakk continued to complain loudly, wheels rolling about uselessly. He pulled the droid back upright with ease, brushing off the sand from its short torso.

A series of clicks and then a disgruntled bleep—

Sorey laughed. “I know you hate sand, yes. I mean, I’m not too fond of it either. It just gets everywhere. And don’t worry, I’ll watch my step around here too.”

He knew better than to be too distracted when venturing out like this—besides the scorching heat and the blanket of toxic Dust in the air, unseen dangers lurked beneath the dunes as well. He paused, the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. Mikleo would no doubt be chiding him as well if he were here now, for dawdling instead of focusing on his routine checks on the moisture harvesters.

“Better hurry with the water rations before the weather turns and a storm comes your way. You know how fast they can hit you.” A digitized voice chimed abruptly from the comlink strapped over his wrist. A moment later, the small blue holo-screen of a young man’s profile was projected out in front of him.

Sorey let out an amused sigh—right on cue, as expected. Always like Mikleo to be reining his attention back to the task at hand. “Since when were you able to make the comlink do that?” he asked, glancing back at the holo-screen. He watched as another beam of light was projected out from the comlink, sweeping across the land before him. “I did some tinkering around and got Atakk’s help to do minor upgrades to all existing communicators.” Mikleo explained through the static as the image on the holo-screen rippled. The glitch only lasted mere seconds however, and his voice and features came in sharp clarity again once the signal stabilized.

“They now have a feature set to run automatically. So it’ll relay information back to the Vault in timed intervals, in case a scout is unable to do so themselves, or in the event of emergencies. It’s always best to be prepared for anything outside of Camlann, after all.”

“And you’d managed to program all that by yourself? That’s pretty awesome!”

“It’s just an added function to better monitor the surroundings,” Mikleo said, his tone modest, but Sorey didn’t miss the look of pride that flitted over his features. “To be honest, it was actually an idea I got from you.”

“Wha—wait, really? ” “Remember that incident with the prickleboar stampede? How they tossed and trampled all over the old hoverbike like it was synth-foam?”

Sorey flinched at the memory, one hand raised to tap at his cheek sheepishly. “Yeaahh… that was, uh, wild. What’s that got to do with our comlinks though?”

“The prickleboars smashed the bike up so badly we couldn’t even get the nav-scanners on its system to work. But remember how you had managed to salvage enough of the parts and attached it to your wrist brace?” Sorey nodded; he recalled how he’d hastily rewired all the components to his old communicator’s power core, then reconfigured it so it could work as a temporary nav-scanner. “This added feature works on the same principle, really,” Mikleo continued. “The comlinks are now all fitted with a scanning chip. So even if the main nav-scan system on the transport gets busted, you would still have a portable backup you can use to gather data that can still be transmitted and further analyzed by the techs back here at the Vault.”

“That definitely sounds handy. Guess I can inspire some really great ideas, too, huh, Mikleo?”

“Hmm. You’re admittedly pretty good when it comes to thinking on your feet—I’ll give you that much.”

Sorey grinned abashedly at the unexpected praise. He would’ve returned a teasing quip or two, but something had already caught Mikleo’s attention; he glanced away, long fingers brushing ash-brown hair back from his brow and securing it with a silver clasp to keep in place as he clicked at several keys before him.

“That said, are you just going to stand there all day, staring up at clouds? I know it’s a fairly good day but we have a schedule to keep.” “I was just appreciating the skyline. I mean, we don’t even get to see real clouds in Camlann anymore. Besides, it’s not like I can’t take in the sights and collect the water rations at the same time.” “Oh?” Mikleo’s voice was light, as though humoured. Even through the signal inference and static on the holo-screen, Sorey could make out the tiny smirk upon his lips. “I wasn’t aware that you’d finally mastered the art of multitasking, so colour me a little surprised.”

“Now you’re just teasing,” Sorey huffed, nose crinkled in mock-annoyance. He ignored Mikleo’s soft chuckle as the holo-screen winked out, and continued through the sand until he reached the sturdier, rocky path he knew would lead him to one of the many solar-powered moisture harvesters built around the edge of the City’s borders.

Setting his pack down on the ground, he pulled out a tool-kit and crouched beside the large, rusting machine before him. He easily popped the small hatch in its side open, flicking the touchscreen to life and keying in the codes to begin a sequence of standard calibration and maintenance checks. As the machine continued running its tests, Sorey straightened up and gave it a quick glance-over: the huge umbrella dish was pointed at the sky, the reflective mirrors glinting a piercing diamond-white, like the unfurled petals of an enormous sunflower hungrily soaking in the sunlight.

Atakk twittered as it wheeled towards the harvester’s collection tank, dragging a metal trolley stacked with empty silicone containers behind it. Sorey hurried to its side, and together with the droid’s help, began to fill the containers up with water from the tank dispensers.

He paid no heed to the faint cry at first, engrossed with his work. Desert skipper-rats were common in the area; he’d seen the rodents chittering and skimming across the sand nearby many times before. But the cry didn’t cease, growing into what was unmistakably a weak noise of pain. Sorey looked at Atakk, who had paused and swivelled its domed head at him as well.

“I’m not sure either,” Sorey replied as the droid beeped a query. “You stay here, Atakk. I’ll go check it out.”

The droid beeped anxiously at the same time as Mikleo’s voice buzzed sharply over the comlink, “Sorey, wait—”

Sorey was already bounding lightly over the path however, searching around for the source of the cry. He heard Mikleo’s grumbles of at least let me scan the area for any feral animals, and would have offered quick apology. But his foot caught on something then, and he was tumbling over the edge of the rocky outcrop into the sandy basin below.

Ow… He winced, rubbing dirt away from his face as he tried to sit up, only to brush his hand against something—something wet and slick. His heart twisted at the bloody sheen across his palm; turning, he saw the limp figure of a young woman sprawled on the ground just beside him. She seemed unconscious, but was groaning in pain, her short red hair plastered over her bruised face. Her clothes were in tatters and she was bleeding from several lacerations all over her arms and legs.

Sorey froze at the sight, a lump in his throat. It wasn’t the woman’s injuries that had unnerved him, but the network of black, spidery lines running steadily from a deep gash in her right calf. Even the skin under her eyes were mottled, tinged with sickly purple.

“Be careful—she’s been infected with Dust…! H-hey, what are you doing?”

Sorey had gestured at Atakk, who wheeled towards him through the sand, dragging his pack behind it with extended metal claw grips.

“We can’t just leave her out here like this, Mikleo. The heat will kill her!”

“Never mind the heat—she’s been infected, Sorey. You know as well as I do what that means.”

“I still have three more antigen vials left.” Sorey replied stubbornly, retrieving the med-kit and a spare gas mask from his pack. He quickly strapped the mask over the woman’s face and then slowly, gingerly, injected two vials of antigen into her left thigh.

“—ilah..?” She murmured, flinching slightly at the touch, eyes still closed.

“We don’t know if this will work…”

Sorey swallowed, but said nothing, studying the woman’s face instead for any signs of distress. For the antigen to be effective, two doses had to be administered within an hour of the infection—he had no idea how long she’d been lying here, injured and exposed to the deadly air.

“And… I hate to say this—because I want her injuries seen to as well—but we don’t know if the Council will even allow her to enter Camlann.” Mikleo’s tone was low, but Sorey knew there was no unkindness there, only concern mixed with unease.

Food and resources had always been scarce in these arid lands, but since the War began in earnest, every Domed City scattered across the Aroundight Flats guarded their rations fiercely. Many did not welcome strangers from beyond their borders, and were especially hostile toward neighbouring cities, the fear of invasion and siege attacks always looming at the back their thoughts, like a rising cloud of stinging gnats. The Council of Camlann would not be so keen to allow the woman through their gates. And yet… Sorey shook his head; he could not find it within himself to leave her in the desert to die.

“I’ll just have to take my chances. If it comes to it, she can have my food rations—I can always hunt while collecting water rations.”

It wasn’t the best of plans, he knew. Sorey steadied himself for Mikleo’s barrage of protests. But his friend only fell silent, ruminating for a long beat. Then finally, a deep sigh—

“In any case, we don’t have much time. You should really get her and yourself out of there now. The creature—hopefully it’s just one?—that had attacked her might still be stalking close by.”

“A-ah, right!” Sorey said; then in a gentler tone, “Thank you, Mikleo.”

With her arms slung over his shoulders, Sorey lifted the woman over his back. He glanced over at the droid. “Atakk, go on ahead to the hoverbike with the rations. I’ll be right with you.”

Atakk chirruped an affirmative, wheeling resolutely back up the path to where Sorey’s hoverbike was parked in the shade of a bare ironwood tree.

Sorey moved as fast as he could, but with the added weight upon his back, it was harder for him to keep his footing through sand and loose soil that easily gave way. He was only a several paces away from the ironwood when he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eyes. He paused his steps cautiously, straining his senses for any hint of a prowling animal.

“Mikleo, are you picking up on any life-forms in the area?”

Before Mikleo could reply through the comlink, there was another flash of movement, to his right this time. Sorey fingered the hilt of the weapon at his belt, ready to snap the laser-blade to life and—

“Oh, my! How daring for a human to be venturing out here all alone!” An electronic, feminine voiced called out from somewhere behind him. The mechanical whine of an overworked engine signalled the approach of another, clunkier transport speeder. The pilot—another woman… no, droid..?—jumped off and landed before Sorey could move away, towering a full head over him. She was a little bit scratched up, much like the speeder, but there was an aura of measured grace in her stance; in her slender white-and-silver build, and in her red headpiece that glinted crown-like under the sun. Her metal fingers were clasped together, as if in concern.

“W-who are you?” Sorey asked warily, balking slightly under her luminous stare.

“You’re an explorer, aren’t you?” the droid said. “I was just wondering, if by any chance—oh! There you are, Rose.”

She pointed behind Sorey, at someone or something he could not see, only to let out a soft gasp. She immediately reached forward to squeeze his shoulder, fussing over the woman slumped over his back. “Oh, no. Dear Rose, what happened…Oh, please be all right! This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have left you—”

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” Sorey found himself saying, feeling a sense of pity at the droid’s growing distress. “Rose—uh, that’s her name, right? I stumbled upon her just a while ago. She’s pretty beat up, and I’m not sure how long she’s been exposed to Dust, but I’ve given her two doses of antigen as a precaution. That should keep her stable while I get her to the nearest med-centre in Camlann. I could really use more help though, to be honest—my hoverbike isn’t big enough to hold us both and the water rations my city needs for the day.” He smiled gently. “You must be Rose’s… companion droid? May I ask what’s your name?”

The shaken droid tilted her elegant head, searching his face with her glowing teal eyes and then bowed graciously. “My designation code is CES-LAI05, but you may call me Lailah. It was given to me by Rose.”

“Lailah. Right.” Sorey nodded to where Atakk waited by the ironwood, gesturing her to follow him. “I’m Sorey. Come on, you can fill me in on details as we ride. Mikleo says it’s too dangerous to linger here, so—”

An eerie, menacing growl cut through the air then. The ground beneath them trembled, as though a large creature was charging towards them. Sorey felt a jolt of fear and apprehension rippling instinctively in his gut; it seemed the creature had been tracking their scent and had finally found them. He grabbed Lailah’s arm and ran, pulling the companion droid towards his hoverbike.

“Here, take my bike—it goes a lot faster,” he said, strapping Rose in just as Lailah slipped into the seat beside her and powered up the controls. “Get Rose away from here now. The nav system is already programmed to the route back to Camlann!”

Sorey whirled around before Lailah could speak, searching for his own droid. “Come on, Atakk, we need to go!” He leapt into the speeder’s pilot seat, and once he was sure Atakk was strapped in, he gunned the engines to life.

“It looks like a mantis antlion and it’s approaching way too quickly,” Mikleo said over the comlink, his voice tight with worry. “Hurry, Sorey.”

Just as both vehicles rose into the air and began to move, there was another roar—louder, closer this time—and suddenly, a monsterous black insect burst forth from the rise behind them.

Atakk let out a panicked whistle as Sorey banked sharply to the right, avoiding the long grasping claws. It did not seem to notice them however, its line of vision focused on the hoverbike speeding away before it. With a feral screech, the antlion leapt after it.

No! Sorey thought frantically, turning the speeder around to give chase. The antlion was fast and much larger than he had anticipated—four metres of waxy obsidian shell, raptorial claws hooked with serrated edges, and bone-crushing mandibles, it was an apex predator of the dunes. It would easily outrun the hoverbike.

He revved the engines as he approached the insect, and slammed the speeder into its side with as much as force as he could muster, throwing it off its pursuit of the hoverbike. The antlion staggered from the blow, whipping around furiously. Distracted from its initial quarry, it turned its attention now to Sorey, reaching out with those long claws.

Sorey tried to dodge the attack, but the insect lashed forward, claws catching the side of his speeder, the serrated edges grazing through fabric and flesh. His shoulder burning with pain, he heard Atakk’s wail of fear and the indistinct buzz of Mikleo’s voice through the comlink—right before the speeder skidded across the sand and crashed to a stop.

Though half-stunned, Sorey’s fingers were instinctively curled around the hilt of his laser-blade, snapping the weapon to life. The antlion was upon him in seconds and he struggled to keep the insect at bay, slicing away with the flashing orange blade.

But the antlion was driven by hunger and the scent of blood. It lunged forward, claws ripping off Sorey’s gas mask, before it pinned him down with its fearful jaws. The insect tightened its grip around him and Sorey retched, Dust burning through his lungs as he struggled to break free.

Pain flared through his body, but Sorey fought to angle his weapon closer, piercing the bright blade through that weak spot between the joint of the insect’s left limb and thorax. The antlion bellowed at the contact, clamping down harder. There was a grisly crunch, the splintering, snapping of a rib bone or two—Sorey cried out, writhing as he felt the pressure crushing against his chest, his strength fading rapidly.

And then, just as abruptly, the jaws around him went slack. The antlion collapsed to its side, jaws and legs quivering in death. Sorey tried to stand, but the pain was overwhelming, white spots dancing in his vision. The last thing he saw before sinking into darkness was Lailah balanced on the insect’s back, her left arm now transformed into a large saber that she’d driven straight through the antlion’s head, green ooze bubbling down the blade and staining the golden sand. *

Lailah had injected the last vial of antigen into his thigh when he blinked awake, his body already convulsing with pain. Atakk let out a relieved beep, wiggling close beside him.

“Sorey?” Lailah glanced over him anxiously, one hand pressed hard against the gash in his side. Blood was still seeping from his wounds. “Sorey, please, stay with me. You must stay awake.”

He could barely hear her voice over the throbbing in his head and the growing dizziness; over the sharp tightness in his chest. The droids continued to patch him up as best they could, but he knew, with only a single dose of antigen and without a mask, he was already running out of time.

Ignoring the pain and extreme weariness, he struggled to his feet. At his insistence, Lailah continued to ride with Rose in his hoverbike, while he and Atakk took the speeder. They hastened back to Camlann, racing across the dunes as fast the engines allowed. The comlink around his wrist had been smashed in the attack, but thankfully the hoverbike and speeder’s communicators and main nav systems were still functional.

Sorey tightened his grip on the controls, keeping his thoughts focused on reaching the Domed City, and—

Mikleo.

Fatigue was wearing him down rapidly, his limbs heavy like lead. But he struggled to keep his thoughts coherent, tried to speak anyway, his voice raw. “Atakk… can you get us through to the Vault? To Mikleo…?”

Atakk beeped, light flashing over its front panels as it worked diligently. The communicator quickly buzzed to life with the sound of a flustered, but familiar voice: “—rey, do you copy? Sorey, Atakk, please answer me!”

“W-We’re still here, Mikleo…“ Sorey managed, weakly. "We… we managed to get away somehow—” A wince and a painful gasp. “—I lost your comlink. In the attack—sorry.”

“Never mind that. Are you and Atakk all right? I’m tracking your location right now… You should be able reach in Camlann within an hour… Sorey? Sorey!”

It was difficult to focus through the haze of pain—though the bleeding had mostly stopped, his wounds still ached profoundly, his body convulsing harder now from shock. Breathing hurt the most; each ragged gasp he drew was agonizing, like fire surging through his lungs. The Dust infection had taken root within him—already he could feel the onset of nausea, a heavy chill settling deep within his bones.

Atakk’s flurry of replies drew Sorey’s thoughts back from the pain.

“—how badly is he injured, Atakk? Wha—Dust?? Okay… Just… R-Right, keep monitoring them and send me all the updates. I’m informing the med-centre right now to be ready to receive them both…”

Sorey had wanted to reassure Mikleo, that he was still fine, that he was still there. But it took all of his mental effort just to keep awake, his breath short and his vision edging precariously towards the darkness whenever the flashes of pain grew too much. He coughed again, the metallic tang of dust and blood heavy on his tongue.

Feverish, he held on stubbornly, the speeder and hoverbike blazing ahead towards home.

Only when Camlann’s gates were sealed shut behind them did the exhaustion finally bear its full weight down upon him. The hoverbike and speeder pulled to a stop before the waiting group of medics, Mikleo already rushing forward. Delirious, Sorey struggled down from the speeder and collapsed into Mikleo’s outstretched arms.

“Sorey!!”

Half-conscious from the pain, Sorey could hardly make out the look of raw anguish over his friend’s face. But he forced himself to reach out anyway, brushing a hand lightly over Mikleo’s cheek, and smiled gently.

“It’s okay, Mikleo… I’m here,” he whispered tiredly, eyes heavy as he leaned into Mikleo’s hold; falling deeper into the darkness. “Please… Help Rose…”

Everything thereafter was muted sensation; a kaleidoscopic rush of sound and movement, of blurred, frantic cacophony. He saw ash-brown streaks, and gleams of radiant violet; a patch of brilliant blue through the clear skylight of the city gates.

Everything was grey; dust and ember flickering, dancing between the void of white and black.

Then, Sorey saw nothing at all.

Seventeen human years isn’t too long—but it feels like he’s aged a lifetime within the last two seasons.

Three days after the funeral, and Mikleo stands with him now among the wilting plants in Aunt Muse’s old greenhouse. The indigo urn sits empty in a corner, and they are kneeling on the ground, dirt and grass stains streaked upon their clothing.

Sorey watches as Mikleo places the seeds within the ash, then covers them with handfuls of dark earth. The twinge of grief and loss still burned in his heart, but at least… at least Gramps is at peace now—finding his way back to Michael and Muse, and perhaps even to Selene, his mother, if death is where she had ventured of to all the while.

At least his family’s whole now, together, while he and Mikleo gaze on, longing, yearning.

There’s a brush at his hand, and Sorey turns, feeling Mikleo’s fingers gripping his hand tightly, like he’s holding a life-line.

Don’t you dare leave me too, is what Mikleo doesn’t say, but what Sorey hears anyway in the touch. He smiles, eyes red-rimmed, but still verdant and bright in the fading sunlight.

I’m always here, Mikleo—I promise.

—End—

Notes: Some tl;dr information about terminology, AU backstory/lore and the general timeline of events:

-In mathematics, a Klein bottle is an example of an abtract surface.

-Solar-powered moisture harvesters: relatively new(?) technology that can provide renewable energy, water, and heat, especially to remote, off-grid areas or communities.

-This events of this AU takes place in a post-apocalyptic future (think Nausicaa and Ergo Proxy) on a continent once called Greenwood (centuries ago, before the War). The War of the Dying Cities took a heavy toll on both the populace and the environment, rendering many areas inhabitable due to the nuclear fallout. Survivors now live within Domed Cities and rarely venture out due to high levels of radioactivity (called "Dust” in this world) that still lingered in the environment. Certain hardy plants and wildlife have slowly begun to return, but most of the land is still arid and harsh-hence why the continent is now called The Wasteland. The air outside the Domed City is also still too toxic for humans - the level varies depending on the exact area, but left untreated, even exposure to small doses can be detrimental to a person’s health. “Dust infection” is the term used for radioactive poisoning.

-Camlann is built over a deep groundwater (“fossil water”) aquifer that runs through the desert. For centuries the city had relied upon it as their main source of water. However, it was clear from recent studies that the groundwater was not renewable and was depleting at a much faster rate than expected.

- Selene and Muse were part of a research team that estimated the aquifer will dry up within their lifetimes. They had sought to construct other means to gather and store (renewable) water for the citizenry. The moisture harvesters that bordered the city were some of the technology they had invented for such use. The citizens need venture out several times a week to collect the water rations from the harvesters.

- Mikleo and Sorey are Bio-engineering research graduates. Their interest in the study of ecology and mechatronics was, in part, due to Michael, who is a well-known Robotics scientist within the Academy’s research circles and Muse, who worked as a conservationist. Sorey’s mother, Selene, was one of the few who dared brave the safety of the City Dome to explore the endless sand dunes outside. Shortly after giving birth to Sorey, she headed out on a scouting expedition, searching for the famed oases rumored to exist somewhere in the Elysium valleys. She never returned to Camlann.

- When the boys were 16, the Council of Camlann approached Michael to recruit his skills for Project War Machine. However, he refused to co-operate as he’d only wished to apply robotics for the betterment of their people, not to create weaponized droids in the War of the Dying Cities. He and Muse were punished severely for their refusal.

- Gramps became Mikleo and Sorey’s sole guardian after Michael and Muse’s deaths, but he was old and frail. He succumbed to the Dust Plague as well around the time the boys turned 17.

- Sorey’s light-blade was Selene’s first handcrafted weapon. She’d left it with Michael as a keepsake for her son before she left Camlann.

- Sorey and Mikleo are about 19-ish here.

TBH, I didn’t expect to be invested in this AU again (I’m not great at following-ups with my random one-shot AUs…), and I’ve got some ideas I’d like to play and experiment more with… I HAVE SOME HAPPY, CUTE IDEAS FOR THIS IDEA TOO DW LOL. So, there might be more episodic one-shots in this verse.

Thank you for reading! Comments and critique are welcomed for my fics - I’d like to hear what you think, if you’ve enjoyed this so far.

Also also: I’m so sorry, Sorey, for writing this aghsjfdhgsk. But well. You hurt/break the character you love the most LMAO.

#tales of zestiria #sorey #mikleo #rose (toz)#lailah (toz)#fics & everything in between #this fic should be rated: eVERYTHING IS PAIN #anyway this was a great piece to explore and write #i'm really pleased with this piece #will dumblr finally show this in the tags or am i still marked as spam

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