#final design is him never showing his face but i need to layout my mental exhaustion on someone

[jankillbride]

kim dokja save me... save me... kim dokja....

#jkb.sketch #not the final design but whatever #final design is him never showing his face but i need to layout my mental exhaustion on someone #my favorite genre of characters are those with dead eyes. #kdj... pre reg hyj... killy from blame... i am collecting you lot #orv #kim dokja #for my own organization #anyways the lines on his bottom lip is where the lip has split. too lazy to actually draw it in so ya #when you pick on it so much it bleeds

[riahlynn101]

"The Caretaker's Keeper" (2).

Thank you, guys, for all the support on the last chapter <3 I appreciate it all so much!

Trigger warnings: kidnapping, people in distress, All for One upping his creepiness meter, abandonment issues, implied/referenced child abandonment, and swearing.

I took the last chapter and made it worse (in my opinion). As always, take care your mental health first. Don't read something that might aggravate existing issues (be kind to yourselves) ^w^

Chapter 2 (final part)

--

“My brother likes you,” his boss says, an unreadable expression on his face. It fills Izuku with a certain sense of foreboding, like his entire existence hangs in the balance of one man’s unhealthy obsession with his younger brother (and it kind of does). 

“O-oh?” Izuku puts his pencil down and looks up at his boss. He tries not to make eye contact. Kacchan hates it when he does that; he thinks it has something to do with control and wanting to feel powerful. His boss has never laid into him for looking at him like his former friend does (or did as they started at separate high schools, three months ago) but old habits die hard. 

“Yes, and if I’m particularly honest, I find myself becoming quite fond of your presence.”

“Thank you, sir.” The words feel hollow coming from his mouth. Fondness from his boss is akin to superglue that spills and dries on carpet. More and more he sees that Yoichi is living proof of that. 

“Well, I see no need to beat around the bush. Izuku-Kun, I’m going to need you to move in.”

“Move…in?”

“Yes, move in. I have to be away on a business trip for a month, or so, and I don’t trust any of my associates to handle my brother with care. Besides, it will be easier for you to stay here rather than taking the bus back-and-forth.”

“I-I don’t know, sir. My mom-”

“Will be sent fifty-percent of your paycheck. I know you usually give her all of your earnings, but I think you should save at least five hundred per paycheck for college.”

There’s something to his words. A finality. 

“I don’t want to-” he stops himself, seeing the stormy glare his boss is giving him. “My mom will worry about me.”

“You can still call her, everyday.”

He swallows hard, fighting back tears. “But my school. I have to leave anyway to attend.”

“Online schooling is a remarkable thing. I’m sure my brother would love to tutor you. He loves helping others.”

Izuku sighs. There’s little he can do right now. A month is not that long anyways. “And this arrangement is just for a month?”

His boss smiles, head resting on his hands. “Of course, Izuku-Kun. Would I ever lie to you?”

-x-x-x-

“I’m overjoyed that you decided to stay with us.” 

Izuku fights down a scoff. It’s not in his best interest to show his boss attitude. He gets mildly annoyed when Yoichi does it, and the man’s his adored little brother. He would hate to see what someone like him-who has barely broached the level of ‘fondness’-would get if he dared to be a little extra cheeky.

“I’m very glad to be here, sir,” Izuku says, keeping his tone bright and cheery. 

His hair is ruffled for the hundredth time today - his boss really likes doing that for some reason. And, despite his negative feelings towards him, Izuku finds it kind of nice. His own father never engaged in affection of any sort, choosing instead to keep Izuku at arm's length. 

They stand in the middle of his (well, less his and more the designated room his boss has decided to graciously offer him) temporary bedroom. The interior design is uncomfortably reminiscent of the vault Yoichi has been trapped in for however long. 

(Sometimes Yoichi will whisper names to him. Just names, nothing else. Like he doesn’t trust himself to keep them safe, or wants to make sure they live on. And they always come out sounding so heart wrenchingly sad.)

It has the same layout with the twin bed (with similar-looking bedding) and a desk and a bookshelf with all the same books he’s seen on the bookshelf in the vault.

A shiver creeps down his spine. His mother hadn’t been happy with this new arrangement, and almost made him quit (something neither of them can afford to do), but she let him go when he told her it’s a month at most.

“I hope this room is to your liking, Izuku-Kun.” His boss watches him from the doorway. 

“Very much so, sir.” He can’t handle looking at this room any longer, so he subtly joins his boss back in the hallway. “How is Yoi- your brother doing today?” 

He hasn’t seen the other brother since Friday (his boss allowed him a couple of days off to spend with his mom, which was….kind of him….Izuku supposes). 

“Good. He’s very excited to help you with your schoolwork.”

“Does this mean I’m allowed to speak with him more?” All their conversations have been very one sided. It would be nice to finally be able to ask Yoichi some questions.

“Within reason. Any talk regarding current events, or escape plans will be met with garnished wages. Of which will firstly be taken from the portion of the paycheck given to your mother.”

Izuku opens his mouth but quickly closes it with a muted click. 

“And of course, I don’t need to tell you that any attempts at helping my brother escape will result in a consequence you really won’t like.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Off to see my brother you go. I have a meeting to attend, but I would love for you to meet me in the dining room around six.”

“Yes, sir.” Izuku turns on his heels, heading for the elevator that will take him down…down…down to Yoichi’s “room.” 

-x-x-x-

It’s nice being able to talk to Yoichi. He has to keep some of his questions to himself, but anything is better than standing unmoving for hours at a time. There had even been another chair brought in just for him, though Izuku guesses that might have something to do with the fact that Yoichi is going to tutor him for the month Izuku has to homeschool. 

Yoichi is quiet today. Unnaturally so. 

He sits at his desk, shoulders hunched up. A curtain of white hair blocks Izuku from seeing his face. He doodles on a drawing pad. The faint sounds of pencil on paper seem extraordinarily loud with every moment that passes.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching a hand out to…..to he doesn’t know. Check his temperature? Pat his back? “Do you need a-”

“I’m fine,” Yoichi snaps. The sounds of pencil on paper increase, undue pressure being added. 

It would be wise, he thinks, to back off. Izuku has been through enough to know when his help is not wanted, nor needed. He chews at his bottom lip, casting a worried glance towards the camera. 

Still, he has a job to do. 

He tries again, this time scooting his chair closer. 

“It’s just…you don’t seem fine. Did something-” The words die in his throat at the icy glare Yoichi sends him. 

“You should’ve quit when you had the chance.” Despite his glare, there is no bite to his words, only a bone-weary sadness. 

-x-x-x-

The hours between that strange confession and dinner had been excruciatingly long. Yoichi returned to ignoring his existence, but listened when the time came to switch to another task. He ate his dinner a little early and turned in for the night.

Which meant that Izuku had to endure the company of his boss’ other employees. They’re polite to him, at least more so than people usually are. But that’s not saying much. Their boss doesn’t tolerate disrespect, nor rudeness, so maybe everyone being “nice” is a condition of employment. 

He hangs out in the kitchen until he’s called upon for dinner. Something about watching the cooks bustle around the kitchen is interesting to watch. It vaguely reminds him of those cooking shows his mom and him used to watch before his father left and they could no longer afford cable. Sometimes they even let him taste-test the food.

By the time he’s collected for dinner, Izuku has almost fallen asleep, pressed in the corner between a metal-shelving unit and a mop bucket. A maid twice as old as his mom pokes him with her foot, urging him to get up and make himself look “presentable.”

He’s then taken by the elbow to a side room. The maid uses her thin, bony fingers to tame his wild hair. She soothes out his clothes, trying to work out all the wrinkles she can before opening the dining room door and ushering him inside. 

“Midoriya Izuku, master,” she announces, bowing. 

The dining room is surprisingly humble. The table is fit for a family of four. It looks worn, the wood old. His boss’ chair creaks with the slightest movement. And the room itself is quite small. The floral wallpaper is peeling in some areas and crinkling in others. 

Their boss dismisses the maid with a wave of his hand. Izuku envies the maid who can exist invisible to their boss, only called upon to fetch guests or clean rooms. The latter of which Izuku hates with a burning passion, especially folding laundry - but he would rather be doing that than having dinner with his boss. 

“Izuku-Kun,” His boss greets, sipping on his wine. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

As if he had a choice!

Izuku smiles, bowing. If his father did one thing right, it was instilling a proper understanding of politeness and manners. “Happy to be here, sir.” His tone betrays nothing. 

Must be over-eager, not reluctant.

“So formal. Come, come, sit.”

Izuku, as per usual, obeys. He sits to his boss’ right (the only other place setting). The fabric place mats are a deep green. They remind him of his mom’s eyes. 

His heart twists. 

One month. He can do this!

“I hope my brother didn’t give you any trouble today?”

Izuku shakes his head. He’s seen how cruel his boss can be to Yoichi. His biting words always go further than he realizes. 

( Or maybe, a voice whispers in his mind, he doesn’t care). 

“Fine, sir. He followed the schedule perfectly.”

His boss smiles but it doesn’t reach his blood red eyes. “As a heads up, my brother might be particularly….hm…. moody during the upcoming month.”

Despite not asking permission to speak, or being asked a direct question, Izuku’s own curiosity wins out. “How come….uh….sir.”

His boss frowns down at his placemat. “I’m afraid the anniversary of our parents’ deaths is coming up.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry for your brother and your losses.”

His boss looks at him, face impassive. “Can I ask you something, Izuku-Kun?”

He stares longingly at the door leading to the kitchen. Maybe he should just book it. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to make rent this month, but they would get through it. They always do. 

His boss clears his throat. 

On instinct, Izuku snaps his attention back to the tall, imposing figure sitting next to him. “Yes, of course, sir. You can ask me anything.”

“Your father,” he starts, swirling the liquid in his glass of wine, “he treated you poorly, correct?”

Izuku looks up at the ceiling. “N-no.” He forces himself to look at his boss. There’s a level of vulnerability that comes with talking about Hisashi Midoriya. One of two people in the world that should have been guaranteed to like him, and Izuku can’t even have that. 

“No? What do you call walking out on your family?”

“He….he doesn’t matter. I have my mom and that’s good enough for me.”

His boss watches him, and Izuku knows he’s watching him. He does that a lot, like he enjoys picking apart Izuku’s reactions. It feels wrong and violating, but he’s been wrong before. So, maybe he’s overreacting. 

“Is it?” His boss asks.

Before Izuku can respond, the door to the kitchen opens. The head chef along with a waiter bring in their dinner. It’s Katsudon. His favorite.

He has no appetite. 

-x-x-x-

A week passes and his boss leaves on his business trip. Izuku is given a list of emergency contacts and a whole binder full of contingency plans if anything goes awry. 

Both of which sit on Izuku’s (borrowed) desk. He leafs them over in between caring for Yoichi and some other chores he picked up to be more helpful. His boss didn’t say he had to do chores, but sitting around and watching others clean up after him makes Izuku feel gross. 

He feels worthless enough without watching the elderly maid bend down with her creaking back to pick up the house. 

Besides, the maids and other staff don’t seem to mind. They have even started letting him in on some of their gossip and inside jokes. And it fills his time.

As his boss forewarned, Yoichi’s temperament is mercurial. He follows his schedule to the letter, but spares no warm words or knowing glances. This would be fine if Izuku didn’t have to spend an extra hour or so a day getting tutored by him.

(He misses Yoichi. He wishes the man would just talk to him).

Every night he calls his mom. No matter where she’s at, she always, always picks up the phone. Her soft voice makes him feel a little less alone. He tells her about his new coworkers and how nice everyone is (some of them aren’t, but his mom shouldn’t have to worry about him). In turn, she tells him about her own co-workers and the new orange cat that their neighbors recently brought home. 

He misses her terribly. 

The month can’t end fast enough.

-x-x-x-

Another good thing that’s come out of being trapped here for a month, is that Izuku can see so many cool and interesting quirks up close and personal. 

Outside, people are weary of using their quirks. Some skirt the rule of no outside quirk usage unless you possess a provisional license, but unless they’re a villain, even those people use their quirk sparingly. 

He’s so glad he brought another empty notebook along. These people aren’t heroes by any stretch of the imagination, but something inside Izuku pushes him to ask questions and analyze all the potential ways their quirks could be used in combat (or just in day-to-day life). 

However, he’s had to limit his questions, as it seems even the people within these walls aren’t immune to thinking him odd. His mumbling is creepy to them (as is always the case). 

Even Yoichi, who’s still ignoring him whenever possible, looks at him with a sense of unease. 

Still, he has thirty of the one hundred-fifty pages filled. It would be a waste to not continue on.

-x-x-x-

Everyone has their boiling point.

“I don’t understand. Please, stop ignoring me. Your brother said-”

And Yoichi’s boiling point finally, well, boils over after a particularly confusing math lesson. He glares at Izuku, stopping the rest of the words from leaving his mouth. 

“My brother says a lot of things. He means none of them.” Yoichi leans over until he’s staring Izuku right in the eyes. “You’re foolish if you believe anything he tells you.”

For a second, Izuku is transported back to his fourth year of elementary school. Instead of Yoichi being in his face, it’s his then-teacher, Aoki-Sensei. All of his teachers were their own level of cruel to him, ranging from neglectful to full on encouraging the other students to terrorize him, but Aoki-Sensei always stood out. 

She had started out nice. Patient and empathetic to his plight as being the social pariah in his class. Each day she let him sit in her classroom before and after school (so he wouldn’t run into Kacchan), allowed him to complain about how unfair life is, and even sometimes walked him home. 

After years of no adults in his life caring (sans his mom), it was nice having someone who listened and saw Izuku for who he is. 

And then it came to an end. Aoki-Sensei must have started becoming a social pariah among the other staff members-because that’s the only reason that makes sense (surely she hadn’t played the long game, in an effort to hurt him more?)-because suddenly, one day, she became just as cold as the rest of his teachers.

She seemed to take great pride in pointing out his flaws, laughing along with the class as he sobbed loudly. What made it ten-times worse was that, after school, when he asked what he had done to warrant this new behavior, she had simply said, “you must be a special level of foolish to believe I ever cared about you.”

Over the top, almost cartoonishly evil words aside. Those words had stuck with Izuku all these years later, weighing him down. 

That feeling of being so utterly ashamed comes back in full force. 

Ashamed that anyone would have ever treated him kindly. 

Ashamed that he believed he had a friend, or confidant in someone.

Ashamed because no matter how hard Izuku tries to dig himself out of the metaphorical hole he’s been trapped inside since he received his quirkless diagnosis he’ll forever be stuck.

“Stop!” Izuku shouts, standing up suddenly. The movement makes him dizzy, but he shakes it off. 

Yoichi follows him. “Stop what? I’m sorry am I being a little mean?”

Izuku can feel his face growing red, burning. His breath hitches, as he fights down his sobs. “Y-yes.”

“Isn’t this what you signed up for? Here’s an idea, if you don’t like me being mean, why don’t you leave ?” 

“I-I can’t.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot because your mother and you have nothing to your names, isn’t that right?”

Hearing his mother brought up lights a match inside Izuku. It sets alight some deep, ugly emotion. The kind that makes him feel bitter and numb in place of hurt and embarrassed. 

“Yeah? At least I’m not trapped in a bank vault! What? Couldn’t hack it outside these walls, so your brother-”

Smack!

Izuku is thrown backwards. He hits his head on the corner of the bookshelf on the way down. 

For a second, there’s blissful silence. 

He lays in front of the bookshelf, idly staring up at the ceiling. How has he never noticed that it’s unpainted before? 

And then, like a freight train, the pain hits. 

He moves to sit up, but an overwhelming ache fills the back of his head. It sends sparks of stabbing pain down his spine. He groans. 

Yoichi is on him in an instant. His green eyes-so similar to Izuku’s own-fill with tears. Izuku thinks he might be telling him something, but the words sound so muffled and faraway that he hears nothing beyond his own blood rushing in his ears. 

And then, 

Nothing. 

-x-x-x-

It’s raining when Mikumo makes it back home. Most of his staff has been dismissed for the night, barring some of the guards who have overnight shifts. So, the house is almost completely silent, save for the quiet buzzing of monitors, or the large grandfather clock ticking away in the foyer. 

Out of habit he heads for the security office, the one he uses to keep an eye on his unruly little brother. 

He peeks into Izuku’s room on the way there. It’s clean. More so than what he would expect from a fifteen-year-old boy. Not a thing out of place, nor missing. It’s a little odd he isn’t in bed yet, but Yoichi is probably giving him a hard time. 

Mikumo wouldn’t put it past him to give the kid trouble just so he would run away. He’s certainly done it before. But, from the looks of rumpled sheets (the only thing out of place), he hasn’t succeeded yet. 

There’s a notebook sitting on Izuku’s pillow. It’s blue binding and the large words scribbled across the top: Hero Analysis for the Future: Number 14, catches his eye. He picks it up, leafing through it. 

“This….this is incredible.” Not the hero-part per say but excluding the title there��s not many heroes in the book itself. No, Mikumo’s interest lies in the exquisite way Izuku takes apart quirks. Dissecting them down to their bare components. Turning them inside out and finding out what makes them tick. What makes it all the more impressive is the fact that the kid doesn’t possess a quirk like All for One, so all of his analyses are from simply watching and or asking questions. 

He smiles, clutching the notebook in his hands. 

Clearly this is a sign that Izuku was meant to be their family. He was made for them. 

What a brilliant little brother he’s turning out to be. 

-x-x-x-

Mikumo takes one look at the cameras and is instantly moving for the elevator. His little brother couldn’t help himself, could he? Leave it to Yoichi to make a bad situation worse. 

He opens the vault door hastily, having to reenter the code several times. 

His eyes land on Izuku’s body-very limp, very much not moving, body-first. Even from here it’s easy to see the boy’s eyes are starting to glaze over, and there’s a small puddle of red forming around his head. 

“Help!” His brother screams. He sobs loudly, hands hovering over Izuku. “Fucking help him!”

Mikumo steps closer. “Yoichi-”

“Don’t…” he sobs, rocking back-and-forth (a habit he formed during their tumultuous childhood). “P-please, help him. I-I am so, so sorry.”

He hasn’t seen his brother so broken since- 

Mikumo kneels down. The puddle of blood has grown larger, it covers his knees when he sits. Izuku’s face is paler now. It sends a stab of worry through him. His gut twists. Gingerly, he takes hold of Izuku’s wrist to check his pulse. 

“It’s weak,” he murmurs, just loud enough over his brother’s sobs. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Izuku. I didn’t mean it. Please. Please. Please…”

At some point, Mikumo blocks his brother out. This is a time sensitive issue. Judging by the blood loss and the fact it’s coming from his head, the kid probably has less than three minutes before it becomes outside his scope of practice. 

But taking him to the local hospital is also out of the question. He could always ask Doctor Garaki if he’s willing to take on a patient, but the man is too nosy for his own good. He doesn’t even know about Yoichi. 

That leaves him. Mikumo is the one that hired this kid. He’s the one that set this whole plan into motion and forced his little brother and a naive kid together. 

So, it has to be him that saves the day. 

It’s what big brothers are for. 

He has countless regenerating quirks that could fix the kid up in an instant, but Mikumo has another, shared quirk that would better fit the newest member of their family. 

He sighs, placing a hand on Izuku’s forehead. He hadn’t wanted to do this until Izuku got used to his new arrangements. But desperate times call for equally desperate measures. 

“I won’t let you leave me.” 

-x-x-x-

In the morning, he is woken up by his boss. Izuku startles, afraid he’s missed taking breakfast to Yoichi. That’s a whole three hundred dollars his mom will miss out on! All because he slept in.

He goes to sit up, only to be met with a sharp ache in the back of his head, and his boss grasping his biceps. “Easy there, Izuku. Yoichi did a number on you, the idiot. You need to rest.”

Izuku blinks sluggishly at his employer. “What?” 

“All in due time.” His boss covers him back up with the comforter and soothes his hair back. “Rest.” A kiss is laid upon his forehead, easing the ache just a little bit. 

Sleep claims him once again. 

-x-x-x-

Yoichi scrubs the blood on the floor. No staff besides Izuku are allowed in here. Izuku (or his brother) handles anything that might otherwise warrant someone coming in here.

Laundry. 

Changing of supplies.

Deep cleaning. 

And everything in between. 

But neither of them is available right now, and Yoichi can’t bear looking at the slowly drying spot any longer. A horrible, horrible reminder of what he did. 

He scrubs harder, willing it all to go away. The scent of blood and watered-down bleach is nauseating. Even with a mask on, he has to turn away every so often. 

It doesn’t come out, at least not fully. 

He continues rubbing at the spot, trying not to think about the fate he inadvertently thrusted someone so….so young and nice and reminds Yoichi of a better version of himself. A version of himself that hadn’t yet been under his brother’s thumb (at least not aware of it). 

Tears continue pouring down his face. 

His eyes drift over to the older blood stain and then back. 

He sobs, hands braced on the floor. It’s hard to see through his tangled mess of hair. He should have cut it long ago, but the thought of looking anymore like his brother makes him sick. 

“I-I’m sorry, Izuku! I’m so sorry!” 

He curls up on the floor. There’s nothing he can do. He’s useless. 

He’s always been useless. 

-x-x-x-

“Izuku?” 

Someone runs their fingers through his hair. The exact same way his mom does. He smiles, his boss must have sent him home last night. The voice doesn’t match, but maybe his mother has a head cold. 

He groans, snuggling deeper into the pillows. 

His mom laughs. 

He’s…..he’s missed her laugh. 

That isn’t her laugh.

His eyes snap open. His boss hovers over him, stroking his face and hair. 

“Welcome back,” his boss says, something like worry in his voice. “I hope you had a nice nap.”

“What?” 

“I bet you’re confused.”

Confused would be a tad bit under generous for how Izuku feels at the moment, but he’s retained enough self-awareness to recognize doing so might not be good for his health. 

He nods. 

“You took a little tumble. My brother and you got into an argument-”

Oh, that’s right. He insulted Yoichi, and basically called him useless. 

Just like Kacchan used to do to Izuku. 

“-of course, you're fine now. I fixed you all better. I would still like you to rest. I’m working on expanding the vault downstairs, but it might take a while.”

Izuku’s stomach drops. Shouldn’t he be sent home now? If his boss’ words are to be believed, then he’s all better. He should be leaving. His mom will be expecting him soon. 

He can’t leave her like his dad did. She doesn’t deserve that. 

“In the meantime,” his boss continues, oblivious to Izuku’s internal distress, “You can stay in the room I use when I have to move Yoichi place to place.”

“What does that mean?” He asks, voice shaky. 

“It means you’re here to stay. I see something in you. A spark I haven’t seen since my brother and I were your age. I want to keep it. I want to keep you. Little brother.”

Izuku swallows around the lump growing in his throat. “W-why me?”

His boss sighs. “I just explained why, little brother.”

Izuku yanks the blankets off, throwing himself forward and off the bed. He lands on the metal floor. The coolness of the material brings him back to his senses long enough to realize that this room is tiny, half the size of the room he’s been staying in and has metal flooring and a metal ceiling. 

He scrambles to his feet. It’s hard to hear anything over his own blood rushing through his ears, which brings a nauseating bout of nostalgia. In the back of his mind, he can hear the sickening sound of his own skull caving in. 

He shakes his head to get rid of the unwanted memory, but it only makes him feel worse. 

Somehow he makes it across the room on trembling legs to pull at the door. It’s not the typical vault-style door. So, it should open. Right? 

He pulls and pushes and yanks. 

“It’s not going to open, little brother.”

“I’m not your fucking little brother! Let me leave now!” His mind is going a million miles per hour, each thought whizzing by like runaway trains. All he can focus on is needing to escape. He needs to leave! 

He needs out!

There’s a clicking sound. “I wouldn’t normally tolerate such indecent language, but you’re clearly adjusting. I’ll let it slide if you say sorry.”

“No!”

“Izuku.”

“Leave me the fuck alone!”

He sees his boss step forward. “One more chance. Say sorry.”

Izuku presses his back against the door. He shakes his head frantically. “M-mom! Mommy help me!”

His boss takes another step and then another. Izuku closes his eyes. Silently he apologizes to his mom for being such a terrible son.

He’s being lifted and held securely against a firm chest. A hand returns to his hair. 

“It’s okay, little brother. You’re scared, but things will be okay now. Everything will be alright, Nii-San is here.”

Through his panic, Izuku doubts that. Nothing in his life, minus the paychecks he gets like clockwork every week, has been okay. 

If getting out of poverty means enduring whatever this is, Izuku will eat dollar store packets of ramen every night and every morning for the rest of time. The minute he hits sixteen he’ll apply to everyplace in the city, and work as many jobs as possible to keep his mom and him afloat. 

“Please, let me go. My mom-”

The grip around holding him to his boss’ chest tightens. “Your mom is no longer your mom. She doesn't want you anymore.”

Logically, Izuku knows his boss is lying. His mom hadn’t given him up after a quirkless diagnosis, or after his father left and doing so would have been more financially smart. She’s too kind for that. She’s too much of a good mom to ever leave him. 

He knows that, but…..

…..Izuku’s so tired. 

Comprehending anything beyond what is in the here and now feels out of reach. He wants to go home so badly, his body hurts when he thinks about being trapped here. 

“N-no she didn’t.”

“She did. One of my men took your paycheck to her, and she was in the process of moving out. Apparently she was in quite the hurry. She took the paycheck and slammed the door.”

“But she wouldn’t….” the words die in his throat. He feels sick. 

Five years ago, he would have said the same thing about his father. So, maybe she would. 

“M-mom,” he says, voice hoarse from screaming. 

“But it’s okay, your big brothers will take care of you.”

Numbly, Izuku nods. 

A childish ask bubbles up from his chest. Summoning his last remaining courage, he asks, “you won’t leave me, right?”

“For as long as I live,” his bos- big brother promises. 

He feels empty inside. 

-x-x-x-

The first few years are hard. 

In truth, Izuku has no way to know if years have passed. He himself doesn’t change and neither does the vault. Yoichi tries to help keep track of time for his sake, but quickly loses count.

They share the vault, Yoichi’s twin bed becoming a trundle bed. (“So, neither of you get lonely during the night,” big brother explained). Sometimes it’s hard being together all day and all night, never being able to escape to somewhere that’s not here, in this place. 

Yoichi has taken it in stride. At times he holds Izuku (his grip looser than big brother’s) and tells him in near-inaudible whispers that one day they’ll be able to leave the room. 

Izuku can’t bring himself to hope anymore. 

They don’t get a new caretaker, Nii-San likes to do the mundane tasks himself. He comes around every few hours with food, medicine, or supplies. His constant presence is every bit as stifling as it is comforting. 

So, it’s strange one day when Nii-San doesn’t make an appearance. 

Yoichi does his best to calm him, reading passages from the book he’s reading and stroking his hair. 

More time passes. No Nii-San. 

“His meetings must have run over. It’s not often he’s late, but it does happen.” 

More time passes, perhaps another hour, day, or week. They tear into the snacks and bottles of water their big brother allows them to have in their bedroom for emergencies such as this. 

It’s after the third time of waking up with no sign of Nii-San that Izuku starts to visibly panic. This, of course, makes Yoichi panic (though he does his best to hide it). 

He paces the length of the room, occasionally waving to the camera hoping to see the red recording light come on. It never does. 

On, what has got to be, his seven hundredth time pacing, something emerges from the wall. Several panels in the wall slide down, revealing small spouts. He looks at Yoichi.

“What are these things?” 

Before his other, less crazy, big brother can shrug, the air suddenly becomes thinner. He coughs, whirling around to face Yoichi because his lungs are weaker. Whatever this is, it must be related to the spouts. He can’t put much effort into thinking. His head is filled with cotton and he has to blink away the heaviness pulling his eyelids down. 

“Yoi-chi….?” Izuku stumbles over to the bed. His brother lays on his bed, eyes shut and limp, but still breathing (thankfully). “Bro…ther?” He coughs, trying to dispel whatever’s clogging his lungs. “Wake up.” His strength is leaving him second by second, but Izuku manages to get on his brother’s bed and shake him. “P-please…..w…ake….” 

He falls next to his brother, blissfully unaware of the chaos going on above the surface.

-x-x-x-

He wakes up much more tired than when he first fell asleep. Yoichi’s in front of him, hands on his shoulders.

“We need to go now,” he says. “The door is open. I don’t know what happened, but everything is different now. Much, much different. We should leave before Mikumo comes back.”

Izuku’s brain sluggishly processes those words. “Leave?”

“Yes.” Yoichi doesn’t wait for a reply, helping him into a standing position. “I have a few contacts on the outside. They should be able to help us.”

Izuku takes in their surroundings. Everything’s covered in cobwebs and dust. What…. happened here?

They hobble along the hallway, supporting one another.

“Let’s hope the elevator works.”

It does. Thankfully. 

And even more thankfully, Nii-San didn’t change the codes to work the elevator since Izuku was Yoichi’s caretaker.

The upstairs is even more dusty and covered in cobwebs. Almost like no one’s stepped foot in this place for decades.

“Where is everyone?” Izuku asks. More to himself than his brother, but Yoichi takes it upon himself to answer anyway.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know either. It’s better if we move on.”

They have no trouble leaving. The guards’ tower is just as empty as inside the house. The fence is overgrown with ivy and moss, covering every inch of it.

They reach the city before nightfall, though Izuku has a hard time recognizing it as the city he’s lived in all his life. Nothing looks the same. All the shops are different and not a single person they pass looks familiar. 

Yoichi has him stop in front of an apartment building. He says something about needing to call someone, before stepping into a nearby phone booth. But Izuku doesn’t hear a single word, eyes transfixed on the building towering over him. 

Home. 

Before he can stop himself, Izuku runs for the entrance. Maybe Nii-San was wrong. Maybe his mom didn’t leave. She’s probably been waiting for him to come home. 

He reaches his apartment. The numbers on the door are faded and the metal dust-handle is rusted, but it’s unmistakable theirs. Heavy footsteps come up behind him.

Someone coughs. “I-Izuku!” Yoichi shouts, with all the energy of an aggravated older sibling. “What are you doing? You can’t just run off like that.”

Izuku looks down at his feet. “This is my home.”

“Wha- oh ,” his brother murmurs. “I see. Go ahead.” 

Izuku checks under the mat for the spare key his mom kept in case of emergencies. He finds it, his fingers clutching it to his palm. The weight is familiar. He’s missed it.

Nervously, he glances back at Yoichi. 

“Go on, Izu,” he says. “I’m right here.”

Izuku shakily unlocks the door. To his relief when the door creaks open, the apartment isn’t covered in dust or cobwebs. He enters, Yoichi on his heels.

“Mom!?” He peeks into the kitchen. The drawing he made of All Might is still on the fridge. 

“Mom!? It’s me, Izuku! Where are you!?” A loud, hacking cough gets his attention. Somewhere down the hall. Excitedly, Izuku races for his mom’s room. He’s here. He’s home. He can finally see his mom.

He pokes his head into her room, the light is on. Usually he’d knock first, but he’s sure she’ll forgive him for forgoing that rule. “Mom! I can’t wait to- huh?” 

“Uh, Izuku,” Yoichi starts, “maybe you shouldn’t-”

“Who are you!?” Izuku asks, because the old woman in front of him, laying in a hospice bed, is definitely not his mom. “Where’s mom?”

The woman looks at him. “I-Izuku. My baby?”

He shakes his head. “No. My mom…you’re not….Yoichi?” He backs away from the room. His back hits the wall directly across the room. 

“It’s been a while. She’s grown older.”

“No, no, no, no!” He cries. “My-my mom is young. She’s living somewhere warm, and she’s happy.”

Yoichi frowns. “I’m sorry, Izuku.”

“She’s supposed to have gotten away. I was the reason she had to live like this. Why didn’t she leave? Nii-San told me she left. Why did she come back? Did she even ever leave?” 

Yoichi doesn’t speak, patting his back. 

“Oh my god, I abandoned her. I’m just like my father.”

A light pop on his mouth startles him out of his downward spiral. He looks at Yoichi, eyes wide. His brother has one of the most serious expressions Izuku’s ever seen on someone. 

“You listen to me, and you listen to me well. You are not your father. Your father made a conscious choice to walk out on you guys. You weren’t given a choice. You did what you had to, to help your mother out of poverty. You were just trying to be a good son.”

Izuku feels his usual waterworks starting up. He leans into his brother’s embrace, taking refuge in the familiar warmth. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

“Anytime.”

“Izuku?” His mom calls out, and without panic altering his senses, he can hear her voice. 

“If you want to leave-”

“No. I should stay, at least to say goodbye to her. She’s probably waited years for me to come home.”

“Go on then.” Yoichi smiles at him. “Be her hero.”

Izuku nods, taking a running start straight into her bedroom. He hops into All Might’s signature pose (one of them at least). “I am here!” 

His mom is hooked up to so many machines. An oxygen mask covers the bottom half of her mouth. Her long green hair has thinned out, and she’s all skin and bones. The circles under her eyes tell of years worth of sleepless nights. 

(How many nights did she stay up, hoping and praying he’d walk through the door?)

Despite her misery, his mom manages one of her famous smiles. The kind she used to do at him when they would play heroes. Bright and genuine and so achingly-familiar. 

“Izuku Might!” She cheers. “My hero!” 

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

“Don’t be. I’ve been expecting you.”

Izuku’s stomach twists. “Oh?” 

“Yes, I was hoping it would have been last night. Would have saved me the trouble of having to listen to the upstairs neighbors argue over things that don’t matter.” She laughs.

Izuku closes his eyes, trying to commit the sound to memory. Forever. 

“Well, I’m here, mom.”

“You are.” Tears well up in her green eyes, which are dimmer than they used to be. 

Izuku is by her side in an instant. He climbs over the railing of the bed, and cuddles up next to her. “It’s okay, mommy. I’m here. I’m sorry I left.”

“Oh, baby, you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault. I should have been better. After your father left, I was absent. I ignored your needs. I was selfish.”

Izuku opens his mouth, ready to defend his mother from herself. A finger brushes his lips, shushing him. 

“Shhh…..I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

He lays with her, curled into her side like he’s five-years-old again. He strokes her hair, murmuring comforting nothings to her. 

-x-x-x-

Izuku stumbles into the hallway, gaze fixated on the wall in front of him. He feels empty. But this empty is worse than usual. It’s not the kind caused by suppressed emotion, but the sort that follows you like a rain cloud. 

His face and neck feel sticky with all the shed tears. 

“I’m ready to go now.” 

His brother holds a hand out, which he takes, grateful for something to grasp. He’s lead back outside the building, passing a nurse-judging by the medical scrubs and badge-on the stairs. 

“Excuse me?” She asks, looking at them. “But could either of you tell me where Midoriya Inko lives? It’s my first night, and the nurse that normally works overnight here just quit.”

Izuku points upward. “Apartment 38C.”

“Ah, thank you.”

He stands on the steps a few moments longer, watching the nurse race to her patient that is long, long gone. 

His brother tugs on his hand, getting his attention. “Come along. My friend will be meeting us at the park down the road. You’ll like him.”

Izuku doesn’t spare a glance at the building, choosing instead to move forward. For the first time, in a long time, he allows himself to hope. 

The future suddenly feels brighter. 

-x-x-x-

Izuku sits in the backseat of Yoichi’s friend’s car. He watches them lean in to kiss for the hundredth millionth time in five minutes. 

“Ick!” He sticks his tongue out. 

Yoichi’s friend reaches a hand in the backseat to ruffle his hair. His face is heavily scarred and there’s an underlying hardness there, but the icy glare melts away anytime he lays eyes on Yoichi (or, as he warms up, at Izuku). 

“Niiii, stop,” Yoichi says, giggling. 

Izuku giggles too, turning away from the couple to look out the window. They pass by open fields and luscious forests. 

“Hey, Yoichi-nii, where are we going?” 

“Um, that’s a great question. Where are we going, my hero?”

Izuku gags. What did he do to have to bear witness to this?

“I can’t say. It’s a surprise.”

Yoichi and him exchange a worried look. They both don’t say it outloud, but surprises scare them. The last surprise either of them got was near-eternity in a metal box. 

The rest of the drive is quiet, Izuku drifts off to the sound of th a/c and the quiet murmurings of long-lost love. (Even if he thinks they’re being kind of gross. It’s still nice that Yoichi has someone out here waiting for him. That’s one more person than Izuku has).

-x-x-x-

The car pulls to a stop deep within a forest. The trees that surround them, completely block out the sky. A quaint, little cabin sits in front of them. 

“Well,” his boyfriend says, putting the car into park, “this is it. The others should be inside, waiting. I called them right after you called me.”

Yoichi nods. The idea of seeing all the people cursed with One for All makes his stomache. 

“Yoi, what’s wrong?”

He fiddles with his fingers. “They’re not…they aren’t angry, are they?”

“Of course, they aren’t. What makes you think they would be?”

“Immortality is a curse.”

His boyfriend kisses on the lips, shutting him up. “I missed you.”

Yoichi melts. A happy squeak escapes his mouth without him permitting it too. “Me too.” He shakes his head. “I mean….I missed you, not that I missed myself. Well, you know. Right?”

His boyfriend’s expression softens even further. “I know perfectly well.”

They share a few more kisses before they start getting ready to go inside. 

“I’ll carry the kid inside. We have a room made up for him.”

Yoichi opens and closes his mouth “How?” He asks, gathering the meager supplies his boyfriend bought on his way to pick them up. 

“The attack on your brother’s base. The one that put you both into a coma for thirty-plus years? That was us.” He leans into the car to pick Izuku up. He holds him close to his chest, though it’s a bit difficult for his boyfriend to carry Izuku like he or their older brother does because of his below-average height. Still, he manages it like a champ. “We found his base of operations and broke in. The raid must have triggered a gas attack.”

“Huh,” Yoichi murmurs. “Well, you saved us from thirty-six years of playing Monopoly over and over again. But I do have a question.”

They step onto the porch. “My brother’s base wasn’t ransacked. It was just….dirty.”

“We didn’t destroy anything. Just infiltrated. Yagi was the one that did damage to your brother.”

“Is he…my brother dead?”

“Probably not. That bastard’s worse than a cockroach. He’s lucky that Yagi found him first, because what he did to….” his boyfriend swallows heavily. “Third deserved better.”

“He did. What All for One did to him….I dreamt about every night. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

His boyfriend looks at him. “So am I, Yoi, so am I.” There’s not a hint of malice in his boyfriend’s tone, yet the words sting. He smiles, hand reaching for the door handle. “But tonight’s not about regrets. You’ve just been freed. Live your life for you and all those that can’t be here with us.”

“Yeah,” Yoichi says, resolute, “you’re right. Thank you.”

His boyfriend’s smile widens. “Ready to go inside.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

#mha fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #mha au #mha izuku #mha yoichi #inko being a good mom #dead midoriya inko #possessive all for one #vault time #angst #ichinii #angst with a happy ending

[saundraswriting]

Interior Design Chapter 2: Arrival

SUMMARY:You get to the Compound. You get a run down of what you are begin offered. You get the promised tour and meet-N-greet, and make a fool of yourself. But this is your dream job.

WARNINGS: NONE

NOTES:This is an everyone lives/no one dies, Living in the compound, Non Civil War compliant, No Sokovian Accords AU.

Previous / Next

At exactly 2pm a broad man with some facial hair opened the door to the car that had just pulled in front of you. "Ms. L/N. I am your driver, call me Happy. I am to drive you upstate to the Compound." He helped you in and tucked your bags into the trunk.

"Hello then, Happy. Call me Y/N. Thank you for the ride." You were trying to hide your nerves behind your manners.

"There are drinks back there if you want. Beyond that sit back and relax." Happy said pulling into the never-ending rush of traffic. You sat quiet, prepared for the slow-moving endeavor that was driving through NYC but Happy moved through alleys and side streets to move through and around the traffic, having seemed to memorizer the traffic light timing. It was impressive.

"Are you sure that you don't have some sort of driving enhancements?" You asked your companion.

"No. I just have spent too many years running errands for Mr. Stark." Happy said. He looked up at you through the rear-view mirror. "Not that you are an errand or anything."

"Happy, that is exactly what I am. Thank you though. I am not exactly on Mr. Stark's priority list to have him come and see me." You tried to ease his concern. You turn to look out the window and gape, Happy had some how driven you out of the city and on your way truly to the Avenger's Compound. You wanted to push on the Driving enhancement but kept it to yourself.

"Oh my. I am really going. I'm doing this." You muttered to yourself.

"Y/N, they are just people. Yes, super enhanced or gifted but still people. People who want a place where they can be themselves. You see superheroes? I see tired people with super burdens." Happy said. "Now, relax."

Happy's  advice helped significantly to calm you down. It was something to remember, you were helping them make their house a home. Someplace for them to turn off. You pulled out your tablet and pulled up your designing program to open a new project. You had a kitchen, living room, media room and about a dozen bedrooms in the project. The rooms were customizable to an extent but you chose to work with what was provided. It was simple but effective to help plan layouts of things. You added comments on each room of things you would need to look at or plan for. The kitchen and pantry needed to support the massive appetites that the team would have and each bedroom needed to be assigned for better focus. You did layout some basic things like beds and end tables such. You knew everyone would like it different, but you figured the rooms would be almost exactly the same build. After about 90 minutes of basic fiddling you saved it.

"Y/N, we are just about there. I believe in you. The idea of what you need to do seems scary and overwhelming but you'll figure everything out in time." Happy said. The car pulled onto a hidden road and you watched as it followed the curves and bends as a gate rose up to meet them. Happy pulled into what seemed the front of the building and helped you out of the car and grabbed your bags.

The two of you entered the empty foyer. "Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y, can you tell Pep and Tony we're here? And do you know where Ms. L/N will be staying?" Happy spoke to the open room.

"I already did. They are on the way. Ms. L/N is located in room 12." A disembodied Irish voice rang out.

"Well, you heard the robot lady. I'll leave you here for Tony and Pepper. I will drop your bags off. F.R.I.D.A.Y, introduce yourself. Y/N, it was a pleasure meeting you." Happy took your bags and headed off down the hall leaving you alone and nervous.

"Ms. L/N, I am F.R.I.D.A.Y. I am a artificial intelligence system designed and maintained by Tony Stark. I run the Living Areas for the Avengers and the Iron Man Suits." The voice spoke once more. You looked around for a camera or speaker to speak to but couldn't find one so you looked to the ceiling.

"Oh, nice to meet you Ms. F.R.I.D.A.Y. Please call me Y/N." You told the ceiling.

"Very well, Ms. Y/N. Welcome to the Avenger's Compound." She responded.

Oh, good you two already met. You turned at the voice of Tony Stark.

"Come on, we can continue this in my office." A willowy red-head was with him, who you correctly assumed to be Pepper Potts.

The three of you walked to her office while making small talk. Tony asked about your education and where you came from. You told them about your suspicions of Happy's driving enhancements. The two others laughed and Tony agreed with you. When you finally arrived at Pepper's office, you sat in front of it, her behind it and Tony leaned against it.

"This is going to be a quick as I can make it but there is a lot to cover. First, the contract is a long-term non-exclusive for your benefit. This is just to start, if you chose to extend it then we would make you a permanent employee. You will have to sign Non-Disclosure agreements since you will be dealing directly with the Avengers. You will have the time and means to work with you current and future clientele like I said before. Your current place of living is also your center of operations but we could move all that here for you if you would rather. The contract itself is for the initial decorating for the personal and common living areas for the Avengers. Then also the major holidays and change in seasons or trends or any requests of the Avengers. We would also have you on for light  maintenance and housekeeping mostly for when the Avengers aren't around, like vacuuming and changing a lightbulb. if you see something in disrepair either fix it, put in a work order or order new. We do have a team for more particular fixes, and the team takes care of a lot on their own as it." Pepper explained. You nodded along and made some jotted down some notes.

"What about supplies? Payment? Limitations? Labor?" You asked. Pepper smiled slightly, secretly pleased at your questions, you were thinking, that was good.

"We pay for everything. You have full rein, there are no limitations. Pardon the rooms, that is where you would work with each resident. WE are at your beck and call for anything you would need help with." Tony took over the explanation. "I will be completely honest. I want you to accept this contract, move in entirely and then extend your contract to be a permanent employee. I want that because I like you and I know that everyone else will but we can revisit that later." Tony said. Pepper handed over a copy of the contract. you placed it in your bag and jotted down Tony's comments

"Alright, then I will review this tonight and think about it. I don't like to make decisions in haste but I will tell you that I have no doubts about this. I am attracted to every single part of this including moving in fully. I only am worried about how I would get to and from the city, I make a lot of trips." You told them.

"So do we. Most days we make a trip to the city. But you can always borrow a car and head in. The Tower is SI's still you can park there and do your thing. A minor detail." Tony said. You nodded and shrugged, it was a minor detail. "Now we are going to go. I want to show you around and have you meet one or two people. I will be your personal tour guide while Ms. Potts runs my company." Tony pushed off of the desk and you took it as your cue to go. You held a hand out to Ms. Potts.

"Thank you Ms. Potts. I am grateful for the opportunity." You followed Tony out the door waving to the already busy woman as you left.

You followed Tony to the elevator and down several hallways. He talked a mile a minute about everything, you weren't even trying to keep up. You were sure he just liked to hear himself talk. You tried to learn the layout but you weren't sure. It seemed that the common areas he was leading you to were in the center of the right side of the 'A'. The personal areas seemed to stack on top of that point fanning out.

"So the first level is mostly common areas. Gym and pool and such, the living room, kitchen, pantry the size of a small country, all are down here. Then the next level is the second level is rooms, they kind of fan away from the common areas in groups of 5. The all lead to the small inclines that meet around the living room...like a funnel?" Tony tried to explain.

"Oh, so everything is connected but also has its definition? Good idea to help go from mission to home mentality." You commented. Tony snapped his fingers.

"I knew I like you. Sorry it is a little bit of a walk, Pepper's office is on the SI side, near SHIELD. We are almost there." Tony said. You nodded. "I also had F.R.I.D.A.Y put better more accurate blueprints on your tablet and laptop. So you can better plan. I figured then you can use your app to better prepare the rooms." Tony seemed hesitant. You wanted to be mad but it actually was a help more than a hinderance.

"I don't mind. That helps a lot, but maybe next time ask?" You said. Tony seemed to relax. You knew that he had your entire history but you knew that Tony wanted to help his team and protect them so you weren't upset that much about the privacy invasion.

"Very well. Now, your domain ma'am is everything you see before you. Welcome to the Avenger's Living Quarters Ms. Quartermaster L/N!" Tony waved his arm in a large sweeping motion. You were facing the living room from a behind diagonal, near the kitchen. The floor was an open floor plan. You could see beyond the kitchen was a long hallway. There was a door next to the kitchen, you assumed it was the country-sized pantry. The Living room was a large entertainment area. The kitchen and living room were divided by several couches-or one massive sectional-and on each side of the living room was a slight incline into what you assumed were the bedrooms.

Oh, it is nice." You said. You pointed to each point and Tony confirmed your thoughts, You nodded and beamed. There was nothing done to the space other than the bare minimum. A fresh clean slate with free rein. "I think I have some ideas." You clapped excitedly gathering the attention of the few people in the room. You froze seeing them see you.

"Hello! I am Y/N L/N. I am interviewing to be your Quartermaster. I am in charge of decorating your living spaces." you grinned and waved childishly.

"Oh! We talked about this this the other day. When we asked about who to contact, F.R.I.D.A.Y brought you up as did Pepper." A large blonde blue-eyed man came up to you. You knew the Avengers had gotten new members but you lost track around 2016 or so. Even so, you knew Captain Rogers. You knew that he and Tony had been fighting over his best friend the brain-washed assassin who had killed Tony's parents. but most of the others had fallen through the cracks. "Let me introduce these couch potatoes." Steve led you to the couch, Tony trailing behind. "This is Sam Wilson, Air Force paratrooper, AKA the Falcon. This is Clint Barton, Archery expert and 80% deaf, AKA Hawkeye. This is Natasha Romanov, Super-spy aka Black Widow."

"Hey there, girlie. Welcome to the team." Sam said.

"Well, I haven't accepted yet. There is a lot to consider." You shrugged.

"If you are here, meeting us. You've accepted." A deep voice rasped from the entryway to your right closest to the kitchen. You turned to face them and your breath caught in your throat. His hair was long, greasy and clumpy, his skin pale and dry, the bags under his eyes were deep, and his scruff was unruly. The man made his way into the kitchen barely looking at you.

"Sh. Don't say that too loud. I haven't told Tony yet." You stepped over to the kitchen, you head tilted in curiosity. Steve reached out to grab you but you ducked out of the way. You knew who this man was, you knew everyone considered him dangerous, but he looked so sad and tired. You wanted to try to help. "Sargent Barnes? Thank you, for serving your country all those years ago in the 107th. I am sorry you had to suffer so very much to get here. and well..."You trailed off and lurched into his space before your courage gave out. "Welcome home, solider." you mumbled into his chest squeezing as tight as you could. You felt him freeze under you and you let go instantly. You had pushed a massive line and didn't want to make it worse. You knew a hug wouldn't fix him but it might help in that very moment. You stepped away and saw Sargent Barnes was indeed frozen, looking at you with a mix of awe and relief on his face. His eyes were overly wet and his arms were raised like he didn't know if he should wrap them around you or push you away. You didn't wait for him to thaw before hurrying to Tony's side.

"Mr. Stark, Sargent Barnes was right. I will take the job. Also Captain Rogers, you should get him a plant or two. Coming from someone extremely depressed and still struggles with it, plants help. Something that depends on you to live without major consequences can do wonders for mental health. Sargent Barnes needs to care for something, now that he no longer has to protect you Mr. Super-solider." You tugged on Tony's sleeve realizing that you stepped over the line immensely, the embarrassment and anxiety causing you to shrink on yourself. Tony took the hint and pulled you down the opposite hallway Sargent Barnes came out of. You looked behind you one time to see Steve and Bucky locked in a hug both of them crying silently. The wall then blocked your line of sight.

Previous / Next

*******************************************************************************************

Hello! I am an idiot who thought the key to happiness was another WIP. Let me know what you think!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #protective Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x interior designer! reader #bucky barnes in recovery #recovered bucky barnes #avengers family #domestic avengers #avengers fanfiction #saundrasays #saundraswriting #Interior Design the fic

[radioactivespidey]

So… what is the Ace Tower AU?

So. The beginning to this AU is that Tony doesn’t actually die, the Infinity Gauntlet just takes a lot out of him.

Steve and Bucky get together, there’ll be more on both of these alternate endings in the next section.

And then the Avengers all kind of go their separate ways, and it’s truthfully a rather sad goodbye because they had bonded so much and they truly are a family.

So they’re apart for a couple months.

Until Tony finally, finally is able to go out in the world again. And he realizes he misses his family. Not Morgan and Pepper, but his family of a bunch of idiots who have laughed together, cried together, and fought together.

So. He buys a building.

He calls it Ace Tower and spends the next couple weeks designing it carefully and lovingly, and then he calls up the Avengers. And he asks them to move in with him.

He even chokes up a bit when he tells them how much he misses them, and then they’re all kind of sniffling and laughing into the phone with teary eyes and Scott is the first one to speak: “I think I speak for all of us when I say hell yeah.”

The next couple weeks are busy and insane, with the Avengers gradually moving in, showing up with boxes of stuff and their family behind them (Tony made it very, very clear that family was more than welcome) and huge smiles on their faces and each of them hugs Tony tight when they see him. And in three weeks they’re all there and they get a tour of the absolutely huge building with Pepper guiding them and you can hear kids laughing and wine glasses clinking and the soft murmur of significant others conversing and Tony just grins to himself and thinks- yeah. This is home.

Below is an image of what I like to think Ace Tower looks like- maybe a little fancier and shinier and it’s in the middle of nowhere, not surrounded by other buildings.

How do Endgame and Far From Home fit into this?

Literally everything in the MCU storyline up until Tony’s snap is the same. (Actually, that’s not true. I love Loki with my whole heart so let’s just say he’s still alive and it turns out he faked his death the whole time or something. This might not even be a headcanon, I have literally no idea if he’s still alive or not but his series makes it seem as if he is?? Who knows.) This whole AU starts with Tony not dying (yay!!). He does the snap and it takes a lot out of him and he goes unconscious, and everyone seriously thinks he’s going to die, but they manage to get him to a doctor in time and his severe wounds are treated.

So he is basically shoved into bedrest for weeks, and he heals and decides to retire from being Iron Man- he just wants to spend time with his family and friends.

Steve returns all the stones but comes back and as soon as he steps out of the portal he kisses Bucky, and the latter is shocked because he totally thought that Steve would spend the rest of his life with Peggy. But they both confess their love to each other literally right in front of everyone and it’s mushy and happy and they’d be lying if they said they didn’t cry.

That’s basically it for Endgame. FFH is about the same, but Tony isn’t dead, he just is not Iron Man anymore. This keeps the whole thing in FFH about who the next Iron Man is going to be, with Peter feeling pressured and missing Tony’s advice the whole time. Tony still gives EDITH to Peter (but would it be called EDITH if he’s not dead? ERITH? Even Retired I’m The Hero?) and Peter still makes the dumb mistake of giving the glasses to Mysterio, but it’s alright because it’s all resolved in the end. Basically right after FFH, maybe a couple weeks later, Tony asks the gang to move in.

We’re gonna pretend the mid-credit scene of FFH didn’t happen because… that is a major anxiety stressor. Or if it did happen, everything got fixed in a matter of hours. I’ve heard that this happens in the comics and Dr. Strange swoops in and somehow everything gets resolved and Peter’s identity is intact- I have no idea how true this is, but let’s say that it did happen for the sake of my sanity. I just. I worry over Peter, okay? He’s been through enough.

What headcanons and ships are in this AU?

The main ships are Peter/MJ and Steve/Bucky. There’s a little bit of Thor/Bruce (because it’s an absolutely underrated ship) but it’s not central at all. There is also Tony/Pepper, but that doesn’t count because it’s already canon. To be honest, none of these ships are that important to the AU, if you take them out it would still be about exactly the same, I just really like those ships.

The headcanons aren’t that many, it’s mostly just me desperately trying to make up for the queerbaiting/lack of LGBT+ rep in the MCU lmao. I am a fierce lover of trans + bi Peter, so that is included in the story, as well as Steve being bi, Bucky being gay or bi, Nat being lesbian (why do I love that so much?), etc. Just like the ships, they aren’t central or that important to the AU, I just enjoy envisioning the characters that way. I’m just really really really hoping Marvel gives Valkyrie a girlfriend, at least.

I also headcanon Bucky, Steve, and Peter to have PTSD and/or anxiety, as well as Tony of course. I just really need my mental health rep, y’all. Peter has been through so much, you cannot tell me he doesn’t have PTSD and anxiety because I’ll sigh extremely deeply. And it might come off this way, so I just want to say that I am not romanticizing mental illnesses, I just cope with them myself and having my favorite characters share some of that burden with me would be really cool. So. Yeah. I like to think that the four of them help each other out when they’re having depressive episodes or panic attacks or such.

But yeah. Those are most of the headcanons and such in this AU. I have quite a few minor ones but I am not going to waste anyone’s time by listing them. And if you want to hop on this “I hate the Endgame ending and since Marvel isn’t fixing it by God I’ll do it myself” bandwagon with me, feel free to come up with your own ships and headcanons. This AU was made to fill in all the gaps and come up with alternate endings for the characters. It’s a place to let your imagination run wild. If you want Natasha to run away and become a world-renowned chef, go for it, you know?

Ace Tower Layout:

It’s on this huge isolated field that has plenty of backyard space for stupid shenanigans, soccer goals and balls shoved up in one corner and ten barbecue grills and a vegetable garden that Bruce takes care of lovingly. There’s even a pool where a lot of crazy things happen.

There are ten floors, and there is a very helpful and speedy elevator to take them places. It is big and strong enough that Bruce doesn’t have to take the stairs, which he is very thankful for.

- Level 1: nothing much, just a sitting area and a scanner so only authorized people can pass through.

- Level 2: the labs, where all the nerds spend time. There’s plenty of high-tech gear and lab equipment to play around with and when Peter can’t sleep and wakes up with panic attacks he and Tony go down there and just tinker with things while Aunt May sits down with a good book and watches them with an incredibly fond smile on her face.

- Level 3: the gym and training room. There’s exercise equipment and also just a huge mat to spar and train. Natasha beats almost everyone who steps on that mat with her. Sometimes they have competitions where they’re allowed to fight dirty and use their powers and that is when it gets really chaotic.

- Level 4: the living room, it’s basically like a home theater and it’s stuffed with couches and pillows and blankets. They have a projector that shows the movie on an entire wall and they have movie nights with all the Avengers every Friday. A huge stack of board games is in one corner and there are five microwaves and hundreds of microwaveable popcorn packets and when someone brings in M&Ms all hell breaks loose.

- Level 5: the kitchen. Everyone has a kitchenette in their little apartment but they like spending time in the kitchen because there’s always someone there. It’s truly gigantic and sometimes they hold actual baking competitions, where they split into teams and have like three hours to make a giant wedding cake and it is insanely chaotic but by the end all of their stomachs hurt from laughing so much. They have dinner together every night, and it’s a time that they all look forward to.

- Level 6 and on are where the Avengers live. Each floor is separated into about 2-3 apartments (depending on how many people live on that floor), each one made especially for the person/family that lives there (Tony really outdid himself).

- Level 6: Apartment #1 is occupied by Scott, Hope, and Cassie (Cassie spends time with Jim and Maggie every two weeks, they are all a very happy family and Cassie loves Hope to death). Apartment #2 is occupied by Clint and his family. The two families actually get along very well.

- Level 7: Apartment #1 is occupied by Rhodey. Apartment #2 is occupied by Doctor Strange.

- Level 8: Apartment #1 is occupied by Steve and Bucky. Apartment #2 is occupied by Sam. Apartment #3 is occupied by Natasha. They absolutely love their floormates (is that even a word) and Sam and Bucky have the best rivalry with each other. They usually end up arm wrestling with Steve and Natasha watching in the background, the former with a look of horror and the latter with a huge smile on her face.

- Level 9: This level is kind of weird. Bruce almost has the entire floor to himself since he is a very big guy, but there is also a guest room section for when Thor and Loki decide to drop by (Loki and the people of Asgard never died OKAY they just relocated). Bruce is always super happy to see Thor and eventually he becomes good friends with Loki once he stops turning himself into a snake.

- Level 10: Apartment #1 is occupied by Tony, Pepper, and Morgan. Apartment #2 is occupied by May and Peter.

What am I going to do with this AU?

Honestly? I have no clue.

To be honest, chances are that this idea is not original at all and there about a hundred other variations of this exact same AU. If there are, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I just want these characters to be happy.

I highly highly doubt that this AU will get attention anyway. The only reason why I’m making a Tumblr page for this is just to keep all my ideas in one place and to have a site to direct any friends to if they ask about this.

I might write some fics for this (shameless plug: my ao3 user is coffeebiscuits and I have only one MCU related fic up there [it’s Stucky- big surprise, right?] but I am working on others alright?) or maybe write even more headcanons. I might just never touch this AU again and revisit it in 5 years and cringe. We’ll see.

But- whether you are one of my poor friends that I dumped this AU on or some random person that stumbled upon this- if you have any ideas or suggestions for this AU or where to go with it, please please talk to me! Either on here or on insta, where I am @radioactivelatte (I gotta stop with this self promo). Just talk to me about any ideas, or just Marvel, or your day. I don’t know. My dm’s are always open, though.

So that’s it! That’s the basic information for this AU. I have a ton of headcanons and little storylines for this, and I might put them up here just for fun, who knows? Or if I ever write a fic that’s based on this, I’ll put a link for that up here as well.

Stick around for more news if you want. Or don’t. I don’t control you.

-ethan

#marvel #mcu #stucky #marvel au #mcu au #stucky au #marvel fic #mcu fic #stucky fic #petermj #spideychelle #thorbruce #thunderscience #marvel ships #mcu ships #mcu shitpost #endgame fix it #....anyway #this au is my baby #it took me so long to write #please give it love #sobs loudly #and by the way i do not text like this at ALL #i text like a gen z kid i just wanted this to look professional

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 6]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: food mentions, eating, nightmares, crying, swearing, a poor excuse for the “sharing a bed” trope, anxiety, depression, possibly something else but it really is mostly fluff this chapter

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

When he’d agreed to stay with Patton’s family, Virgil really hadn’t thought about the fact that they would have dinner together every night, but here he was, sitting in their kitchen with a heaping plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans as they talked about anything and everything. He absently ate his food, not really listening to their conversation. It felt like he was intruding, even though they’d offered to take him in.

“So, Virgil. We hear you go to school with Patton. Do you have any classes with him?” Mrs. Shea asked. Virgil nearly choked on his food with the shock of being addressed so casually.

“Um, no. I don’t,” he responded quickly. He might’ve had some in the past, but high school was just one big blur to him. No use in keeping memories if there aren’t any to save.

“I see.” Mr. Shea hummed thoughtfully. “Do you have any fun classes this semester? Pat’s taking child guidance and he really enjoys it!” 

“I have Graphics III and a Theatre independent study where I basically make sure everything's running smoothly for the shows.” Virgil pushed the remaining food around on his plate, determined to not make an ass of himself in front of people he barely knew.

“You do theatre? Pat, isn’t Roman trying out for ‘Cinderella?’” Mr. Shea seemed to be determined, too; however, his determination lied in a need to ask as many questions possible.

“Of course he is! He’d never pass up an opportunity to be on stage, especially if he can be a prince,” Patton said with a touch of platonic love in his voice. Virgil was shocked that Roman was trying out for the show. It wasn’t like the kid gave off a constant aura of drama or anything.

“I don’t act, just to be clear. I’m set designer and head of sound, so I deal with all of the sound effects and mics.” He’d never try out for a show. First, he had no interest to put himself on stage in a dumb costume in front of all of his peers, and second, he really, really didn’t want to have to spend more time with the snobby actors than he had to.

“Well, that’s fun!” Mrs. Shea said with a large smile. Virgil just nodded and took another bite of his mashed potatoes. The conversation luckily turned back to Patton’s other friends, and he was able to enjoy his dinner in the comfort of the defocused static of voices.

---

Somehow Virgil did manage to finish all of his homework the next day and also help Patton finish his. The happy-go-lucky teenager seemed to have some trouble with the more technical subjects like physics but had absolutely no issue with the more creative ones like comm arts. That made sense to Virgil, however, since Patton was much more emotional than logical. It was as if he channeled his emotions into whatever he did without really thinking it through as a step-by-step process.

Sunday night, Virgil went to sleep completely exhausted from the mentally-taxing work that he’d done that day. At around midnight, however, he woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Virgil grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight, leaving it on his nightstand face down so it would partially illuminate his bedroom, and walked to the door. Unsurprisingly, Patton was on the other side with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Surprisingly, wet tear tracks were staining his cheeks.

“Woah, Pat. Are you okay?” Virgil asked.

“I had a nightmare,” Patton softly cried. “It was really vivid, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m all good, see?” Virgil patted himself on the cheeks as some sort of weird assurance. “Do you want to sleep in here? I’ll sleep on the floor, and you can take my bed.” 

The crying boy shook his head. “I don’t want you to have to give up your bed for me. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Patton made a move to go lay his blanket down, but Virgil grabbed his shoulder, easily stopping his movements.

“Okay, since you obviously aren’t going to make this easy for me, how about we just share the bed? There’s plenty of room for two people.” Virgil hesitated on that last part, still not completely comfortable with sharing a bed with someone he’d only met a week ago, but... he knew that Patton wasn’t going to let him be uncomfortable. Pat just nodded and waddled to the side of the bed where the sheets weren’t disrupted and sat down. Virgil followed, but flopped himself down on his own side.

“G’night, Pat. Sleep well.” He turned off his phone’s flashlight and pulled the covers over his head.

“Good night.”

---

When Virgil’s alarm woke him up at 6:30, he found himself with an arm on his waist and his legs tangled with someone else’s. He yelped and accidentally threw himself off of the bed; idly, he realized that his legs still partially hung on the mattress. It took him a few seconds to realize who was in the bed and why they were there, but that still didn’t explain why he’d ended up entangled with Patton.

He sighed and did a backwards somersault to right himself and stood. It probably would be appropriate to wake Patton up so he wouldn’t end up late to school. He sleepily traversed to the other side of the bed and began gently shaking his friend.

“Pat,” Virgil whispered. “Patton, it’s time to get up.” The still-asleep Patton groaned but rolled over, shielding his eyes from the sun filtering through the blinds. It took a little more shaking to actually get him out of the bed, but it was eventually done.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and get changed, so I suppose you should do the same,” Virgil said as he went to gather some clothes from his suitcase and walked into his own personal en-suite bathroom. Still pretty fancy.

Virgil took a short shower, spending just long enough under the water to thoroughly wash his hair and body, and got changed, smudging some dark eyeshadow under his eyes. He pulled on a pair of socks and laced up his favorite black high tops, being careful not to get any of his skinny jeans stuck inside. That was an uncomfortable mistake he’d learned to avoid after one fateful day.

He left his room at the same time Patton did, who was wearing another light-blue t-shirt with a grey cardigan tied around his waist. Any signs of his nightmare had been completely washed away.

“Hey, kiddo! Your outfit looks awesome!” Pat had a giant smile on his face.

“Uh, thanks… Your… shoes… look good?” Virgil didn’t know if he was supposed to return the compliment, so he tried. It didn’t work too well.

“Thanks! Let’s head downstairs and get some breakfast.” The duo made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Shea was waiting with scrambled eggs and toast.

“If either of you need more food, I put the extras in the fridge in the red Tupperware container.” Mrs. Shea walked out of the kitchen, but Virgil had no idea where she had gone. He still hadn’t been in any of the rooms besides his and Pat’s bedrooms, and the whole layout of the house was a bit of a mystery. The adults obviously had a bedroom, but it didn’t seem like it was upstairs.

Each of the boys took a plate of food and sat down at the kitchen table. Virgil began to munch on his plain toast, idly messing around on his phone. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the kitchen were crunching toast and silverware on ceramic.

“How did you sleep, Virge?” Patton asked before shoving a giant forkful of eggs into his mouth. Virgil could see how Roman described Pat as a “food vacuum” while they were in the hospital.

“Pretty good. How about you--after your nightmare, of course?” Virgil took the final bite of his toast and began on his own eggs.

“I slept great!” Patton replied, but his voice became slightly more sheepish. “Thanks for letting me stay in your room.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pat,” the other reassured. It truly wasn’t a bother to Virgil; he’d slept better than he had in a long time. He switched off his phone to retain his full attention on his friend.

“Well, still. Thanks.” Patton glanced down at his watch. “We should probably finish up eating soon. Logan and Roman should be here soon to pick us up.”

Virgil nodded and scooped some more eggs into his mouth. It only took him another minute to finish and hand his plate to Patton, who had already began to rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher. Virgil ran upstairs to grabbed his backpack, making absolute certain that all of his homework and supplies were packed before bringing the whole thing down. Patton did the same, and they walked outside to sit on the porch together. Just a few minutes later, Logan’s beat-up Intrepid pulled into the driveway blasting “A Girl Worth Fighting For.” Virgil couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of Roman dramatically singing along and Logan’s “I am so fucking done with your shit” expression.

It was going to be a really great day.

next

#sanders sides fic #moxiety #logince #m writes things #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders

[wistfulcynic]

Their Way By Moonlight: Emma (Chapter 4)

Notes: Thank you as always for your comments and feedback, though I confess I've been a bit taken aback by the vehement reaction to Emma and Walsh's cursed marriage. It seems that people hate Walsh in a much more visceral way than I anticipated.  

I do truly appreciate all of you who are reading this, and especially those who have made supportive and encouraging comments. I’m really putting a lot into this one in terms of style, plot, and detail, and it’s hard not to get discouraged when I pour blood and sweat into something only to have everyone focus on one tiny thing. So to ease your minds, here is our first chapter from Emma’s POV. I think it will go a long way towards assuaging your fears about her circumstances under the curse. If you are considering bailing on this fic because of the Emma/Walsh situation, I would ask you please to read this chapter before you make a final decision.  

As before, there are allusions to cursed relationships, and a potentially distressing scene of aggression within a cursed marriage. 

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615@tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer @lfh1962

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please let me know!

Read it on AO3

Emma: 

Emma hesitated outside the door of the old cannery. She wasn’t quite certain of why she was there, or the reason behind the irresistible compulsion she felt to see its disconcertingly attractive new owner again. He had invited her to come by, though of course he’d meant later— the bookstore wasn’t even open yet. But Emma hadn’t been able to wait. Two days had passed since they’d met, since that brief but oddly intense conversation in Granny’s, and she had been unable to get Killian Jones and his son out of her head. Something about them, about him, pulled at her, and it wasn’t just his striking looks, not even the beautiful blue eyes with their expression of profound, compelling sadness. It was something deeper. She felt somehow as though she knew him, and more astoundingly that he knew her, better than anyone, better even than her own husband. Although, she thought with a small start, as though the idea had only just occurred to her, Walsh barely even took the trouble to speak to her these days, much less keep up with what was going on in her life. She’d been meaning to talk to him about that, she remembered suddenly. Yes. She’d been meaning to talk to him about a lot of things, but when the time came to do so she always seemed to forget. Tonight, she promised herself, making a mental note. Tonight they would finally talk. She wouldn’t forget this time.

Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the doorknob with her right hand, the palm of which still tingled from her brief handshake with Killian two days ago, and as she opened the door she remembered how the night before last her sleep had been troubled by disturbing dreams. She could recall only wisps of them, but she was certain he had been in them, he and his eyes, doing things to her that she couldn’t bear to think about in the light of day. Things she couldn’t bear to admit she had loved. 

She really should stay far away from him. And yet here she was, in his shop. 

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, gasping at the sight before her. The room was simply lovely, bright and airy, with sunlight pouring in through the wide windows, dancing across the exposed brick walls and the antique looking dark-wood shelves that stood tall in four distinct sections around the room.  A heavy mahogany desk sat opposite the door, elegantly carved with nautical designs: ships and storms, mermaids and other sea creatures she couldn’t put a name to, all rendered in exquisite detail. Atop it was an antique metal cash register, as elegantly decorated as the desk, sitting alongside, Emma was amused to note, a decidedly modern portable card reader attached to an iPad. Someone had a taste for the ancient but enough sense to appreciate the modern, she thought.

She was so caught up in admiration of her surroundings that she didn’t notice Killian’s arrival until he spoke. 

“Swan?” The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around her, as deep and sonorous as she remembered, almost caressing her name. She turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” she said, feeling abruptly hot and itchy. How was it possible that he could be even better looking than she remembered? Admittedly she hadn’t really had a good look at Granny’s, though she had definitely noticed his face, but now as he stood by the black wrought-iron staircase that wound in a perfect helix up to a hole in the ceiling, his expression briefly unguarded and searingly intense, she had an opportunity to ogle. 

He wore dark grey trousers in a soft woolen twill and an equally soft looking v-neck sweater in a shade of blue that made his eyes stand out even more. A tuft of dark hair peeked out just above the vee, and the itch in Emma’s palm flared to life again with the desire to touch it, to touch him. Everything about him seemed so eminently touchable. The sweater clung to his lean frame just tightly enough to show how fit he was, and his hair was tousled in a way that looked both deliberate and as though it could have been caused by fingers being run through it in the heat of passion. 

What? Emma shook herself. Where the hell did that come from? Remember you’re married. And it’s not like you know anything about the heat of passion, anyway. At least, that’s what Walsh always told her, what he always gave as an excuse for why he didn’t want to touch her. She was cold, he said. Too hard. Not enough. She forced back those thoughts, promising herself once again that she would sit down with Walsh that evening and discuss the problems in their marriage. She dreaded it, but she had to try. They couldn’t go on much longer like this. 

“Uh,” she tried again to respond to Killian’s question. “You said I should come by.” 

“So I did, though I didn���t expect you quite so soon. I’m afraid we’re not open yet.” 

“Yeah, sorry, it was stupid,” she said, turning away. “I was just passing and I thought— never mind, I’ll go—”

“No!” She looked back at him, startled at the vehemence in his voice. He flushed faintly pink and reached up to rub at a spot behind his right ear. “No, you don’t have to go. Please don’t, in fact. I’d be happy to, um, give you a tour? If you’d like.” 

He looked hesitant but also eager, like he really, really wanted her to stay. She smiled. It felt like a long time since anyone had actually desired her company. 

“Okay,” she said, a bit shyly. “I’d like that.” 

A bright smile broke across his face, warm and soft and with just a hint of something wicked beneath it. For a moment Emma forgot to breathe. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Well, why don’t we start here?” he said, coming to stand beside her and indicating the near corner of the room with his left arm. His sleeve was pushed up slightly and she could see the seam where his prosthetic hand joined his arm. She realised with surprise that she hadn’t noticed the other day that he was missing his left hand. He’s missing his left hand. Why did that fact seem so significant to her? It tickled at the back of her mind, like something she needed to remember but couldn’t quite pull from her subconscious. 

“So we’re still waiting on some inventory, but you can see the general layout of the shop,” he was saying. “Reference material is here at the front, with theory guides just here behind it. The practical manuals we have to be a bit more careful with, so they’re back in this corner, some of them will be locked in a special glass cupboard, available on request only. Then here in this corner we have the historical context.” 

Emma frowned, looking more closely at the titles of the books that already graced the shelves. Rare volumes, he’d said the other day, but these were all—

“These are books of magic!” she cried. 

“Oh, aye, did I not mention? That’s our specialty. Books of and about magic.”

She started to laugh, then trailed off when she noticed he didn’t join her. “But you’re not serious?”

“Very serious.”

“Books of magic.” 

“And about magic, aye.” 

“But— magic isn’t real.” 

“There are quite a number of people who would disagree with that assessment, Sheriff.”

“And you’re one of them?” Her voice was rife with disbelief.

“Aye,” he replied, and the sincerity in his face and tone were unmistakable. “I am.” 

She shook her head. “I would never have pegged you as someone with an interest in the occult. You seem so, I dont know, practical.” 

“Oh, I’m very practical, love, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in magic.” 

She wanted to deny his words, really it was so absurd, but she realised with another start of surprise that she was genuinely interested, almost despite herself, curious to the point of fascination. “Will you tell me about them?”

He exhaled deeply, almost as if he had been holding his breath waiting for her reaction, and gave her another dazzling smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Nearly two hours later they were sitting on the floor surrounded by books, and Emma’s head was buzzing with stories of witches and wizards, covens and cults, fascinating details concerning the history and practice of magical arts.  She felt like she had learned more in that short time than she had before in the whole of her life. Of course, her earlier education had been… it had been… what? She couldn’t recall. Frowning, she tried to remember where she had gone to school, the names of her teachers, fellow classmates, anything, but it was all a blank. 

“Emma?” She turned to see Killian looking at her inquiringly. “Are you all right, love?”

She should really object to that ‘love’, she knew, but couldn’t bring herself to. She liked it. It made her feel warm inside. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted.” 

He nodded, and reached out to close one of the books. “We’ve been talking for a long time,” he said. “Perhaps we could take a break?”

She watched carefully as he used the prosthetic hand to close the book. The hand moved, she noticed, clearly it had some sort of mechanism operating it, but he seemed to mange it awkwardly, as though not quite used to it. She wondered how long he’d had— “When did you lose your hand?” she blurted, then flushed. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” 

He looked startled, then smiled. “No, it’s fine. It’s been so long, I don’t mind speaking of it anymore.”

“How long?”

“Oh, years and years.” 

“What happened? Er, if you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Not at all. It was stupid, really. I was young, I got in a fight. Over a woman. Woke up the next day with no hand.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

He shrugged. “Like I said it was years ago.” 

“Mmmmm.” 

“What is it, Swan?” He looked almost expectant, like he knew the gears were turning in her head and was excited to see what they would spit out. She felt again the odd, unfamiliar sensation of being the focus of genuine interest. He truly seemed to care about what she had to say, for no reason other than that she was saying it. 

“It’s just— well, you don’t seem very comfortable with the artificial one. If it’s been so long, I guess I would have thought you’d be more used to it by now.” 

“Ah, well that’s explained easily enough. I lost my hand so long ago that the prosthetics that were available to me at the time were, um, let’s say primitive. This one however is quite new. State of the art, they tell me. It works by interacting with the electrical impulses in my muscle fibres, apparently. So you see, until quite recently I had a much simpler one, and this one, while far better in many ways, is taking a bit of time to adjust to.”

Every word he spoke was the truth, she could detect no dishonesty in his face or manner, yet she sensed it wasn’t the whole story either. He was leaving out important details. And she wondered why. 

As he spoke he adjusted the prosthetic with his right hand, drawing her attention to the thick, engraved silver band he wore on its ring finger. A wedding ring? she wondered. It must be. A man with no left hand would naturally wear his wedding band on his right, wouldn’t he? Especially if until recently he’d worn a simpler prosthesis, one with no fingers. 

She wondered, and not for the first time, about Henry’s mother. Killian’s face when he’d spoken of her in Granny’s had worn for a brief moment such a devastated expression, her loss must still be fresh and painful for him. In a weird way that made her feel better about having sought him out and spent so long talking with him. She was married, he a grieving widower, what harm could there be in a friendship between them? She certainly wouldn’t have to worry about anything coming of the fierce attraction she felt for him. Even if he felt it too, he would never act on it. He was very obviously still in love with his wife, and Emma somehow knew beyond any doubt that he was not a man to betray those he loved. 

“So, um, it’s ah, lunchtime,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. “And it seems we both could use a break. Would you care to join me? For some lunch?”

“Sure, I guess. Where were you going to go?”

“I—, uh, we live upstairs,” he gestured towards the staircase. “The third floor is a loft apartment, I was just going to go up and make a sandwich.” 

Alone with him in his apartment. Emma’s heart thundered. “A sandwich sounds great,” she managed to say. “Can you do grilled cheese?”

His face twisted for a moment into the strangest expression, half blissful happiness, half like he wanted to cry. “I can,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s my son’s favourite.” 

“In that case, I’d love to join you.” 

The grilled cheese was perfect, exactly the way she liked it. She told him as much, and was rewarded with another half-delighted, half-sad expression. “I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch,” he said, almost to himself. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Grilled cheese is— Henry’s mother’s favourite as well,” he said quietly. “Since we lost her we don’t make it as often as we used to.”

Emma didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she crunched her sandwich in slightly awkward silence as he busied himself at the stove, avoiding looking at him until he slid a cup in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked in surprise. 

“Traditional Jones family accompaniment to grilled cheese,” he replied. 

She picked up the mug and inhaled over it. “Hot chocolate with— is that cinnamon?”

“Aye. It’s a bit odd I’ll grant you, and if I’m honest I prefer it plain, but that’s how Henry likes it.”

“Seriously? You’re telling me your son likes cinnamon on his hot chocolate.” 

“Aye.” He seemed to be watching her carefully. 

“Grilled cheese and hot chocolate with cinnamon is my favourite lunch,” she said. “You’re basically telling me that I have the same tastes as your thirteen year old kid.” 

“Would it help if I confessed to an affinity for it as well?” he asked, his face deadpan but with amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

“It might.” 

“Very well, I confess it, but you mustn’t ever tell Henry. I’d never get him to eat a vegetable again if he thought he could wheedle grilled cheese out of me every night.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

The earlier awkwardness was dispelled, and as Killian sat down to eat his sandwich Emma sipped her chocolate —it too was perfect— making it last as long as possible. There was no way she could justify staying any longer once lunch was over, and she didn’t want to go. She felt comfortable with Killian, and happy, things she couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Later she knew she would need to analyse these feelings, but for now she simply wished to feel them. 

When the last drop was finally drained she set the cup down on the counter, then realised it might be nice if she took it to the sink instead and went to pick it up again, at the same time as Killian reached for it himself. Her hand closed around it first followed a second later by his, his fingers linking with hers in a way that felt so natural that it didn’t even occur to her to question it, simply laughing lightly as they released the cup but not each other’s hands. His thumb caressed her bare ring finger. “You don’t wear a wedding ring,” he said softly. 

She could barely breathe her heart was pounding so hard, the gentle movements of his thumb sending sparks coursing up her arm, reverberating through her whole body. “Um,” she said, trying to think. “No, I — I have one of course, but I don’t wear it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Er.” She tried to remember. There was a reason, surely? “I can’t with— with my job. It gets in the way.” Yes, that must be it. 

“Ah.” Something in his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe her, but before she could reply he had released her hand and turned away, picking up the mug and putting it in the sink. 

“I like yours though,” she said abruptly. Where did that come from? 

“What?” He turned, giving her an odd look. 

“Your wedding ring.” She reached out and took his hand again, this time caressing the silver band upon the third finger with her own thumb. “It is a wedding ring, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Aye.” 

“Henry’s mother.” It wasn’t a question and so required no answer, but he gave one anyway. “Aye.” The sadness was back in his voice, this time untempered by any joy.

Emma smiled, feeling suddenly swamped by sadness herself. She felt such a connection to this man, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and she hated to think of him hurting. 

Briefly she allowed herself a rare, uncharacteristic moment of self-indulgence to wonder what it would be like to be loved as devotedly as Killian loved his wife. To be loved even after she was gone. To have such an emotion, from such a man. Swallowing back tears, she looked up at him. “She had good taste. This is exactly the sort of ring I would have chosen.” 

“She’s an extraordinary woman,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes blazing with it. 

Emma nodded, wishing she knew why that remark left such a clutching, squeezing sensation around her heart. 

“Well I should go,” she said, releasing his hand.

He swallowed hard then gave her a small smile, a tight, guarded thing that squeezed her heart again. He looked so sad. She wanted to see the bright, wicked grin from earlier. 

“May I see you out?” he asked politely, his emotions under control again. 

She shook her head, already moving towards the door. “No, it’s fine. But thanks.”

“Any time, love.”

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. “Emma.” 

She looked back at him, gripped by the wild, irrational hope that he might ask her to stay. “What about your husband?” he asked. 

“Who?” She frowned in confusion, then remembered. “Oh, Walsh.” Why had she forgotten him? “What about him?” 

“Does he not wear a ring?”

“Of course he does.” Didn’t he? “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you said ‘would have chosen.’” Killian’s face was calm, but that intensity was back in his eyes. 

“What?”

“Just now, when you looked at my ring you said it’s exactly what you would have chosen. Not what you did choose.” 

There was that confusion again, swirling through her brain and blocking her thoughts. Why couldn’t she think? “I— I must have misspoken.” She rubbed her forehead, which had started to ache. 

He was silent for a long moment before replying. “Of course, I’m sure that’s it. Goodbye, Sheriff.” 

Emma smiled tightly and left. 

When she arrived home that evening, Emma sought out Walsh in his study. He didn’t like her bothering him there but she was confused, her head spinning with questions that needed answers. She’d spent the afternoon in her office with the lights dimmed, nursing her headache and making a list of all the questions she needed to ask him, everything that was odd in their relationship and in her life. It was a long list. Why hadn’t she ever talked to him before? She’d been unhappy for so long…

“What is it, Emma?” Walsh’s voice was cold.

“I just— wanted to talk to you. About some things.” 

He turned and fixed her with the icy, probing stare that never failed to make her tongue-tied and anxious. She wanted to flee, back to the relative safety of the living room, where Walsh rarely went. No! You need answers! Stay strong! 

“Some things,” Walsh repeated. 

“Y-yes.” 

“Well go on,” he waved his hand at her and adopted an expression of exaggerated patience. “We haven’t got all night. What are these ‘things’ that are suddenly so important?”

Emma had spent an hour memorising her list of questions, but now she could only remember one. 

“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” she burst out. “Why don’t I?”

“Of— of course I wear one!” Walsh looked genuinely surprised, his composure slipping enough to rejuvenate her resolve. 

“Walsh I am looking at your hand right now and it is bare,” she said. “Neither of us wear rings. I’m certain I have one, I remember it, but where is it? Why did I stop wearing it?” He gaped at her and she seized her opportunity, letting months worth of questions flood out. “And why don’t we do anything together any more? What happened to our friends? I remember— I think I remember that we used to go out, do things as a couple, with other couples. But we have no friends now, and I stay in alone every night. I feel like I never see you these days, you’re hardly ever home, you never want to have sex—” she broke off as a look of revulsion crossed Walsh’s face, crushing her, stopping the words in her throat. Your own husband finds you repulsive, she thought bitterly, and a small voice at the very back of her consciousness piped up with a single word. “Why?” 

What? thought Emma, and the voice elaborated. “Dont you want to know why?”

A memory flashed through her mind, although no, not a memory, it couldn’t be, but it felt like a memory. The blue, blue eyes of Killian Jones, warm with adoration, his deep voice, his hand in her hair. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he whispered. “So utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful.” 

“Walsh, what’s going on?” she asked, suddenly angry, furious, incandescent with rage. “There’s something very wrong here, and I think you’re behind it. Tell me what it is. Tell me what you’ve done to me!”

Walsh’s face twisted into a terrifying snarl and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him until they were nose-to-nose, drowning her anger in fear. “Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?” he hissed, “Does it by any chance have something to do with our new neighbourhood bookseller?” 

“Wh— what?” Emma scrambled to lie, to protect Killian. “No! Of course not.” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Emma.” Walsh sighed, his face falling back into its usual supercilious, condescending expression. Still holding her arm he turned and picked something up from his desk, a small box in silver filigree, beautiful in a cold and terrible way. “Fortunately it won’t matter. Come morning you’ll be yourself again. Or one of your selves, anyway.” He opened the box with a flick of his thumb and blew a harsh puff of air into it, sending a shower of glittering grey particles flying into Emma’s eyes. She gasped, then collapsed. Walsh held her up with his grip on her arm, then gave her a shove back into the sofa behind her. “That should take care of you for now,” he muttered, looking down at her unconscious form. “It appears that the pirate works faster than I had anticipated. Of course very little that we anticipated about him has turned out to be true. How he even managed to get here in the first place is something I would very much like to know. He is supposed to be stuck in Neverland.” He paused, smirking. “The power of true love, I suppose,” he said, sneering the words. “But he’ll soon be dealt with, him and your son. And now, ‘wife’, off to bed with you.” He waved his hand and Emma disappeared in a puff of green smoke. 

When she awoke the next morning, alone in her bed as always, all her doubts and worries about her marriage along with all recollection of her confrontation with Walsh were gone. 

Her memories of the time she’d spent with Killian Jones, however, were not. 

Notes: I hope this makes you feel a bit better (but still interested enough to want more!). 

#cs ff #cursed storybrooke #captain swan #captain cobra #cursed captain swan #mystery #angst #canon divergence #alternative 3b #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff

[heisenbergchronicles]

APPRECIATION & INTERVIEW

Better Call Saul episode posters by Matt Talbot After 4 nearly years, I thought it was time to catch up with Matt Talbot about his Better Call Saul poster project. The last time we talked during Season 1, Matt was deep in the hustle of making his name as an illustrator: juggling a full-time job, freelance projects, as well as band. Finding time for personal projects like this one can be a significant challenge. (Not to mention surviving the death of your tools: During Season 1 his Mac laptop died, and this season, his Wacom tablet bit the bullet). But despite these challenges, the 43-year-old New Hampshire native has persevered to create a clever and thoughtful series of episode posters that has garnered considerable attention, and brought with it new high-profile clients and art exhibitions. 

First, congratulations on all of your success and recognition with this series of posters. It’s well-deserved. What’s been the most gratifying feedback you’ve received? Thank you! Every interaction I’ve had with anyone from the show has delighted me. I've been surprised by all of the cast and crew members who have said nice things – every note I’ve gotten has meant a lot to me. That being said, Michael McKean randomly tweeting at me that he has my poster for Chicanery hanging in his home blew my mind. I was eating dinner when my phone showed the notification and I literally jumped up from the table. I’ve been a fan of Michael’s since I saw Spinal Tap in the ‘80s and never in a million years would I have guessed I’d make something he valued enough to hang in his home.

Tell me about your contributions to Gallery1988 exhibitions. How does that process work? It's a pretty simple process. They invite me to be part of a show, and I make something to send them. I’m very excited for the opportunity to show there, and I feel like it’s a milestone in my art-making career.

Across the 4 seasons, which BCS posters are your favorites? Which one are you most proud of? I’m particularly fond of Rebecca, Rico, Marco, Switch, Sunk Costs and Something Beautiful. Oh man, it's hard for me to evaluate my own stuff. I tend to like the posters where I find a way to get a different take on something they did in the episode. I would say that “Sunk Costs” is also one of my favorites because I did something differently than how they shot it, and because Mike is so recognizable even from the back. I was also pleased with “Off Brand” because it was when I finally figured out how to draw Bob Odenkirk.

How has your process for creating these posters evolved over 4 seasons? When I started this project I had a vague idea that I would focus on scenes rather than portraits or likenesses, but that didn’t even last half a season! The characters were too good not to include. In that way, the posters have evolved in my willingness to draw characters, and also, hopefully, my ability to draw them. 

My process is now something like: Watch the show on Monday; think about it on Tuesday, figure out what stood out to me and do a thumbnail sketch or two; draw it on Wednesday night; post it Thursday afternoon. I’m a bit faster at drawing these now compared to when I started. And I’m a bit more decisive on choosing which subject matter to depict.

There have been quite a few changes on the visual side of Better Call Saul over the last 2 seasons. New directors (Minkie Spiro, Daniel Sackheim, and Andrew Stanton), a new cinematographer Marshall Adams, even new cameras. What are your thoughts on how the show’s visual grammar has evolved? Has any of this impacted your posters from Seasons 3 & 4? I try not to just redraw literal scenes from the show, and I don’t need to tell you that they shoot the show in an incredibly beautiful way. I mean, they always, always, pick the best angle, the best shot to capture something. For that reason, it’s sometimes hard to to come up with another take on a moment from the show.

That being said, the visual style hasn’t really impacted my posters as much as the evolving subject matter has. The show, I think, is substantially darker than it was in the early going. It was easier to depict Jimmy’s hi-jinx in the first couple seasons. But with Chuck’s deteriorating mental state, the cartel stuff, Mike going deeper into Fring’s world and of course, Jimmy’s loosening sense of morals, the funny moments are harder to spot. That’s lead me to some more somber layouts and color choices.

We didn’t discuss this in our first interview. Which typeface are you using in your posters, or is this custom typography? The main logo and episode titles are set in Sign Painter, from the excellent House Industries.

The Heisenverse is known for it’s color theory and use of color. How has that impacted your color choices in these posters? I’ve kind of adhered to their blue=good/red=bad symbolism, but I also try to balance out colors between episodes and not repeat myself in sequential posters.

Many of your posters (especially ones this season) use a monochromatic, or simple palette of 1-2 colors. Tell me more about why you chose that approach. Is this a signature of your style? I’ve seen this approach in a lot of your work. You know, in the early seasons, I was trying to use simpler color palettes, but I wasn’t very disciplined and I got away from that. I’m trying to stick to a more consistent style in season 4. It is a conscious decision. I also feel like with the week-to-week nature of this project, it helps quickly set apart each poster. And, I really do love limited color palettes. Giving myself color constraints helps me figure out different ways to solve layout problems.

I’ve heard other illustrators say that Bob Odenkirk’s facial features are tricky to capture. Do you share that sentiment? Which characters are more challenging to illustrate? I do agree with that. I had a really hard time with him at first. I kind of think I have a better handle on it now, but I’m always trying to get better. I feel like if you can get his mouth right, it goes a long way.

I found Hector hard to capture both times I drew him. Mike, on the other hand, is just pure fun to draw. Jonathan Banks is so distinctive and iconic.

What’s been the most difficult poster thus far? Why was it challenging? Maybe it’s because a lot of time has gone by, but I can't think of one that stands out as having been really difficult.

Francesco Francavilla did alternate posters for some of his Breaking Bad posters. Inevitably, when artists look back at their work, they consider revising or redoing it because of a variety of reasons – their point of view has changed, their skill/style has evolved, or maybe they were never truly content with the final product. Looking back at 4 seasons worth of posters, are there any that make you want to scratch the revision itch? Yeah, more than I would care to admit. I would really like another crack at Amarillo. I know I could do a better job and that drawing is just super flat. In season two, I decided to to experiment with style and I kind of wish I hadn't. I like Cobbler, but I wish I had drawn it in my normal style. I would redraw Nailed for sure. Oh man, if I start going down this road it's not going to end well, so I'll just stop.

You mentioned earlier this season you were excited to draw Track Suit Jimmy. Who or what haven’t you drawn, that you are eager to illustrate? Howard! It bums me out to no end that I haven't drawn him, but it just hasn't worked out. And I need to include Kim more. It's kind of criminal that her face only appeared for the first time in a poster this season.

What’s your opinion of Season 4? Tell me about your favorites – episode, scene, character. I think season 4 is brilliant so far. The Kim/Jimmy relationship has deepened so much this season, and feels so real, but full of inevitable heartache. Oh, the flash-forward to Breaking Bad’s timeline was amazing. Mike doing his audit in the Madrigal warehouse. Really, anything Michael Mando does on screen. It's hard to pick. I so enjoy the deliberate pace of this show.

Where’s your favorite place to discuss the show? I honestly don’t talk about it too much online, though I lurk in a few places and read a lot. I actually discuss it mostly with my wife!

I know you get this question a lot, so let’s cover it here so folks understand: Do you have plans to sell any of this work online? I really appreciate that people like it enough to want to buy it or hang it, but I don't plan to sell the Better Call Saul posters online. I’m doing this for fun, not to make a buck off the show, and I don’t own the rights to sell it anyway.

What’s next for Matt? Do you have any other poster or illustration projects in the works? Is you band performing soon? I have several more pieces for Gallery1988 shows coming up. I’m pulling together an art show at a local brewery for whom I design all of their labels and stuff. I’m patiently waiting for a t-shirt I designed for one of my all-time favorite movies to be announced. And for the past several Octobers, I spent the month drawing a horror poster per day. I’m not sure if logistically I can do that again this year, but I’ll probably fit at least a few in. We’ll see how it goes. Sadly, with all of my illustration work, I haven’t had any time for music making, but someday I hope to get back to that!

Follow Matt: Web site / Tumblr / Twitter / Dribbble / Instagram / PosterSpy

– Interview by Shayne Bowman, Heisenberg Chronicles

#better call saul #artist interview #matt talbot #mine #heisenberg chronicles #illustration #fan art #posters #favorites #mattrobot #bcs season 4 #gallery1988 #g1988 #house industries #sign painter

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X16 - The Miller’s Daughter

I actually don’t have a pun this time, but if you want to read some semi-interesting thoughts on this episode, comedy bits that may or may not be funny, and for me to try to analyze costumes despite having fork all knowledge about them, then come with me and you’ll be in a world of fairytale serialization!

Press Release Cora’s desire to rid herself of Rumplestiltskin in order to take his place as The Dark One takes one step closer to becoming reality as she and Regina try to overpower a dying Mr. Gold, and Mary Margaret is once again tempted by dark magic. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was, Rumplestiltskin agrees to offer his services to a younger Cora - for a price - when the king calls her bluff and orders her to actually follow through on her boast of being able to spin straw into gold. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past Cora’s psyche was FABULOUSLY written in this segment. She’s not completely unsympathetic, but seeing the things that tick her off and her suggestion of “bloodlust” as her fuel for her magic show that she’s a psychopath. She wants to torture people for looking down on her and it’s appropriately petty. Her ambitions are so strong and appealing to her that they eclipse even her sense of love. We get such a complex picture of this woman here and it frames her perfectly for the tragic fate that comes upon her in the present.

Cora, you are an evil woman but I’d be lying through my teeth if I said you didn’t rock that dress! Actually, despite knowing fork all about fashion, I want to continue. Let’s talk about the use of color in this scene. Cora’s wearing a red and black dress, though it’s predominantly red. I feel like this can be read (Or rather, RED XD ) as Cora being a person who wants bloodlust and who is finally deciding to let the blackness in her heart take over in order to get what she wants. Also lets not the silver on he dress as well in the form of the jewel or brooch (Note my lack of fashion know how), a small but noticeable reflection of the values Henry Sr. wants in a wife. And speaking of, Henry Sr. is dressed, not only in white, but white and silver. The white, of course, is his sense of goodness which does win out in the end, but the silver to me stands in for the speckle of darkness that his future endeavors with an evil Cora and an eventually evil Regina will be involved in. Finally, let’s look at the king. His clothes are roughly half black and half white. I read that as him ultimately having good intentions for his son and kingdom but being wicked for all that he puts Cora through, knowing her rank, status, and likely abilities.

While I understand that this borders of shipping stuff, and I usually separate that, I like how while Cora and Henry Sr. have a relationship that’s not at all antagonistic at the very start, they don’t spend enough time together to discover whether or not it’s love, making their dysfunction later on make so much sense. Present I have a lot to say about Snow wanting to kill Cora...just not here, if that makes sense. While I remember it going overboard in upcoming episodes (Prepare for the longest eye roll in the world when Snow goes on about how it was easy to kill Cora), it’s really well executed here. Snow riles herself up to kill Cora and when it finally happens, she realizes how she wasn’t ready for the internal consequences in regards to her heart and sense of goodness (Not to mention her safety from Regina!). Snow’s rage from the last episode’s ending is still so present, and it’s appropriately framed as a risky path she might not want to take, but just might have to.

Snow utterly GETS Regina as she’s giving her the heart. It’s horribly twisted just how much she’s able to pick on Regina’s need for a mother’s love and use that to get Regina to kill Cora. That moment really struck as the one where she realized (And me) that for as tactical as the move was, it may have been too cruel. All Encompassing I love seeing Cora as she started out because it says so much about the presentation she’s built around herself over the course of her rise to power. Cora has a fiery and snippy temper that she can just hardly control, even among the royals who she so desperately wants to be one of. The Cora of the present composes herself so well and it’s such an interesting contrast, especially in the moments when that anger does comes out.

It’s such an interesting contrast as the scene where Emma learns how to use magic cuts to the one where Cora learns to use magic. In the Emma scene, Rumple has her conjuring a mental idea of those she loves and wants to protect and why so that she can help others. Meanwhile, in the Cora scene, the ideas Rumple has Cora conjure have to deal with those she wants to harm and kill so that she can better her own status. It’s a great point of contrast not only for the two characters, BUT also for how light magic and dark magic are uniquely created. Also, given how Rumple is a Dark One who was at one point a Savior (Though I acknowledge that that might not have been created at the time), it’s great to see Rumple at the cornerstone of both lessons, showing a sympathy and understanding for both women.

“I realized no matter how good I was or how hard I worked, I was never gonna be more than I am now.” Cora and SNow are conflicting characters in this episode, and it’s so cool to see that at one point (Obviously longer for Snow by a huge margin), both women held the idea that goodness being the cause of good fortune as true. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -I love the design of Cora’s home in the past. With the placement of her father in the wheelbarrow and the dirty colors all around, it really highlights the squalor that Cora’s lived in all her life. Additionally, the castle in the still quite visible distance is the perfect thing to show her ambition to be more than she is and ascend to royalty. The melancholic music in the background just brings it all home. -Going off of my last review, I love how Eva is characterized in her small moment. The trip is pre-mediated (But in a smart way) and the Season 3 episode where they first meet even gives more of a reason as to why she was so horrible here. -Those bunks are actually roomier than I thought they’d be for a pirate ship. -I like Rumple’s subversion of expectations with Emma as he asks if she wants him to die before they return to Storybrooke. He always expects the worst out of people (As semi-justly as that mentality is) and when they show that that’s he’s wrong (whether he understands that or not) is just so nice! -”I-I’m not wicked.” You are about to kill at least four people! Yes, you are wicked! Or evil, since ‘wicked’ is more of Zelena’s schtick. -Also, Cora’s reaction to the phone call is hysterically petty. She’s like a cat. -Yes, Regina! Doubt her! (fork me with a rusty fork, the dialogue is just AMAZING here!) -*wistfully sighs* The stylized design of this ball is so beautiful. The masks, the dancing, the layout! It’s so distinct! -I have to ask: Does Cora know that that’s Henry Sr. when she originally gossips about him right to his face? On one hand, I’m not sure we’re supposed to interpret that that way, but on the other hand, it’s a very Cora thing to do. -It’s really weird to see someone on this show say ‘whore’ (“Whoring” in context, but still!). -”Cora. Sounds like something breaking.” I can’t say that I agree with you, Rumple. Cora’s a lovely name! We just need someone less evil to have it! -”Can ya read”” I think this is the first time Rumple’s actually checked to see if someone could read! He really should do that more! Like, so many of the people he deals with are defenseless peasants! So what the hell?! -Love that pen, Rumple! THAT is a deal-making pen! -”For a rainy day.” You say that a lot, Rumple. What, did a rainy day eat your dog or something? -”And there’s no coming back from death, either.” Give it a season, Rumple. And then another. And Then Another. And. Then. Another. AND THEN ANOTHER! I don’t hate this plot device, but it really happens a lot! XD -”...When he learns that you killed his grandpa.” Rumple, the other solution is her killing his adoptive grandma/great-grandma. This isn’t as much of a point in your favor as you think it is! XD -I love how they showed Emma using magic here. You really feel the step-by-step process in how it’s done. I wish they’d use that filming style more often in the future, but I guess I get that the creators acknowledge that we get the deal in the later seasons. -”I rip out his throat and I crunch his veins with my teeth.” That is amazingly disturbing imagery! Like, the writing of those lines are so impactful and frankly scary! -”To a child.” So, I don’t know if this was the fault of casting, but Eva and Cora are too close in age for the difference to be all that remarkable. -”I want their kneecaps to crack and freeze upon the stones. I want their necks to break from bending.” Another instance of disturbing as all here writing, but done so eloquently that it’s beautiful. -I like how Regina and Cora are able to pretty easily take down Emma’s protection spell together while Cora takes longer to do it on her own, showing that even though Emma’s the Savior and indeed powerful, she still has a lot to learn. -Also, good on you, Emma for giving Regina a last chance! -”WHEN YOU SEE THE FUTURE, THERE’S IRONY EVERYWHERE!” Finally! I not only now know for life where that forking quote comes from, but after referencing it time after time, it’s so good to hear it again! -Another note on the costume colors: The only time Cora rejects her ambitions are when she’s wearing her opposite color: White. The goodness in her is so overpowering! -I love the distorted version of the classic Once tune that plays as Snow is getting Cora’s heart. -”At least this cursed power will pass from this world.” I’m not sure how I feel about this line when it comes to Rumple, given how just two episodes ago, he was so on team magic, but given that the dagger both threatens his family now and caused the initial separation from Bae, I can understand the sentiment. -I’d like to think that when Cora sent Emma and Neal away, she essentially just did it via subconscious randomizer! XD -”Did you ever love me?” Given everything that happened with Milah, it makes sense that Rumple would ask this going forward with his romantic endeavors. -”I did nothing.” Yes, you did! Rumple, who the here told Snow about the freakin’ candle the second time? I love you, man, but don’t weasel completely out of this! -Something I noticed: So, I know that the point of contention with Regina blaming Snow for Daniel’s death is a hot topic (Hell, I even saw a debate about it this morning), and I can’t help but feel like this was written partially so that Regina would have a more...legitimate reason to hate Snow. Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Rumple Finding Baelfire/Neal - I actually discuss there two in just a moment! Regina’s Redemption - This episode definitely shows Regina’s sense of good and evil being pit against each other and Cora is right in the middle of it. In the shop, she’s directly by Regina’s side and there, she won’t even entertain the idea of Emma’s offer to change sides. But when Cora and Regina are separated, and the idea of Cora’s real love is brought up, that’s when we see her goodness win. Cora in Storybrooke - Here concludes this arc, and I honestly loved it. Like all of the best villains and their arcs, Cora leaves so much on the floor (Apart from her corpse, that is) in terms of emotional issues for our main cast, especially Snow and Regina. The arc itself  was also well written and well paced. Not to mention, it mixed very well with Regina’s Redemption by forcing it to be turned back a bit, showing that Regina’s redemption won’t be so easy. Favorite Dynamic Rumple and Neal - These guys have a scene that’s maybe half a forking minute and they steal the god damned episode with it. Rumple finally gets to say what we all know he really wanted to say. And what I especially love here is how Neal hears him out but does not forgive him! Like, Rumple is dying and he doesn’t fully absolve him, and I think that was such a bold and brilliant thing for Espenson to do. It shows that Neal’s pain, even in this moment, still matters, and while there can be softness, that pain hasn’t gone away. It’s such a small, but insightful understanding of their relationship. Writer Jane Espenson hit the writing out of the forking park! At least a few times during the episode had such intricate language. Honestly, it almost freaks me out a bit with the imagery she painted during the ‘bloodlust’ scene with the way she has Rumple and Cora speak about the harm they wish to inflict on those who scorned them! While there are errant lines here and there that I don’t like (I jotted a few down in “Insights”, they’re so few and far between that they hardly matter. The storytelling and character work here is great, too. She took advantage of all of the little nuances from the other episodes and shows just how much attention she was paying here. Rating Golden Apple. This was a great end to Cora’s story. Intersped with two fantastic stories that connect pretty well are great character moments between our main cast. It’s incredibly solid for an episode that serves as such a big moment of culmination, but it is. It’s entertaining, heartwarming, heartbreaking, disturbing at some points, and everything else in between. The feeling of tension as the Mills/Charming-Stiltskin war comes to a head is present through the entire flashback and Cora’s backstory only shows how much of a threat she truly is. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - I like how David knows Snow well enough to know exactly what killing Cora will do to her psychologically. A subtle moment like that really shows how well these two click. Golden Heart (Cora/Rumple) - I’d be lying if I didn’t say there weren’t sparks that could light the Enchanted Forest up like a menorah between Rumple and Cora. I love the way they bond over bloodlust and their kiss in front of the mirror while Cora’s in her wedding dress is a little hot! Look, I LOVE mopey dopey puppy love ships like Snowing, Rumbelle, or Captain Swan, but I LOVE villain ships! I love when a couple loves evil and each other, the exact order notwithstanding and this episode gives me exactly what I want. In another world, I would totally have had Rumple and Cora be together and have episodes and be recurring villains, but that (partially) doesn’t happen. Still, I’m grateful for what we get here. Also, I love when while Cora places her heart on Rumple’s chest, he says “I will show you EVERYTHING,” meaning his heart and love as well. I’ve also got to point out that Rumple and Cora can do that thing that the True Loves do when their kisses can be indicative of when something is wrong. Finally, Cora’s pentultimate dying words are “this would’ve been enough,” and Rumple and Regina are the only two in the scene, meaning that she would’ve wanted to be with them as a family. Rumbelle - I could honestly just put the entire phone call here and it would cover everything I want to say. It’s such a beautiful goodbye. However, I’m going to reference just a single line that comes in early on. “You are a hero.” Rumple knows how much being a hero means to Belle and that’s the first thing he tells her. It’s her ambition for herself and he places that ahead of her ambitions for him. That’s just heartbreaking. And it’s here that Rumple first says a sentiment that carries him to the series finale: “You make me wanna go back to the best version of me.” And that forking almost silent “Thank you, Belle” legitimately choked me up. ()()()()()()()()() Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales!

Wow. After all the pain that Cora caused, Storybrooke’s more or less a new town! I guess we should welcome ourselves there. ;) See you next time. Season 2 Tally (142/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (39/60) Jane Espenson (35/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x16 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

[easy-tae-breezy]

Unexpected Enthusiast | Neighbour!au Chapter 2

Members: Ten/Reader 

Genre:  Neighbour!au  | Fluff

Word Count: 2,000

Chapter: 1 2 3

Mini Recap- You’re a manhwa artist locked out of your apartment after grocery shopping. When none of your friends want to help you, fate decides for you to go seek help from your neighbour, Ten. 

As much as you wanted to decline his offer, you knew that the ice cream you just bought would inevitably melt and no longer be the same glorious confection that it used to if you were not to let Ten take your shopping. And with that, you were convinced –

‘Perhaps this is for the best..? I’ll just double check no one else is available…’

You rapid-fire-text your best friend to win her over and get her to help you out instead of your neighbour.

-

You, 16:13 PM

Yo, Ten’s helping me out with my groceries. A COMPLETE stranger is being a better friend than you, man. Step up ya game 😏

You, 16:13 PM

I’m safe by the way, thanks for asking…

A+ Amigo, 16:13 PM

Y/n???? who tf is Ten?? 😮😮😮

You, 16:14 PM

You know that dude you passed by when you visited last Tuesday? The one you called ‘super duper cute’? Yeah, him. MY neighbour.

A+Amigo, 16:14 PM

HoLY Cow!! Bro, if I come pick you up… promise to introduce me??

You, 16:14 PM

Hahaha, I knew you’d pull through 😘

A+ Amigo, 16:14 PM

I’m on my way y/n’s cute neighbour!

-

‘Wow…So much for being busy, huh? Such a snake haha,’ you mentally roll your eyes at how your friend was easily swayed into helping you as soon as an attractive male was involved.

Somewhat hesitantly you step into his familiarly constructed apartment and take off your shoes at the doorway. Looking around, the layout was similar enough to your flat next door: a simple bathroom to the right, an open space studio and kitchenette tucked into the far left beside the veranda. However, this flat was personalised and furbished completely differently to your minimalistic, light focused flat. Instead, Ten’s walls were the complete opposite: painted black with one entire side shielded by a large mirror and a hi-fi set strategically placed against it. His home screamed dancer and swag. The studio barely had any litter or long forgotten laundry that boys his age would usually have, totally throwing you off guard even more.

‘How strange..?’

The flat was tastefully peppered with red features and decor, such as burgundy shelves pent up above his crimson sofa and a red bookshelf alongside it to match.

Ten was now kneeling in front of his fridge, carefully clearing space for some of your groceries while flowing into idle, easily-flowing conversation.

“So what are you gonna do now that the landlord is temporarily away? Have you found a place to stay yet?”

“Yeah, luckily a friend gave in and said she’d pick me up in a bit,” you explain as you continue to aimlessly looked out of his studio window.

Ten turns his head temporarily revealing a glimpse of his slightly saddened, puppy-eyed expression but quickly returns to his task thinking that you hadn’t noticed.

“Honestly though, you must think it’s pathetic that a grown woman can barely remember her own key code.” You bitterly chuckle at yourself under your breath.

Your eyelids flutter shut with internal frustration and disappointment. Never had you been so forgetful in all your years of life.

 It was embarrassing.

 The recent move completely changed you. Despite the freedom thrust upon you, the liberty you had once wished for finally being granted right before you, you now wanted nothing more than to be semi-dependent on someone. Not fully leaning on a person, just faintly - or at least enough to know that you weren’t alone in the new city.

“I just haven’t been able to fully settle and feel comfortable after moving out here on my own…”

You sigh as a gloominess begins to engulf you while you stand awkwardly in the middle of his flat.

“No!” Ten exclaims as he rises from the fridge, shutting its door as he did so. “That’s such a brave move on your part! Do you remember when I asked if you needed help moving your boxes up the stairs on that day the elevator stopped working?”

You nod and smile at the strangely fond memory. Never had you felt your thigh muscles burn so much.

“And you immediately shot me down! Said it was your ‘duty’ to do this alone?,” he continues, air quoting as he strides towards you.

“And honestly, I’ve never been rejected so fast. And with such an unusual reason too! And it showed to me that you really were a strong, independent woman,” He exaggeratedly Z-line snaps. 

“I did find your multiple trips up the stairs extremely entertaining and endearing too,” Ten nudges you and winks.

You shake your head and shine a small smile as the memory replays and internally cheers you up.

He smiles in satisfaction.

“Go ahead and take a seat, I’ll only be a minute with the coffee,” he says while gesturing to his comfortable looking couch. Your attempts at being a helpful guest were quickly dismissed, you merely nod and continue to project your small smile of gratitude towards his generous words.

Continuing your observations regarding his interior design, your eyes land upon his bookshelf and you notice some very familiar books. Almost half of the romantic comedy manhwas that you had worked so hard to produce over the course of three years were perfectly lined up in order on your college student neighbour’s book shelf.

You inwardly gasp and begin to giggle at how a grown man could be such a fan of your teen manhwa and curiously raise a brow.

‘So this was how he was able to flirt so easily without being flustered, he must have picked up some lines from my comic haha…’ You thought.

Not soon after, Ten arrives with two mugs of steaming, warm, golden coffee and sets them in front of you on the table. He quickly notices the comic you’ve picked up and is easily tinted a shade of embarrassment. He -almost- instinctively throws his hands out along with multiple whiny requests for you to give it back, only to have you react by pulling the book out of his reach and laugh.

“Haha! Alright! Alright…”You slow down the hectic moment,  

“Do tell me, Ten… Why does a grown man, such as yourself, have a collection of romantic comedy manwhas?” you breathlessly say as the two of you finally calm down after a short game of ‘grab the book’.

He knows he’s been caught and with an exaggerated sigh he complies and explains himself.

“Ah, they’re not mine I swear,” he scratches the back of his neck while shaking the other free hand in the air in a denying manner  “my sister left them while visiting so I thought I’d tidy them”.

A small, silent pause embraces the two of you… You quickly break it by drumming on your lap vigorously, mimicking a drum roll.

“And the most unconvincing story of 2017 goes to… Ten!” you exclaim in your best announcer voice, laughing at his cute bashful side that was being unveiled right before you. The man before you no longer seemed so overly confident and indifferent, he was flustered and glowed a heartwarming pink flush. A complete polar opposite.

“If your sister really did leave them, a book or two would have been believable, but she definitely wouldn’t have left an entire series that was large enough to fit in 2 boxes,” you explain.

He lowers his rose tinted face in defeat and chuckles along with your point.

“Okay, you got me,” he exaggeratedly whimpers “but what I said was partially true! She did visit and leave a few volumes, I was gonna throw them out but the art was so pretty and unique. I was drawn to read them! The character design is perfectly tailored to each character’s traits and the background art is so detailed and unlike any other artists work that I’ve come across. It was difficult to put the books down and lead to me purchase a few more and before I knew it, I had almost half of the series! I really recommend it, y/n!” He beams despite his red cheeks and ears.

You sat there slightly blank and dumbfounded by his kind words. That totally wasn’t what you expected. Usually when people complimented your artwork, you’d immediately argue that it definitely lacked in some areas and could totally improve. Your self-depreciation would often prevent you from truly seeing eye-to-eye with your publisher and fans, causing a lot of release date delays and unhappy teens. However, when Ten gave you his honest opinion on your work you couldn’t help but feel gushy and warm on the inside, his sincere and animated words gave you pride and a deep sense of happiness.

His comments were somehow different.

The genuine and thoughtful words burned their rightful mark into your memory, forever embellishing themselves in your mind.

“Thank you,” you say in a small voice as a blush similar to the young man’s grazes your cheeks.

“What? Haha, you want to borrow one?” He chortles with a hint of confusion in his voice.

You simply hold the book up and point to the artist’s name, your name.

His eyes widen in surprise, he covers his mouth and notably resembles a deer caught in headlights. 

‘How is he so cute?’ You think to yourself.

Ten’s emotions go through a rapid melt of confusion, surprise and utter glee. The man now gleamed with joy and admiration. Ten takes a seat beside you while effortlessly grasping your small hands in his own large, strong and sturdy ones.

An instant feeling of protection, safety and content surge through you at his affectionate skin-ship. He leans a bit closer, excitement pouring out of his every word.

“No way! Tell me, please, does Jae Min end up with David- No! Does Yoo In come back from her spy mission in Japan? Or is she really dead? Ah, don’t tell me! It’ll spoil the surprise,” he concludes with a pout.

“…Or tell me if you want?” He later contradicts in a quiet voice.

You inwardly snicker at his twinkling, child-like expression. To reply to his questions, you merely wiggle your brows to the best of your ability and say:

“A mystery’s a mystery, and girl’s gotta keep some secrets… Buuuut, Yoo In is alive” you whisper ever so slightly in his direction.

You wink, beam a broad, beautiful smile and decide to leave it at that.

‘Hopefully that’ll keep him intrigued for at least another three volumes,’ you laugh to yourself.

Ten comes to his senses, remembering that the two of you had only just formally met half an hour ago. He removes his hands with a minor jump and instead clasps them in front of his chest. Acting melodramatically, he nods whilst still wearing his adorable pout, as if already coming to terms with your statement.

“I knew you wouldn’t let her die, y/n,” he softly sends an angelic smile to you.

“Hey, how about this, if I ever get to open my door, I’ll let you have a sneak peek at the next volume, sounds good?” You attempt to enhance his bright mood and also return the enormous favour that Ten had done you. Not only had he welcomed you into his home and saved your ice-cream, but he essentially helped you quick-start your self-confidence in a way no one else ever had.

Ten had easily proven to you to not judge a book by its cover; a man once so chic and cold looking had a compellingly delicate, angelic and excitable personality within him that was easily uncovered with a bit of encouragement. And to top it all off, he was apparently skilled in the arts of dancing and acting, but to you, that didn't matter too much, because to you, he was in fact the walking art-piece.

He shone you one of his brightest, pearliest smile and eagerly nodded in reply to your offer.

Ring. Ring…

Your phone slices through the light atmosphere and forces you to answer. Your friend had impeccable timing and was ready in the lobby to pick you up. After hanging up you sigh and turn towards Ten, informing him that your friend had arrived much to your dismay. The events thereafter the phone call flashed before your eyes as time began to seem inconstant.

Ten helps you gather your belongings and leads you down to the lobby. You edge out of the elevator, reluctantly furthering yourself away from such a sparkling and kind-hearted being.

The two of you part with alike smiles containing a hint of sorrow. The two of you truly matching one another’s current inner emotions.

You were totally oblivious to the fact that you’d bound to be back in less than a week, after all, you did live next door…

As the car door shut, Ten waves and quietly laughs to himself at the situation he got caught up in and with no one other than one of his favourite artists, and one with such an endearing and appealing personality at that.

“See ya ‘round, neighbour.”

Thank you for reading this! <3 What did you think? I found this really lovely to write and had lots of fun. Should I continue the scenario and see where Ten and his neighbour end up? ^^ Don’t mind any grammar mistakes, I’m on my way to proof reading it again for the 5th time haha

Edit: Another chapter of this series will be added soon! Thank you to all the people who sent in support and kind words towards this series. <3

#ten #nct #ten scenarios #nct scenarios #ten fluff #nct u #Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul #unexpected enthusiast

[avidbeader]

Have more of the Sheith soulmates AU

Voltron fanfic. Probably rated T for mild language when it’s done. Definitely Shiro x Keith. Situational names/pronouns for Pidge/Katie. Feedback is always welcome. Still pondering titles.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

She left the details to her Druids. They could punish the guards that permitted themselves to be taken down. They could search for the traitorous Ulaz.

She had bigger things to do.

The second Haggar had removed Champion’s ruined hand, she had encased the mangled flesh in a unit designed to measure quintessence. The first step was successful: the wreck of a hand, magically preserved in a still-living state, showed the presence and fluctuations of the mysterious quintessence, allowing her a permanent barometer of Champion’s link with the other without having to physically watch him.

It also gave her unlimited access for further analyzing the quintessence. It took almost a full lunar cycle, but she was finally able to separate and identify the two separate halves of the meld, keeping them apart for brief moments before they coalesced again.

And if it were just another experiment, just another study of a random alien’s quintessence, she would have scrapped it. One of the two halves showed Galra characteristics.

Somehow the flesh had been tainted by a Galra. She didn’t know how—she was the only one who handled the destroyed limb between the body and the unit and she did so with full shields in place. While Champion had taken numerous injuries from Galra fighters in the arena—including the nasty head wound that had turned a shock of his hair white—their medical protocol was sound enough for cleansing such wounds. And the second quintessence was overwhelmingly similar to Champion’s, suggesting that the other was the same species, in a sector that the Galra had only just begun scouting.

But in spite of the Galra contamination, the device worked as she wished it. She could let Champion perform for Zarkon, who was toying with the idea of trying to brainwash the alien and test him on the Red Lion. There had been a few sessions with Zarkon’s pet team of persuaders. Those had actually been helpful to Haggar, allowing her to see that the quintessence meld responded to mental and emotional attacks in an identical manner to physical assault.

But for now, her device served a new purpose. The flesh called to itself. The quintessence sought its origin. She would be able to track Champion’s location as soon as the pod he was in dropped out of hyperdrive.

<> <> <> <> <>

The autopilot was driving him stir-crazy.

He was in a spacecraft, in the pilot’s seat, for the first time in nearly a year, and he couldn’t fly it. It was like being back in early training, next to an instructor, watching but not allowed to touch, not allowed to take control.

But he didn’t dare change any of Ulaz’s settings. His rescuer had entered the coordinates for Terra and programmed something called a hyperdrive that allowed for incredibly fast interstellar travel. Shiro had to settle for studying the control panels intently, learning the layout of the craft as it compared to a Garrison ship.

But Keith was with him, urging him on.

Shiro leaned back for a few minutes, closing his eyes to try and ward off a headache that was building. And suddenly he was seeing through Keith’s eyes as Keith prepared. His soulmate knew he was coming and was doing everything he could to get ready. Shiro was a bit astonished, watching and wondering where the slightly adrift boy he met in a combat class had gone. This Keith moved with purpose and surety, focused on his goal. This Keith no longer felt too young for him.

He would see this Keith soon.

Sensing his presence, Keith sent back affection and anticipation.

The ship jerked and shifted from hyperdrive into normal space. Shiro instinctively reached for the controls, then looked up through the viewscreen.

His eyes widened as he realized that the ship was already inside Terra’s atmosphere and coming in way too fast. He had to try and slow the descent!

His hands flew across the strange controls, searching for any way to decelerate. A screen turned red and he felt a shudder through the transport—it felt like a turbine had stopped, if he were in a jet. Velocity dipped, but now the ship veered sharply to the left, to the north of the landing coordinates.

And then he hit earth. He got his arms up to protect his face and head as he slammed into the control panel, but was flung back in the whiplash, his head striking the hard side of the pilot’s seat. He sent one last desperate call to Keith as he lost consciousness.

<> <> <> <> <>

Shiro woke and realized two things. The first was that Keith had not found him yet—he was coming but having to improvise for not being the first one there.

The second was that he was strapped down to a table.

The flashback overwhelmed him, the pain of the torture sessions, the agony of the procedure that had taken his hand and replaced it with the weapon. He clenched his teeth to hold in the screams.

“He’s awake!”

Figures in Terran hazmat suits leaned over him, waving scanners across his body.

Ulaz. Blue Lion. Voltron.

Keith was closer. He had done something that should get everyone’s attention soon and was moving in.

Someone moved to put a tourniquet on his left arm.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Calm down, Shiro. We just need to keep you quarantined until we run some tests.”

“No, you don’t understand! Aliens are coming! They’re after a weapon that was hidden here! We have to find Voltron!”

One of the medtechs recoiled from his right side. “Look at this! His arm! It’s been replaced with a cyborg prosthetic!”

“Put him under! We don’t know what that thing can do!”

“No! NO! Don’t put me under! You have to listen to me!” Shiro thrashed against the straps in a panic but one of the medtechs seized his head and another pressed an injector to his neck.

Keith! Help me!

<> <> <> <> <>

Pidge finished throwing laptops and equipment into his backpack and slid down the hill after Lance and Hunk. The minute he’d pointed out the person coming in on the hoverbike, Lance had gone competitive and insisted that he would be the one to rescue his idol.

Pidge would never understand Lance. Did it really matter who got credit for the rescue as long as they got a chance to speak to Shiro?

His emotions swung from hope that Shiro might actually be able to share what had happened to the rest of the crew and anger that Iverson’s people hadn’t even considered asking Shiro about them before knocking him out. He was obviously trying to communicate a warning, a major one, and they ignored it. All Iverson cared about was keeping his lies going.

Good thing Pidge Gunderson wasn’t interested in the Garrison as a career.

<> <> <> <> <>

In three swift moves, the medtechs went down. Keith leaped over the third as he fell and ran to the gurney. White hair spilled across the captive’s forehead and for one instant he felt despair. This was supposed to be Shiro…

Keith reached out to the man’s face and turned it toward him.

Their bond surged at his touch, making him sway. It was Shiro.

Shiro with a patch of white hair and a deep scar across his face. Shiro with a body hardened by months of being forced to fight for his life. Shiro with a smooth metal limb replacing his right hand.

But it was Shiro.

Keith sliced the straps with his dagger and heaved his soulmate up. The bond throbbed everywhere their skin touched. He was starting to worry that they wouldn’t be able to move fast enough when a voice interrupted.

“No, no, no you don’t! I’m saving Shiro!”

A boy that looked to be Keith’s age stalked through the door and took Shiro’s other arm, sharing the weight. Two others who would have fit perfectly on a flashcard teaching big and small stood in the door, watching with wide eyes.

Keith didn’t bother to reply. They were a godsend—they could help get Shiro to the hoverbike and then he and his soulmate would be off.

Except that the Garrison team was coming back much sooner than he had hoped and they all had to ride a hoverbike that wasn’t designed to hold five.

<> <> <> <> <>

One merry chase and one successful cliff dive later, they made it to the cabin. The big guy helped Keith move Shiro onto the bed in the bunker. Keith checked Shiro’s pulse and pupils while the short kid described how the medtechs had sedated him—he would be out for a while yet. Keith tucked a blanket around him and firmly told himself that he could leave for a few minutes. There was nowhere else for the other three to go and he needed to settle them in the cabin.

He directed the others into the main room, waving at the futon in indifferent invitation. He grabbed a cold water from the fridge and drank, getting the dust from the trip out of his throat.

The three of them looked at him and he looked back. Obviously there were questions that they all had, but no one was sure where to start. Then the big guy’s stomach growled loudly.

The other two broke into giggles and Keith snorted a little. He waved to the corner that served as a kitchen. “Help yourselves.”

The big guy moved toward him first, holding out a hand. “Thanks, man. My name’s Hunk.”

He shook. “Keith.”

Suddenly he had the short one’s attention. “Wait a minute, that’s how you knew to come after Shiro! You’re Keith Kogane!”

“Uh…yeah?”

“My mom and the Shiroganes, we’ve been worried sick!”

“Okay…”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m Katie Holt, Matt’s sister.”

That put a couple of puzzle pieces in place, but the reaction of the other two kept Keith off balance.

“Wait, what? Pidge? You’re a girl?” The thin one was clearly stunned.

“Huh. Okay, that explains a few things. Why were you in the Garrison under another name?” Hunk asked.

“Long story. Short version is I got banned from the Garrison for hacking into Iverson’s computer and had to find another way in.”

Keith grinned at that. “Good for you.”

The thin one was clearly still at sea. “Okay, Pidge is a girl and you two know each other. Any more surprises?”

Pidge…Katie…adjusted her glasses. “Oh, no. Not like that, Lance. I just know who he is. He’s Shiro’s soulmate.”

Hunk had his mouth full of granola bar but his expression showed interest as Lance began talking again.

“Soulmate, huh? Yeah, I remember that getting mentioned a few times around campus. Wacky shit. We had a case in our neighborhood, some woman who lived alone and must have been forty and one year at Halloween she was giving out candy like everyone else but when she handed some M&Ms to this one kid who had moved to the neighborhood that summer…wham! He was like, eight. Awk-ward! They got that shit broken by Christmas, you’d better believe it!”

He paused, clearly expecting someone to reply. He was not expecting to see Keith’s face drain of color or the concerned reactions of the other two.

Katie moved forward. “Keith, are you all right?”

Hunk also stepped up. “Dude, you’re not gonna pass out, are you?”

Keith swallowed hard. “No…no, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine! You look like you saw a ghost!” Lance flapped his arms, unsettled at Keith’s reaction.

“Sorry. It’s just that…they tried, at the Garrison. They tried to break the soul bond between Shiro and me.”

Katie’s eyes widened. “That was you! That night in the faculty building!”

“What?”

“Three men were dragging you somewhere, and then you started yelling. That was the night I broke into Iverson’s computer. I set off the security alarms to give you a chance to get away. You were screaming at them.”

Keith ran a hand over his face, fighting the memories. “Yeah, that was me. Thank you.”

“And thank you! They were so busy going after you that I was able to pull the video files that proved Shiro didn’t crash. That’s when my mom and I decided I needed to infiltrate the Garrison as Pidge Gunderson.” She stepped up to Keith and wrapped her arms around him. “Seriously, I’m glad they didn’t succeed. I’ve read about broken soul bonds…it’s not pretty, what it does to you.”

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. “Sorry I brought it up.”

Keith shrugged, returning Katie’s hug awkwardly. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him in a caring way. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” He moved away as Katie loosened her grip. “I’m going to sit with Shiro until he wakes up. You guys can hang out here.”

<> <> <> <> <>

Where am I?

The first thing Shiro noticed as his awareness returned was that he was warm. It had never been warm enough on the ships or in the cells or in the arena.

The second thing was that his bond with Keith was practically vibrating, it was so intense. His first impulse was to worry. The Garrison had found him. Are they going to try and break the bond again? Is Keith safe?

The third thing was someone holding his left hand.

He tightened his grip instinctively and heard someone draw in an anxious breath.

“Shiro?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. If he kept his eyes shut, he could stay in this dream where he was warm and Keith was holding his hand.

It got better. Keith was smoothing his hair back with the other hand, sending sizzles across his skin.

“Shiro?”

The dream wasn’t fading. It was getting more tangible, more real. His essence sang at every touch.

“Keith?”

The weight in his flesh hand shifted and he heard someone move, sitting next to him. The fingers interlocked with his and a second hand wrapped around their joined hands. Their bond pulsed with power.

“I’m here, Shiro. You’re home.”

Shiro drew a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself for the disappointment, and opened his eyes.

Soft yellow light shone from above. Not the never-ending purple of the Galra and not the harsh white of the Garrison containment unit. He blinked and focused, seeing the person sitting beside him.

The dark hair that used to just brush his collar now spilled down to his shoulders. The graceful jawline and cheekbones were sharper, as if he had lost weight. But the eyes were the same deep indigo that had caught his attention as they took their first hesitant steps into the bond.

“Keith…” Shiro breathed, his voice barely audible.

Keith leaned forward and pressed his lips to Shiro’s forehead. The bond intensified further, stronger than anything they had felt before. Shiro pulled his hand from Keith’s grip so he could embrace him fully.  

And found himself clinging desperately to Keith who clutched back as their bond pulsed again. They were tossed around in each other’s memories of the year apart, drowning in flashbacks of pain and isolation and misery. The bond had responded to extreme distance and time by growing stronger and now there was nowhere to put the excess, no way to cram the genie back into its bottle. The intensity of the connection was about to engulf them until they would no longer be able to tell which was which…

Then Keith heard the lion’s roar, giving him focus.

Shiro heard the second roar.

<> <> <> <> <>

Half a universe away, a glass case exploded, unable to contain the surging quintessence inside. Haggar shrieked, unable to stop the destruction of the flesh from Champion’s body as it disintegrated. She flew around the lab, scanning readouts from various instruments frantically.

Then she found what she needed.

“Tell Zarkon that the escaped prisoner is in Sector X-9-Y!”

<> <> <> <> <>

The two halves were whole once more, together in body now as well as spirit. As she had anticipated, the intensity of the quintessence-meld threatened to overwhelm them. Her little one reached out blindly for help and she answered. She sent forth her own energy, the soothing, life-giving essence of water, to absorb the worst of the surging forces and sustain the two of them.

Together they rode the wave until it crested and washed back into a more manageable state. The bodies of the two small ones relaxed, still entwined with one another. She sent out one more flow of energy to calm the area around them like the surf smoothing out sand.

And stopped in shock when her essence touched a new presence near them. It sparkled with dappled azure light, calling to her like no other had for thousands of years.

This was her new paladin. It had to be.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Thank you for the likes, reblogs, and comments!

Part 9

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #sheith #fanfic: voltron #voltron fanfic #quintessential bond by avidbeader

[stormcrow-whispers]

Letter to Ronan #1

Originally when she’d splintered off from the group to say goodbye to Ronan, Kallista had expected to be greeted by his scowl and some sort of snide remark when she came to his door. However, as she stood in his empty apartment, scone in hand, bags packed with all her things, she was greeted instead by a pang of sadness and loneliness. He’d probably gone off to work, forgetting she’d asked to see him again before she left town. Figures.

With a sad sigh she sat down at a his kitchen table, resolving to write him a note to let him know where she’d gone. She doubted the group would be willing to wait around for her to find him, they were all so anxious to leave. And as much as it pained her to think, the chances of finding him before they left, even with her almost encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s layout, were slim to none. Kallista dug into her bag and pulled a couple of blank sheets of paper out of one of her sketchbooks and a pen. Before writing her message, she cast illusory script on the page. While the majority of her message was personal in nature and really wasn’t worth hiding, she still cast the spell out of habit. One could never be too careful, and she certainly didn’t need anyone but Ronan reading what was sure to be an emotionally charged letter. Once the spell was cast and she’d designated him as the recipient, she began to write in Infernal, in very flowery script.

Dear Dad,

I came over to say goodbye, but I GUESS that isn’t going to happen. Why are you still such an early bird? I told you I wanted to see you again before the group and I left town, but you just had to up and go to work early like the workaholic you are, sheesh. Some things never change I guess. But anyway.

 The group made up in record time, I’m honestly surprised it went as well as it did. These people tend to hold grudges for days, sometimes weeks at a time, so the fact that things went so well, especially after the huge blow up we had, is incredible. Personally, I didn’t really do anything other than object to being tied to this religious bullshit, but I agreed to play nice to appease them. They were all staring at me like I was at fault for something other than standing around and watching their daily drama unfold, it was ridiculous. 

You were right by the way. I learned a few things during the little group heart to heart that are pretty...interesting. I’ve filed them away for you in the usual spot. If you could pass it along for me that would be great. Sorry in advance. I hope he doesn’t sit backwards in his chair again for your sanity’s sake.

Oh. Also. Idris came by this morning to talk to Eilerris about her quest. Now I doubly want you to burn my place down. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. It went fine all things considered, they didn’t stay for very long, but I am certainly not comfortable with the whole situation at all, and I certainly wasn’t asked if it was okay to use my home as a meeting space. But of course, the way things have been going while we’ve been in town, no one seems to care if I feel comfortable doing things or not. They just assume, just like they assumed my place is up for grabs since I just so happened to let them crash with me to save them money. Bloody nobles.

 I grabbed most of my more important drawings off the shelves and have taken them with me, as well as some of my other jewelry. If you could just grab the rest of my trinkets and clothes and put them in my room here for now that would be great. The rest you can trash or do what you will with it. I can always buy more gear to restock my spare room when I get back. Unless you and Lawrence are into some kinky shit, in which case have at it! I’m kidding. Or AM I? Ok seriously, I’m kidding, please don’t disown me. If you don’t mind too much, I’d love to take you up on that offer to crash with you for a while when I get back. Although you do have good taste, so if you find a new place you think I’d like then I guess you can just move all my shit over there instead.

Please write to me, old man. I know I irritate the hell out of you, but I’d really love to hear from you. I know it sounds sappy, but you’re all I’ve got, and I missed being around you a lot more than I’d originally anticipated. It didn’t really hit me just how much until you hugged me in the market the other day. It was so so nice to see you again so soon and to be able to fall into our usual routine, although I wish it could’ve been for longer. You’ve been a constant fixture in my life for almost 20 years now, and being with these strangers and away from home and from you has been...odd. I’m anxious for this all to be over and for things to go back to the way they were. I miss gossiping over bottles of wine and working together. I even miss this shitty city, but that might just be because you’re here to be honest.

Please stay safe, or as safe as you can be. Losing you would be...I’m not sure I could take that. And in turn I swear I’ll do my best to stay out of harm’s way as well. Last time I tried to play hero, it didn’t turn out so well for me, and as much as these scars are starting to grow on me, I value my life more than this business.

 If we end up coming back to town, you’ll be the first to know. Whether it’s by letter or me showing up out of the blue and trying to punch you in the face again (sorry about that, I couldn’t resist trying to get the jump on you, the thought I might be able to beat you for once was too tempting). Sorry I didn’t give you more warning about our visit. Figured we’d get here way before the letter made it anyway. You know how unreliable the post can be. If you know a better way to keep in touch, please let me know. This letter writing thing isn’t something I’m used to and it seems a very clumsy business. We’re traveling with a caravan towards Ormskirk, but we’re going to be making pit stops in Malay and Tupelo along the way, if that helps at all as far as sending things goes.

 ...Seriously though. Please write to me. I know I’m going to sound paranoid, but leaving like this, leaving without saying goodbye in person, showing up to an empty house...it doesn’t sit well with me. It makes me nervous, makes me assume the worst. I know it’s silly, especially since you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. But you know I have plenty good reason to feel this way, even when it comes to a cranky old asshole like you. I mean, I’m sure you’re going to throw a huge party once I’m gone and out of your hair, but please don’t forget about me.

 I wish I could have said this all in person and could’ve given you a hug, but here we are. Guess it’s good I gave you one yesterday, huh?

 I love you dad. Don’t have too much fun without me, alright? And start mentally preparing yourself for a future wine and vent session, because knowing this group, I’m going to have stories for days.

 Lots of love,

 Kallista

 She drew a big heart next to her name with a bit of a flourish, then placed the scone down next to the letter on a plate. As promised, she stashed away the new information she’d learned in the hidden lockbox in her old room. She lingered for a few moments, taking one final look at her room, at his home, at the place she’d grown up, a sad smile crossing her face, before she left, locking the door tightly behind her.

 As they began their departure from the city, Kallista looked around, hoping to spot him in the crowd like she had the week before, hoping he was watching from some rooftop or alleyway out of sight from the masses. When she failed to find him, she sighed sadly and clutched at her bandana, following the group somewhat sullenly. Although her face was drawn in a mask of disinterest like usual, on the inside she was panicked, worried the day before had been the last time she’d ever see him. It scared the hell out of her. But she knew she had to do this, knew she had to finish this job, even if every fiber of her being was screaming at her to just stay, that this job wasn’t worth the mental distress.

She hoped he’d write back to her, and hoped that this whole mess would be over with soon.

#writings #kallista writes a letter #wow i hope this is ok bc i wrote it in like no time at all and it usually takes me 50 years to write things #does it even count as a letter bc she left it in his dang house lol #she's!!! not!!! happy!!! about leaving!!! like this!!!! #but she cant do shit about it lol #the campaign

[bffhreprise]

Entry 301

 “Hi!  Are you Deyanira’s boooyfriend?”questioned Kayla, staring between Jarod and me with large, wide eyes.  Then she quickly turned on me and asked “What about Brandon!?”

 “Hi there.  My name’s Jarod.  I live here, and I’m actually married to someone else.” explained Jarod.  “Who are you?”

 “I’m Kayla.  IIII live here, and I’ve never seen you before.” she informed him, staring him down.

 “Jarod lives past that gym we were in this morning.” added James.

 “Really!?  Emma told me there’s a pool on the roof of that section!  Is it amazing!?” asked Kayla, obviously dreaming of what swimming in it could be like.

 “I enjoyed it.  There’s also an underground pool that looks like a cave.  I can see if Ai or Mai will show you sometime.” suggested Jarod with a smile.

 “I don’t know if leaving her alone with the twins is the best idea.” stated James with clear worry in his voice.  Turning to Kayla, he said,  “Jarod’s the one who invented that flying machine you’ve been using.”

 “He is!?” asked Kayla excitedly.  “Those things are awesome!!!”

 “Flying machines?” I questioned, feeling rather left out of this conversation.

   “Yes.  They’re these small platforms you stand upon and control with a wireless device.” explained James.

 “Wow...  That sounds interesting.” I admitted.  “Are they safe?”  I could easily picture skipping traffic and flying around the campus.

 With a shrug, Jarod said, “Relatively.  The board will auto-adjust to some extent if you seem to be trying to balance, but I didn’t want that taken too far, or you’d be dramatically limited on maneuverability.”

 “I assure you that they turned out marvelous.  No injuries as of yet.” reported Mila.

 “They’re super fun!” exclaimed Kayla, bouncing on her feet.  “I can’t believe you built them!”

 “Well, Mila usually does most of the actual building.  I didn’t even fully design them myself, just the basic layout.  Aurora did all the fine-tuning, and I heard James helped out with a little modification of his own.” humbly replied Jarod.

 “I really didn’t do too much.” insisted James.

 Jarod smirked at him but didn’t argue.

 “Kayla, want to check out my lab?” offered Jarod.  “I’m going to check on Aurora.”

 “Awesome!” exclaimed Kayla, looking ready to run again.

 “Who is Aurora?” I asked, not remembering her in the briefing when I first got here.

 “Jarod’s lab assistant.” replied James.

 “Can I see this lab too?” I asked hopefully.  This place seemed to have limitless surprises.

 “Sure.  Come along.” agreed Jarod.  Then he yelled into the ballroom, “Hey, Brandon!  I’m stealing your girlfriend.”

 “Hey, now!  No stealing girls.  We’re not exactly dating yet.” stated Brandon.  “I mean… we’ve gone on dates, but… it’s not… well.. you know…”

 “Do I?” I asked, knowing he’d flounder.  I could see him attempting to watch the screen for his game and us unsuccessfully.

 “Well, I mean… we didn’t exactly ever talk about making anything official, and I didn’t want to assume anything.  So… are we dating?” he questioned hopefully.

 “I don’t know.  I guess we’ll need to talk.  Later.” I told him, smiling after I turned to follow Jarod.  Brandon would probably be confused about our exchange, but he’d be thinking about me.  I already knew what I’d tell him, but I hadn’t decided on how to close the deal yet.

 “So are you two dating?” questioned James a few more steps later.

 “We’ll see.” I replied, trying to keep a poker face with him watching me.

 “Wasn’t that a little mean though?” he questioned, still watching me.  James gave the impression that he could pick up any clue in body language.  When his eyes were on you, you felt like you were being examined piece-by-piece, and he often seemed unnervingly certain on what was fact.

 Deciding to give him a smile, I said, “Isn’t he adorable when he’s flustered?”

 He probably knew I meant it, but he said,   “I can’t really say I’ve thought of him as adorable ever.”  Then he seemed to stare at something behind me, but there was nothing but another mirror when I looked.  Speaking loudly, he announced “I’ve Just been informed that Aurora is in the middle of an experiment, and we’d best not interrupt her at the moment.”

 Had Mila written something on the mirror?  James nodded, but he was looking at Jarod who had nodded too.  I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but I felt like I had missed an entire conversation right in front of me.

 “Sorry, guys.  Next time.  I suppose I should’ve asked Mila about that first.” stated Jarod.  “Care to play around on the… hmm… I really should name those.  How about…”

 “ZOOMIES!” interjected Kayla excitedly.

 Grinning at her, Jarod said, “Sure, why not.”

 “Mila, can you spare a body for safety?” questioned James.

 “Anything for you, Master.” she replied, sounding suggestive again.  “I’ll bring four right up.”

 “Uh… Maybe I’ll just watch.” I informed them, not wanting to commit to something I knew so little about.

 “Mila, mind bringing an extra and getting Brandon out back?” asked James.

 “As you wish, Master.” she assured him.  “Lady Pendreigh will be joining you as well.  Oh.  Ai and Mai will be coming to yell at Jarod.  I’ll bring a couple zoomies for them.”

 Jarod laughed and nodded, not at all bothered by the idea that his wife and sister-in-law were going to yell at him.  Then he said, “Kayla, I might require your help naming more things in the future.”

 “Really!?  Sure thing!” she exclaimed.  Then, grabbing my hand, she said, “Race you there!”

 She gave me a pretty strong tug for a kid before letting go and running.  I appeased her, chasing after her, only partly out of my competitive nature.  I was somewhat curious about the recently-named zoomies still.

 Incredibly, one of Mila’s bodies was already waiting for us outside with a stack of zoomies.  Kayla quickly showed me how they worked, taking off into the air before the others had even arrived.  I insisted on waiting for Brandon, wanting to be sure someone was focused on catching me if I managed to fall off the thing.

 He arrived minutes after James and Jarod finally made their way to us.  By that time, I had given up on him and mastered hovering a foot off the ground.  Brandon-being-Brandon, he just smiled and shrugged when I informed him that he was late, explaining what he had been doing in the game as he got ready to fly.

 After getting past the initial fear, the zoomies really were fun.  I wasn’t ready to try the stunts some of the others were doing on them—Kayla seemed completely fearless as she wizzed about while James and Lady Alma made their acrobatic stunts seem like light-hearted fun.

 Brandon seemed exceptional on the zoomies as well, but he still slipped up at times, which seemed endearing here.  The people here were so extraordinary that I occasionally felt… inept, putting it mildly.  Funny enough, Brandon was abnormally good at things.  Whenever we were out in public, I felt like he managed to find a new way to show off.  Despite everything—or perhaps because of where he lived—he was still kind, just like when he helped me at the bar.

 My mouth dropped open as something impossible flew past me.  On some level, I knew I was falling, but I couldn’t get past the sight of the radiant, winged, naked woman who couldn’t be more than a few inches tall.  Things seemed to rush forward again when I realized I was in Mila’s arms.  For a second, I thought I had hit my head.  There was a forest, and I could clearly feel the joy of flying through it, but James seemed annoyed, rubbing his hair thoughtfully as he stared at me.

 Lady Alma started speaking with him rapidly, but I couldn’t make out what was being said.  The… the… fairy… she seemed worried, certain James should be paying attention to her while feeling something was wrong.  I couldn’t even make out her features from where Mila was propping me up, but I knew.

 “Deyanira!  You’re fine.” asserted Brandon.  One of his strong hands gripped my shoulder, and his face was inches away.

 I kissed him impulsively, needing something real as respite from my mental breakdown.  When I opened my eyes again, the fairy was inches away from us, grinning widely.  Her view on what we just did played through my head excitedly.

 “That’s how she talks.” asserted Brandon, still staring into my eyes.  He looked concerned.

 “She’s real?  She’s really real!?  You knew about her!?” I asked, my voicing sounding a bit shrill.

 He grinned and nodded.  “Welcome to my world.” he told me with a shrug.

 I hit him, and he felt real.  I hit him again to be sure.  Maybe a few more times.  “How could you keep this from me?”

 “Because his tenant agreement here demands secrecy, a secrecy I’m going to request that you keep as well.” stated James from behind me.  He looked even more imposing than normal when I spun around to look at him.

 The normally pleasant man had transformed into a figure of indomitable presence, like a king preparing to lay sentence on a peasant who wrongfully crossed into his territory.  Some part of my brain recognized that I was standing, but I felt so small.  I nodded dumbly, and felt as if a weight had been lifted slightly.  Breathing heavily, I realized that I had been holding my breath.  I kept breathing hard as James dictated terms, warning me that my memory would be taken should I violate the verbal agreement.

 I wasn’t sure how many hours passed before my mind was really working again, organizing the countless displays of magic I had witnessed.  Magic was real, and now I was part of the group who knew.

#Best Friend For Hire Reprise #Best #Friend #For #Hire #Reprise #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

[flauntpage]

Donovan Bailey vs. Michael Johnson: The Biggest Race That Never Happened

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports Canada.

At the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, Donovan Bailey ran a world record time of 9.84 seconds in the men's 100-metre race, becoming the first Canadian to win Olympic gold in the event since Percy Williams accomplished the feat at the 1928 Games in Amsterdam. It was the crowning moment of Bailey's track and field career. He had laid claim to the World's Fastest Man title. "There was definitely no argument," Bailey recently told VICE Sports. "I didn't feel like I needed to earn anything. It was something I had done in Atlanta. There was absolutely no argument from my perspective, or from a majority of the world."

The majority, though, did not include NBC and the American broadcast of the Olympics, which celebrated Michael Johnson's world record in the men's 200-metre and Olympic record in the 400-metre, and pointed out that his top speed in the former race was faster than Bailey's in the 100-metre. Johnson, they said, had broken a world record that lasted longer than the one Bailey broke and did so by a greater margin than the previous record.

"Because of Johnson's double gold medal, his charisma, and the atmosphere on home turf in Atlanta, Bailey may have felt underappreciated," longtime broadcaster Bob Costas told VICE Sports. "And that's understandable."

For Canadians, who had to endure Ben Johnson's world-record-setting run and subsequent disqualification at the 1988 Olympics, the fact that Bailey's claim to the World's Fastest Man title was not unanimous was considered a slight, a fact that Mark Lee—a broadcaster for CBC at the time—noticed as well. "There was a lot of heated controversy in Canada that how dare the Americans take that title from Donovan Bailey when he had achieved that in the time honoured fashion of winning the 100-metre," he said to VICE Sports.

"The human race has always recorded the fastest man as the winner in the 100-metre, not the 200-metre, not the 400-metre."

[Johnson-Bailey race video via CBC]

There was enough debate surrounding Bailey-Johnson and the trendy title that several groups started to consider setting up a one-on-one race between the two. Eventually, Magellan Entertainment Group stepped up to finance the event. It would be held on June 1, 1997 at the SkyDome in Toronto. The event would be a head-to-head 150-metre race, with $500,000 going to both participants, and an additional $1 million to the winner of the race.

Dan Pfaff, Bailey's trainer, called preparing for this race a more stressful process than the Olympics. "There was a lot of variables we couldn't control," he recalled in a conversation with VICE Sports. "It's a distance we haven't officially raced before. It was a winner-take-all. There was the prize money element. We were running at home. There was just a lot of factors, where I didn't know if career wise it was worth the risk."

Bailey saw it as an opportunity to represent his country on his home turf, and give Canada its own version of the Summer Olympics. "I've never, ever prepared for any race more than that race," Bailey said. "I had Canada on my shoulders."

Bailey leaned out his body, focused on running the bend—something he didn't have to do when training for the 100-metre—and started practicing at running distances up to 250 metres versus the 50 metres he typically ran in training. Johnson, who did not respond to several requests from VICE Sports to be interviewed for this story, focused on improving his starts in preparation for this race, and moved up his training schedule, according to his agent Brad Hunt.

"Most of the time, world-class track athletes are not reaching their peak until mid-to-late summer," Hunt said. "It was an effort to push forward the type of training he would normally do for a championship race in order to be ready for June."

Johnson entered the race coming off a banner 1996 year. Photo by Richard Mackson-USA TODAY NETWORK

The one-on-one format was a unique spectacle for track and field, but in the lead-up to the race, several factors threatened to derail the entire event. Magellan—whose previous business experience was largely in the field of motivational seminars—ran into financial problems and required local businessman Edwin Cogan to provide a bailout of more than $1 million in order to pay Bailey and Johnson.

When the two sprinters arrived at the SkyDome to inspect the track, they took issue with the set-up. Roland Muller, the architect tasked by a company named Mondo to design the track installation, had a once-in-a-lifetime challenge of creating a 150-metre track into a baseball stadium. Without room to build a straightaway 150-metre track, Muller came up with a 75-metre bend and a 75-metre straight lane. "We were trying to get as wide a bend and as wide as a radius as possible," Muller told VICE Sports. "For the big sprinter guys, the less tight the curve, the easier is it for them to run. They wanted as broad a bend as possible, that was the real design challenge."

Johnson, who would run in the outside lane, believed that he would be running a longer distance than Bailey based on the geometrical layout of the track. Bailey asked for the length of the track to be extended, and was so upset that he issued a written statement before the race that he would be "running under mental duress." Despite the reservations from both sides, after months of training and speculation and a near cancellation, the stage was set for the world's two greatest track and field athletes to face off.

With over 30,000 fans at the SkyDome, and over 600 media members covering the event, Bailey-Johnson had the feel of a heavyweight prize fight. Both sides had reason to believe they were the favourite. Pfaff had done data analysis leading up to the race and felt that Bailey would be victorious if he could win the first 50 metres. Hunt remembers Johnson being confident and relaxed before the race, and thought the last 50 metres would determine the winner.

"That's what the whole buildup was," Hunt said. "What was going to happen in the last 50? Can the 100-metre guy hold on for the full 150 metres, or can the 200-metre guy pass him? I think that's what the experts were waiting to see."

The final 50 metres did not matter. Bailey ran a better bend than Johnson and was leading by several strides when the American pulled up with a strained quadricep muscle. As he neared the finish line, having clinched the race, Bailey looked back to see Johnson limping, winning the race with a time of 14.99 seconds. After the race, the two sprinters shook hands before Bailey was interviewed by Mark Lee of CBC.

Frustrated that he had been denied his moment, Bailey expressed skepticism about Johnson's injury. "He didn't pull up," Bailey said. "He's a chicken."

Bailey (middle) proudly holds the Canadian flag after winning the 4x100 relay at the 1996 Summer Games. Photo by Richard Mackson-USA TODAY NETWORK

Today, Bailey is apologetic about his post-race interview, but also views it as a moment when he represented Canada and expressed the country's frustration of being the little stepbrother to the United States. Bailey declined to speculate about the validity of Johnson's injury, instead choosing to focus on the fact that the race was decided well before Johnson pulled up.

"I had passed him 15 metres into the race," Bailey said. "I was ahead and there was no chance I would be ran down. Other than Usain Bolt, I'm the fastest top speed runner in the history of the planet. I was never going to get run down by anybody. Within 15 metres, I was ahead, so I don't know what he was going to do (to catch me). Michael is smart enough to know that he was never going to catch me. That was not going to happen ever."

After the race, when Johnson was asked about whether he was really injured, he said "next question." When asked about Bailey's post-race interview, Johnson turned the other cheek. "That's saying a lot about what kind of person he is," Johnson said. "I'm going to show you what kind of person I am. I'm not going to address that."

If the result of the race was a disappointment, Hunt believes his client was more distraught that the finish meant track and field would not get another opportunity to have mainstream spotlight in a non-Olympic year.

"He was let down that the event was not successful," Hunt said. "Sports is sports. Athletes get hurt, and Michael had been hurt before. That aspect of it wasn't demoralizing for him, but the idea that we had all put a lot of effort and a lot of hope into this event being something that gave the sport of track and field a shot in the arm, there's where the disappointment was."

The two megastars returned to their regular schedule after the race. At the Athens World Championships in August, Bailey finished second in the men's 100-metre race to US sprinter Maurice Greene, who won gold with a time of 9.86 seconds. Johnson won the gold medal in the men's 400-metre.

A rematch never happened. In fact, track and field has not seen an event like Bailey-Johnson in the two decades since. "You've got to take some risks," Hunt said. "If you're going to move something forward, you have to stick your neck out and be vulnerable, that's what this race was. It's like the track world went back into its shell again, like, 'Oh gosh, look at what happened, someone tried to do something different, something out of the box,' and it fell flat."

Today, the race is remembered as more of a footnote in Bailey and Johnson's illustrious careers. Outside of Canada, there are many people who barely remember the race at all.

"It was a trumped up event that wouldn't have settled much," Costas said, "and wound up settling nothing."

Bailey calls it a top-10 moment in his career, and believes there's only one way to remember the race. "The race should be remembered for that fact that Michael and I are trailblazers and trendsetters. We started something that's still prevalent today," Bailey said. "We're definitely trailblazers, stars who were true aficionados and we understood the balance between sports and entertaining the fans."

The event did provide plenty of entertainment, but the race itself was anticlimactic. It's a great what-if to consider. If Johnson had not pulled up with an injury, perhaps we get a photo finish, or a result close enough that we could have seen a rematch, or possibly this could have been the start of one-on-one track and field events on a regular basis, and launched this sort of spectacle into the mainstream.

But Johnson pulled up. Bailey ran away. And we'll never know. "I look at that race as a bit of a circus act," Lee said. "It was never consummated. The tragic part of that race was that Michael Johnson didn't finish and we'll never know. There was no race. That's the tragedy."

Donovan Bailey vs. Michael Johnson: The Biggest Race That Never Happened published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv