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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

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Found - Rudy, Mason, and Clyde

The end! Of the arc! Whooo this has been fun! Thanks to all who read. (i'm not down with them as oc's but this arc is over.)

TW: whumper as caretaker, stressed whumper/caretaker, distant whumper/caretaker, drugging tw, implied changing of clothes, implied bathing,

[Masterlist] [Stalker Arc Tag]

Mason was sitting at his desk, vigorously typing an email to the support of every social media platform he could. They weren’t giving him anything, even though he knew that they had the information. They must - companies are always doing shit like that. Tracking. Monitoring. They knew who this creep was and they were protecting them.

At this point, he was ready to get his lawyer involved if he got yet another generic-reply email.

Clyde was curled under his desk. He hadn’t done that in years, not since he was new and very attached to his new Master. Mason trained it out of him a while ago, but something about the familiar place was safe for him right now. So, Mason allowed it.

His phone rang and he reached for it automatically. There had been a lot of calls over the last couple days, and he was nearly fed up with them.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mason Driver?”

He took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. “It is, who is speaking?”

“Hi this is Amber from the Lakefield Pet Shelter? We have your pet here-”

Mason stood quickly, accidentally kicking Clyde in the process. “Ah, fuck, sorry bud. Is he okay? Who brought him in? Is he hurt? Where is Lakefield I want to come pick him up-”

“Sir, sir, please slow down. He’s okay, he’s got a sprained ankle and is a little roughed up in general, but he’s okay. You can come pick him up at any time, someone from the local department already came and spoke to him.”

A strange sense of anger swelled in him for a moment that someone questioned his pet without him there, but he shoved it away quickly. Other things to focus on, other things he had to do. The woman was still talking but Mason was distracted looking for his keys.

“Can I pick him up tonight? Now?”

There was a small pause. “Yes, Mr. Driver, you can come get him tonight.” After a couple other bits of information, Mason left the house to go get his pet.

Clyde crawled out from under the desk, rubbing his sore hand, a bit confused but hopeful he was understanding half the conversation correctly.

The first thing Mason felt when he saw Rudy hobble out to meet him was relief. Relief that he was back, he was safe, that he was here. Then it was anger. Anger and resentment at the brace around the boy’s ankle, the wraps around his wrists and neck, the bandaids on his face. He had to force his face to remain happy and neutral when he saw the bruise on Rudy’s temple.

“Master!” he cried, nearly falling into the kneeling man’s arms. Mason held him close, arms wrapped around.

“Rudy, thank fucking god you’re okay. I was so worried, oh my god. When I find out who took you I’m gonna-”

“Y-you, you know him, Master,” came Rudy’s muffled voice and Mason pulled him away, held tight by his shoulders.

“What?! Who, who the hell would do that? Someone that I know?”

“It was C-Casey, Master.”

Mason’s face grew grave, clenching his teeth. He should have fucking known. Of course, of fucking course Casey would pull some shit like this. Obviously Mason had called out of work, didn’t care what was going on back at the office during the few days Rudy was gone.

Rudy whimpered and Mason released his right grip. “Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart. God, that fucking snake. I’m going to ruin his whole goddamn life, just wait and see if I don’t completely blacklist him. He’ll never fucking work with pets again.”

“Sir,” hinted one of the workers, reminding Mason of the other people in the lobby. He didn’t care.

“Come on, let's get you out of here.”

The worker nodded and gestured for them to come up to the counter. “He’s ready to go, just need to go over some paperwork and at home care for the other injuries.”

Rudy pressed himself into Mason side as the man’s brow furrowed. “Other injuries? What happened?”

“He’s a little bit dehydrated, but that should go away in a day or two. The bandages around his wrists and neck are to keep him at scratching at the healing skin, so you’ll need to keep those and on use this ointment that’s listed here. Same for the welts on his back. His ankle is sprained but not too badly, so follow up with your regular provider for that. Other than that, you’re good to go.”

Mason swallowed and signed the forms without another word, not trusting himself to say something he’d regret. Besides, it wasn’t their fault.

On the way out, he was already calling his lawyer to get every medical expense taken out of Casey - money or blood.

Clyde was at the door, bouncing at his heels as the key turned. He had been looking out the window, saw when they pulled up. Saw when Rudy got out of the car! He was limping but he was there. He was home.

The older pet nearly knocked him over as they came through the door. Mason had to grab him by the back of his collar to drag him off.

“Clyde! Back! You know better what the hell,” Mason muttered, setting him down on the ground a foot or two away. Clyde looked up at him, clearly wanting to go back to Rudy. Mason rubbed his temples, too tired and frustrated and betrayed to deal with this.

“Room.”

Both boys whimpered, Rudy tugging on the hem of Mason’s shirt to silently plead him not to. “Now, Clyde. He’s fine. Just go upstairs so you’re not underfoot.”

Clyde gave him such wide, hurt, miserable eyes that Mason nearly took it all back. He sighed, but held firm. He said what he said and Clyde needed to obey that. With another glance back at his friend. Clyde crept up the stairs. Rudy whined after him over Mason's shoulder as the man picked him up and carried him to the living room to set him on the couch.

The boy whimpered as Mason walked away, but quieted after a shush.

Mason stood in the kitchen, holding onto the counter and stared at the tile backsplash. Why was this so hard? Rudy was back, he was going to be fine, the police found Casey and his lawyer said his case was good over the phone. He shouldn’t feel so tense, so tight-wound and anxious. The boy was right out there - why couldn’t Mason accept it?

He rubbed a hand across his short stubble and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, along with a drink for Rudy. He just needed time, he guessed. Needed to sleep, and probably eat something, and he’d calm down. Meandering back into the living room, he texted his boss that he was taking some personal time off.

Rudy was curled up on against the armrest, tears bright in his eyes. Mason regretted snapping at him, at both of them, but it would pass. They probably wouldn’t even remember tomorrow.

“Hey bud, drink up. How are you feeling, are you hurting?” He asked as he opened the lid for him.

The boy grabbed the bottle and took a sip, nodding slowly. “I, I’m okay.” His lip was quivering, breath shallow and shaky.

“I missed you,” he confessed as he broke, reaching up for Mason who immediately sat down with him. “I m-missed you s-so much, and Clyde, and h-home, I wanted to get away. I was so scared and c-confused and he was mean and hurt me and-”

Mason shushed him gently, pulling him close and petting his hair. “I know, I know Sweetheart. I’m so sorry that happened - I promise, it will never happen again.”

“He wrote on m-my, my scan-y thing,” Rudy said, itching at the side of his shirt. “And, and he took my collar and made me wear a muzzle that cut my mouth and I didn’t eat because- because I just couldn’t and-”

Mason shushed him again, and this time took his drink so he could really lay the boy down. Poor thing was spiraling, clearly over-stressed and exhausted too. “Shh, Rudy, you need to relax. You’re okay.”

“-he, he made me so confused, Master,” Rudy continued, seemingly unable to stop confessing everything that had happened. “I-I know I belonged to you, because, because of m-my collar and my chip but he made me wear his collar and I started to get confused and forget and uh, hng, I, I think I might have called him Master once and I’m sorry! He wasn’t always bad and one time he pet my hair and I tried to struggle but I didn’t that time and I’m sorry.”

“Okay, okay woah bud you need to slow down. You’re okay, you don’t have to talk about all this right now. I know, I know.” A pause as Mason thought. “Do I need to get something to calm you down?”

“I think I was bad?” Rudy started again, rubbing his eyes and hiccuping. He wasn’t listening to what Mason was saying, which was a kind of answer in itself. He was just more convinced of his choice as when he stood, the boy kept muttering confessions to himself. He’d have to re-visit some training in the next couple days, he reconned, just to correct some thoughts that asshole had implanted.

Rudy took the pill unusually well, words petering out until he was quiet. Mason rubbed his head just the way he knew the boy loved, listening to the unconscious hums of contentment.

“Lets get you to bed early tonight, hm? We’ll deal with all this in the morning.”

He seemed much heavier, now that he was out of it. Mason still got him upstairs, sat him on the bathroom counter to clean him up a little. It also gave him a better chance to see Rudy’s injuries without the boy wiggling and squirming everywhere.

It made his blood boil.

He had seen worse, he had definitely seen worse just walking down the street but that didn’t fucking matter. Rudy was his, and he had not given permission for someone to treat his pet like this. The muzzle had clearly been too tight, chafing and rubbing the sides of his face raw. Same for the collar, and the scratch marks from where Rudy had been clearly trying to get it off. Bruises on his hands and knees, what seemed like a bit of blood in his hair.

Mason cleaned him up the best he could, until the only proof left visible were the bandages and bandaids. He changed those, too, to some colorful ones he had for the boys. Rudy would like those better when he was awake.

After changing him into his pajamas, Mason carried him to his own bedroom and put him on the bed. He sighed and went to go get Clyde.

Clyde was in his room, standing in his pajamas right by the door. The boy had obviously been crying, gently cradling his bruised hand. Mason picked it up carefully, examining it.

“Shit, did I do that, Bugs?” he said, convicted. Clyde didn’t really answer him, eyes glancing from him to the door repeatedly. Mason sighed with a tired smile.

“Yeah, go see him.”

In a flash the boy was gone, down the hall to be with his friend. Mason turned the light off in their room before he went to join them.

Finally, back together. As they should be.

tag: @whumpingredroses @as-a-matter-of-whump @albino-whumpee @whumpeesblog @suspicious-whumping-egg

#whump #pet whump #stalker arc: rudy and clyde #whumper as caretaker #bad caretaker #cold caretaker #drugging tw

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

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Finding Us Chapter 20

Insert Mushu’s I liiiiive gif here because Finding Us is back! My goal for this year is to get this fic finished, because as surprising as it may seem I don’t think there are that many chapters left waiting to be written.

I hope you guys enjoy it, and I am so sorry for the just wildly long delay between chapters.

AO3 Link

Titus moved at a faster pace than Damian was willing to run. He watched as his dog scampered ahead on the sidewalk, pausing here and there to sniff at trees or examine bushes and flowers, but always darting forward to something new and interesting. Still, he stayed within Damian’s line of sight, and even paused to look back at him every so often with an inquisitive tilt of his head.

Damian had allowed the dog off his leash after Titus’s excitement had almost pulled him off his feet. It had been a few days since he’d been able to take him out for a proper walk, and the dog was eager to stretch his legs and explore. Damian wasn’t worried about Titus getting into trouble, he was well trained and the chance of meeting someone else was slim, especially since they were walking the path between home and Drake Manor. It was private property, and far enough from most civilization that few bothered to wander out here for fun.

He was happy to follow the animal at a slower pace. He refused to admit that Pennyworth’s reminder that he was not fully recovered yet had been accurate. His inability to balance properly earlier, had nothing to do with his head. Neither did his lethargy. He was simply tired from the stress of having to worry about Drake.

Everything was Drake’s fault, even Damian’s escape outside. Damian had needed to get away from the tense atmosphere filling the house, and the tension there. So he’d claimed Titus needed a walk, promised to return soon, and scurried away from Father and Grayson’s grumpy voices, irritated with their lack of progress. Damian was frustrated himself, having worked from the early morning and past lunch alongside everyone.

Damian bit his lip before huffing, Drake was an imbecile.

Honestly, did he not realize this was an issue he should have spoken of before now? It was as if he thought he could ignore weirder than normal stalking and it would simply go away.

He kicked at a pebble, sending it arcing through the air to thump against a tree trunk. Drake had not learned anything apparently. It was one thing to hide it from Damian, he could understand that. They still did not have the best relationship (little relationship at all if Drake could have his way and Damian did not want that), but he would have expected his brother to have spoken to Grayson or Father at the very least. But no, Timothy had not even considered how his family would see the situation, had not thought of what allowing that psychopath to get close to him would do to any of them.

“The fool.” Damian mumbled.

At his voice, Titus stopped his examination of a stump and ran back to him to butt his leg for a moment. When Damian did little more than give him a quick pat to the head, Titus ran forward again.

Damian wished he were still home, digging through information. Part of the reason he’d taken his walk was because he’d been banned from doing just that. He had been outvoted. Father, Grayson, and even Todd had insisted it was time for Damian to take a break and see to his growing headache. As if any of them were resting. It was too much fuss over injuries that were paltry. He might not be as irritated if Grayson had been forced to rest as well.

The man was as stubborn as Father. While he had been partnered with Grayson, Damian had been told of his brother’s famous hard head, but he had not truly realized it until he began to work with the man. He wondered how the two ever worked together when disagreeing, their attitudes were so similar. When they got it in their heads to do something, they were almost unmovable. Like Titus when he refused to give Damian his favorite stuffed toy.

Damian could be that stubborn. He had many times, but when faced with not one but two people wielding such power, well he’d much rather find an alternate means of helping. He did make a mental note to sway Father to his side in forcing Grayson to rest later. He would not be the only one bullied into a break.

Drake Manor came into sight as Damian and Titus moved out of a tree line. The building was not as stately as Wayne Manor, but it was kept up well, even with Drake spending hardly any time there anymore. Damian liked to think that if he had a whole mansion to himself he’d use it more than Drake did. Though that might get lonely. Perhaps he would use it the same way his brother did: as more of an escape than anything.

Now that he was here, Damian’s reasons for coming felt shaky at best. He had been so sure of himself when he’d snatched the keys to the estate from Drake’s room and decided to secretly investigate. He’d hoped that-- well Damian wasn’t sure what he’d hoped. To find the stalker here? Camped out at Drake’s childhood home sifting through his mail or something? It felt silly. Like he was grasping at straws.

It would be even sillier to turn on his heel and leave, so Damian stomped ahead. He turned the gate key in his hands, Drake had probably already been out here, searching the grounds for any signs of his stalker. Father too would have come to look. And Todd and Cain and Grayson and the whole lot of his family. Damian was simply last to come up with the idea.

“Tt,” he said, and put the key into the lock, turning it until he heard a click.

The gate swung inwards, giving Damian access to a spot he was sure would lead to nothing. But he would not give up. Grayson used to-- and sometimes still did -- give him cases to read over that he thought he’d solved but wanted ‘fresh eyes on’. When Damian had asked why, when they were already solved, Grayson had said that everyone saw things differently, and a new perspective could reveal things everyone else missed.

Damian was going to be the new perspective.

He decided to check the inside first, and circle around the grounds after. That way if he took too long and someone came looking for him Damian would have managed to explore most of the spot he was most curious about.

Titus darted through the open gate off to explore the new area. Damian let him frolic for the time it took him to approach the house then called the dog over to him. He’d rather have his friend close by through the exploration.

Only his whistle didn’t catch Titus’s attention, and when Damian didn’t see the dog coming close, he looked up to search for him, the keys dangling in his fingers.

Titus stood close to the front gate to the driveway, growling, with his ears pulled back, at a man. The man stood very still, even separated by wrought iron.

Damian hurried over to stand near Titus, “Hey boy, it’s okay.” he said, resting a hand on the dog’s head and frowning at the person Titus had decided was no good.

The man looked to be in his late forties, with dark hair speckled with some grey, and deep lines on his face. He was dressed plainly, and in a coat and gloves that were appropriate for the weather only if he’d planned to stay out late. Everything was done in dark tones, with nothing that really stood out. What was most interesting was the fact that a small envelope was held tightly to his side in one of his hands.

Damian did not glare at the man since he did not wish to make him bolt, but every fiber of his being said there was something very wrong about this guy.

“Can I help you?” Damian asked, raising himself up and filling his tone with as much authority as he might have in addressing one of Grandfather’s men who’d stepped out of line.

“Hi, you wouldn’t happen to be Tim Drake would you?”

Damian’s heart sped up, and he squeezed his hand around Titus’s collar, “I do not think I should tell you. I don’t know you, and so far you have not introduced yourself.”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Joe, I’m an old acquaintance of your dad’s.” The man gave Damian a smile that felt a little too bright, “Listen, I’ve been out of town for a couple years, and well I came by to give my condolences and just say hi. We used to be pretty close back in the day.”

He thought Damian was Timothy. Well then he couldn’t have been that close a friend. Damian shared a hair color with his brother, that was it. It should be obvious he was not the son of a supposed ‘old friend’.

“Timothy is my brother, and he would not appreciate you snooping around. Now I would kindly ask you to leave.”

Titus’ growl turned into a bark, and he tried to pull away from Damian to lurch at the man. Damian held firm, but did not hush his loyal friend.

The man glanced down at Titus and back up at Damian, “Alright, okay, I’ll try calling ahead next time. Have a nice day.”

“Wait--” Damian called, as the man turned, “Did you not have a letter you wished delivered?” he pointed to the envelope clasped close to the man’s side.

“Oh! Yeah.” The man smiled, “Will you give this to your brother? I wasn’t sure if I’d catch him or not, so I thought I’d say hi with it.”

Damian stepped a little closer to the gate and took the offered letter. It did not seem to weigh much, and might have been what the man said. He gave him a sharp nod of dismissal.

Once the man was gone, Damian turned and hurried back to the manor at an almost sprint. He would have run, but moving quickly was making his headache return and he was not certain the man he’d just run into was Drake’s stalker or not. It could be a false alarm.

When he returned home he came in the back he quickly examined Titus’ paws for mud or any pebbles he might have picked up on the walk then let him run into the house. He paused in the kitchen where Pennyworth was enjoying a cup of tea.

“Back so soon?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have brought news.” Damian told him, “Where are Father and Timothy?”

“Downstairs with the others. Might I ask what this news is?”

“I ran into a strange man on my walk. He was attempting to enter Drake Manor.”

Pennyworth straightened at this, and looked Damian over. “That is news.”

Something told Damian that the butler was not just reacting to the man, but Damian’s involvement. He seemed concerned, but in that way that said he was trying to hide it.

“I was perfectly safe.” Damian said, “Titus was there and the gate was between us. I had planned to examine the house for clues to help the search.”

Now Pennyworth’s lips turned up in a smile, “I see. Well then, head downstairs. I’m sure the others will be interested to hear of your news. And I expect you back up here in a reasonable amount of time. Breakthrough or not, you are still recovering, and I could use a hand with dinner.”

Damian nodded, “Of course.”

He made his way out of the kitchen and down to the cave at a more sedate pace, knowing Pennyworth’s eyes and ears were on him, alert for any sounds of Damian “exerting” himself. Thankfully it was not long before he was exiting the elevator and moving into the cave proper.

There, he found Father at the computer, with Richard leaning over his shoulder as they both read something. Todd and Drake were sparring on the mats while Cain watched, and Brown did handstands. Damian stopped just between the practice mats and computer to watch them all.

Upon seeing him, Brown dropped from her handstand to wave, “Back from your walk?”

Richard turned to frown at Damian, but before he could send him back upstairs Todd spoke up, ducking under Drake’s fist.

“Nope, you are not supposed to be down here, Squirt. Upstairs before Alfred figures out you’ve snuck down.”

Damian huffed, “I did not sneak anywhere, Pennyworth is aware of my location. While you all have been dallying I have made a breakthrough in Drake’s case.”

Todd froze, and took a kick directly to his stomach for it. He oofed and doubled over while Drake scrambled to make sure he was fine. Father and Richard both turned fully in Damian’s direction.

“What do you mean, Dames?” Richard asked.

“You weren’t supposed to be doing case work upstairs either.” Father reprimanded.

“I was taking Titus on a walk.” Damian defended.

Yes he had been planning on sneaking case work into the walk, but it really hadn’t come up, so technically he was still telling the truth. He had only really managed the walk before he’d run into “Joe”. It was pure luck he’d come across the man at that time. If he had been any slower or faster he might have missed him altogether. Or perhaps even been mistaken for Timothy inside the house. That might not have gone over nearly as well as the meeting at the gate had.

“Well what did you find?” Drake asked.

He and Todd had straightened and were moving closer. Cain and Brown kept back, they were interested, but leaving things up to those who’d been closest to the investigation so far.

Damian held up the letter, “A man gave this to me outside Drake Manor. He initially mistook me for Drake despite claiming to be an old family friend. From his manner and way of speaking I suspect he is either Drake’s stalker, or someone hired by them to drop off the latest threat. In either case he was a terrible actor.”

Drake snatched the envelope from Damian’s hands and tore it open before anyone could stop him. He removed a single sheet from within, stared at it for a moment, then silently handed it over to Father.

Father read it, his face darkening with every line he scanned. Damian resisted the urge to stand up on his tiptoes to peer over the sheet and read what was on it. Whatever it contained, he was certain it was more of the same creepy and unsettling information Drake had been receiving for a while now.

Part of him thought he should have opened the letter himself before presenting it to the family. It had been an oversight to just hold it out as he had done. What if there had been something dangerous inside? And to have put more threats upon Drake like this, after they were trying to stop everything--it was embarrassing. He should have checked.

But then again, Drake would have insisted on reading it. Everyone would probably insist. Still, it wasn’t the letter that was important. It was the person who had delivered it.

“Damian, you said you saw the person who delivered this?” Richard asked, looking up, concern on his face.

He nodded, “Yes, I can sketch him, and we should be able to use it to identify him.”

Todd moved over beside Damian, and ruffled his hair, “That’s great! Even if he’s not the guy, he’s connected with him, this is a good lead.”

Damian scowled, and ducked away from him, “It was simply luck. I was in the right place at the right time. If not, we would only have another creepy letter.”

“And boy is it creepy.” Todd said, yanking the letter away with a whistle, “He said he likes the smell of your shampoo on your pillow? Ew, and also totally false unless he somehow got in here.” Todd looked up with a frown, “He couldn’t have gotten in here right?”

“It is most likely a lie intended to be built upon a truth. Either he believed Timothy was still staying at Drake Manor or it was supposed to come here and the hired hand chose the wrong home.” Damian said.

Both Richard and Drake’s attention shot up to look at Damian. He frowned at them confused for a moment, then realized his mistake. He turned the frown into a glare.

“Pennyworth asked me not to be too long. I will return upstairs to aid him then draw the picture of your stalker.”

With that he turned on his heel and left them to glean whatever they could from the letter

#Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #finding us #fanfiction #batfam #the others are here #but this is Damian's chapter #so it feels weird to tag them all #surprise surprise the one that got me out of my stuck spot was a damian chapter #triggers #include #stalking #stalker #creepy letter #stalker letter #it's not a creepy chapter #but just in case #precious posts #chapter 20

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

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Fall [Rise] - MARK |Swing!|

No more spoilers for MCU movies, I believe :) Enjoy your spoiler-free but angst-filled chapter! Once again, thank you @deathbykpopboys for inspiring this series :)

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, violence, PANIC ATTACKS IN THIS CHAPTER (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 7.5k

Somewhere, somehow, amidst the chaos of existence, you and Mark remember that you’re not alone.

Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } >> Fall { 1 - Spiral | 2 - Rise } >> Release

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

Mark knows you aren’t okay. He can see it in the bags under your eyes (which are somehow worse than his), the tired, slightly haunted way you look at everything, and how you’re speaking less. And when you do talk, it’s a lot quieter than before.

He just doesn’t know how to broach the topic. Every time he asks if you’re all right, you just smile and say you’re fine.

So you keep going on patrols with him, even though he knows you shouldn’t. Mark feels guilty, knowing that his increased patrol time is probably part of why you look so terrible, but he can’t stop. And if he doesn’t stop, you won’t either.

Because who’s going to help the little guy if he isn’t there? If you aren’t there?

He still reads the articles. He’s just gotten better at hiding it. He knows what people say about you two – the Daily Bugle, the New York Times, sometimes even the Wall Street Journal. And the articles just keep coming as the two of you stay out longer and longer to fight crime. No matter how many criminals you help put behind bars, people just want you to keep doing more and more and more.

Mark is exhausted the night he gets shot. A physics test earlier in the day took a lot out of him mentally, while he spent a good part of the afternoon hauling supplies from Professor Tuan’s truck to the lab. By the time he climbs onto the roof to meet you, his brain feels a little mushy.

You don’t look much better. Your voice is slightly hoarse – not in a sick way, but in a way that tells him you’ve been crying – but you deny everything he throws at you and just start swinging away.

(He’s a hypocrite. He keeps telling you to knock off patrolling if you’re feeling bad, but he won’t take nights off for himself. He wants to take care of you, but he won’t take care of himself.)

The gunmen you two fight tonight are trained, much better shots than most of the amateur muggers and criminals you’ve fought before. It takes a long time to subdue all of them.

Well, you and Mark think it’s all of them. In the space of his muddled brain, Mark thinks there were only five when you started.

Apparently, there were six.

In the darkness of night, Mark sees the outline of the bullet hurtling toward your exposed back. Your danger sense kicks in, he can tell by your widened eyes and your beginning attempt to dodge, but he’s already there before he knows it, shoving you away and taking the bullet into his shoulder.

Fuck. He didn’t mean for that to happen. He meant to push you away and get himself away, too, but he was too unprepared. Too tired.

Too slow.

Mark doesn’t remember much of what happens immediately after. There’s pain, a lot of it. He remembers you calling someone – probably Mr. Stark, now that he thinks of it – and cleaning the wound as best as you can. There’s something gold and red that carries him off, which, in hindsight, was also probably Mr. Stark in his Iron Man suit.

It’s the last Sunday before winter break ends. Mark wakes up groggy and confused in a bed at Stark Tower with Mr. Stark bending over him and cleaning the wound on his shoulder. Then he passes out again.

Later, Mr. Stark will tell Mark that he’s lucky that a) the bullet flew right through his shoulder, b) the wound isn’t as serious as others he’s seen, and c) you used to read a lot of crime novels and therefore know more or less how to clean a bullet wound.

Mark feels lucky for the third part. He’s always been lucky to have you there.

The first and second parts? Not so much. This thing hurts.

He spends most of the day in Stark Tower, with Mr. Stark fussing around bandages and giving Mark really strong painkillers that knock him out. You appear at some point but disappear sometime before he falls unconscious again, which isn’t nice. He wants you here. He wants to hold your hand.

When he wakes up again, he gets his wish. It’s four in the afternoon and the pain in his shoulder has dwindled significantly. You’re passed out on a chair next to his bed, his hand limply held in yours.

Bright afternoon light streams in from the window, illuminating your sleeping face. Mark sits up in bed, pleasantly surprised that his shoulder barely hurts even when he moves it. Perks of speedy healing. For a moment, he just drinks in the sight of your face, for once calm.

He took a bullet for you, he thinks. Still, though, he didn’t mean to take the bullet at all.

Would he have pushed you away, even if he knew he was going to get shot? Would he have pushed you away, even if he knew the bullet was going to hit someplace more lethal?

Mark’s heart thumps as his fingers curl around yours protectively.

Yes, he thinks. He still would have. He wouldn’t have changed a thing he did.

You begin to stir, probably from the added pressure of his hand in yours. As your eyes flutter open, still glazed over with sleep, Mark realizes.

He likes you. Much more than he ever liked Lia. He’s liked you for a long time, he just never realized it.

Maybe he even loves you.

It explains why he didn’t like thinking about you and Lia together. It wasn’t because you were his best friend and she was his crush. It was because while he liked Lia, he loved you much more. But because he’d felt that way towards you for so long, he just thought it was because you were his best friend.

He never loved Lia, though. Not the way he thinks he loves you.

When you realize where you are, you immediately sit up straight on the chair and fix him with a glare. “Don’t ever do that again!” you snap, and for a second, Mark gets a glimpse of your old, fiery self.

And then because he’s still as awkward and stupid as before, all he says is, “What?”

“Don’t fucking get shot!” you yell. “Don’t jump in front of bullets for me! Just –” you sigh, pulling at your hair with trembling hands – “Don’t scare me like that ever again!”

Mark just smiles as you continue yelling, berating him for being stupid and getting injured and freaking you out and all. After so many weeks of watching you fade into silence, it’s refreshing to see you so worked up and snappy again.

Call him a masochist. But he loves it.

Just as he loves you.

. . . . .

Mark took a bullet for you, and you honestly don’t know what to do with yourself. You have never, not once in your life, wanted your best friend to get injured and nearly die for you.

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. According to Mr. Stark, Mark probably wasn’t going to die from the wound in his shoulder. But what if the bullet had hit somewhere else? What if Mei and Johnny had found out? Well, they didn’t because you and Mark usually leave the house before they even wake up on Sunday Stark days, but still.

Thoughts like these are the reason why the second you get home, you walk into your room and start hyperventilating.

You’re tired of the panic attacks. You hate them. They’re terrifying, they hurt, and they exhaust you to the point that you can barely get out of bed after one of them. You would definitely try avoiding things that caused them if you even knew what was causing them.

Some triggers are easy to pinpoint. Loud noises. Small, confined spaces. Avoiding them is the problem. You can maybe stay away from claustrophobic areas, but loud noises could be anywhere. A locker slammed too loudly. A textbook dropped on the floor. Explosions in the lab.

But then there are the times when you’re not doing anything at all and your chest closes up. Maybe you’re lying on your bed. Maybe you’re studying at your desk. The shortness of breath comes up quickly and without warning, and then you’re hugging your knees to your chest on the floor.

Mark has had three obvious brushes with death – the confrontation at the university, the abandoned industrial park, and now the bullet. He seems to be doing fine.

Meanwhile, you startle at loud noises and feel like death half the time.

Deep inside of the depths of your mind, you want someone for comfort. Johnny or Mark, preferably, or Mei or Mr. Stark, even. But Mark’s got the same workload as you on his plate. Mei’s always working at the hospital. Mr. Stark’s too important to deal with your shit. Johnny works day and night just to take care of you. He dropped out of university for you. Also, you’re still not talking.

All of them are so strong and confident and brave all the time – how can you even think of burdening them with your stupid baggage?

Thoughts swirl around your mind as you take off your suit. All you really want to do at the moment is curl up under your blanket and close your eyes for several years.

That’s a coma, your brain helpfully supplies.

Yeah. That’s the point.

But you have a calculus test, a French quiz, and an English paper to turn in tomorrow. Professor Wang thinks he’s on the verge of a breakthrough with one of his experiments, so he wants you in the lab as well. You need to edit your research paper for a competition to submit by Friday, there’s an AcaDec regional competition on Sunday, and you have to patrol.

You don’t notice the tears have started slipping down your face until one of them drops onto the calculus textbook in front of you. With a firm sigh and a deep breath, you force the remaining tears away, settling your eyes on the page.

There’s no time for crying. You have to study.

That’s how Johnny finds you later, hunched over at three a.m., nearly falling asleep over of your old laptop. He literally picks you up and carries you two feet to your bed before tucking you in and kissing your forehead like Mom used to when you were five.

You start crying, mumbling incoherent apologies and swearing you never thought of Stark as a replacement for him or Dad or Mom, that nothing can ever replace the three of them. Between tears, you beg for his forgiveness, promising you’ll tell the truth sometime soon, you swear.

Johnny shakes slightly as he holds you close, his own tears dripping onto your shoulder as he gives his own apologies for being pig-headed and rude, for feeling insecure and upset that you can’t trust him. He promises to wait, to just trust in you until you can tell him everything.

Everyone’s always taking care of you, you think when Johnny leaves. Everyone’s always helping you, giving you support, giving up things to care for you.

What have you ever done for them besides cause more problems?

With that happy thought, your brain shuts down and you fall asleep.

. . . . .

Mark doesn’t know how you do it. He doesn’t know how you take everything the world throws at you and still come out at the top with perfect grades.

Of course, he knows that grades aren’t the most important thing in life. But in this moment, as he stares at the bright red F circled at the top of his Spanish worksheet, it feels like they are.

There’s no scribbled “see me!” below the large letter grade he doesn’t want to look at, which Mark is thankful for. This is the first time he’s gotten such a low grade in this class. It’s just that he didn’t pay much attention to the lesson, too tired from patrolling late into the night (or was it the morning?).

Priorities are the problem. Mark has a lot of things going on in his life and he’s always been bad at prioritizing because he always wants to do everything perfectly and right. AcaDec? He always tries hard to be the top physics guy. School? He’s competing with you for valedictorian. Lab? He’s leading multiple projects, several of which have won prizes at research competitions. Patrolling? What more can he do with that other than swing around Queens even later into the night?

Mark doesn’t know what to prioritize first.

But clearly, school has unconsciously taken a backseat to everything else. Now that he thinks about it, he’s been taking less time to study for certain classes, like Spanish and English. He could justify it with the fact that he plans to be a STEM major and those subjects won’t be of as much use to him as calculus and physics and biology, but he feels like nothing can justify the red F staring up at him.

It’s just a worksheet. Mark knows it isn’t worth a large part of his grade – barely anything, in fact. But it’s a wakeup call.

I have to do better.

How, though? Everything academia-related takes up most of his normal waking hours. Patrolling takes up his ungodly waking hours.

The obvious answer is to cut back on patrol time. But how can he do that? How can he possibly value his grades over someone’s life?

Mark sighs, putting the worksheet into his Spanish folder. He’ll just have to add some more ungodly waking hours to his study schedule.

“You good?” you ask later that day. The two of you are on the train back home after AcaDec practice, and he guesses the dejection from earlier is still showing on his face. You lean carefully against side, careful not to disturb his wound, and squeeze his hand.

Fuck. It’s in moments like this where it hits Mark just how far he’s fallen for you. Your confidence, your kindness, your bravery, your unwillingness to settle for life’s shit. Everything about you, Mark thinks, even your quick temper and sharp tongue and your countless other flaws, is something beautiful to him.

How did he never realize it before?

“I’m fine,” he replies, trying for a smile. Then, because he can’t lie to you: “Just got an F on a Spanish worksheet.”

He tries to laugh it off in the moment, but you don’t smile or even make a joke. “We can cut down patrol time if you need to study,” you say seriously.

Mark wants to say yes. He really does. It’s like he’s a candle, and fire is burning at him from both ends. He doesn’t know if he can keep this up.

But if you can deal with it, why can’t he? He shakes his head. “I’m fine, honestly.” He squeezes your hand. “I promise.”

It’s a lie. You know it’s a lie and he does too. But it’s one of those lies that’s just too difficult to call out, so you just lean into his shoulder as the subway lurches, letting him feel your warmth by his side.

“You can tell me anything, you know?” you say over the clatter of the train car.

Mark’s heart clenches. “I know.”

. . . . .

There’s another brand of article that’s really pissing you off. It’s the kind that praises Spiderman while pointing out all the flaws in Silk.

You don’t remember exactly when you find the first one. You’re just kind of scrolling through an op-ed in the Daily Bugle that’s describing the disturbingly positive correlation between Spiderman and Silk’s appearances and the crime rate, and the link pops up as something suggested.

Well, you’re already in a shitty mood, you think. Might as well take it a bit further.

It’s laughable, most of it. There’s a lot of blatant sexism that you can brush away quickly. But one thing that hits you really hard is the fact that you like to talk shit during your fights.

While the article lauds Mark for being silent and serious during fights, it bashes your inability to shut up as you throw punches. It then goes into detail about how you clearly don’t take crime-fighting seriously, that you’re just like a stupid little kid (well, not in those words, but pretty much the same thing), and that “Silk should leave the handling of criminals to good, upstanding citizens who won’t embarrass Queens as much as her loud mouth does.”

The first thought that pops into your mind is, which fucking assholes are the ones blabbing about me cursing all the time? You didn’t know criminals were such tattletales.

Then you remember several of your recent, more public fights with the weirdest people ever (seriously? Doc Ock? What even was that?), and you remember the spitfire that your mouth was in those moments.

Do I really curse too much?

It makes you self-conscious. You know there are several teachers and students at school who dislike you for your loud mouth (cough, Ms. Wilson), but you never really took them seriously.

But now that people online are noticing it too…

For the first few days, you try to ignore the article. But every time you open your mouth to snap back something funny or curse someone out, it’s like the article just slams into your mind with full force and you snap your mouth shut.

God, it’s something like having a parent next to you while you’re trying to talk with your friends. Just as a curse builds up on your tongue, the article comes to mind and you shut up.

And then when you start falling silent, it becomes apparent just how much you really curse. It honestly surprises you a little bit – you didn’t realize that “fuck” was such a huge part of your vocabulary until now.

So, slowly, bit by bit, you stop talking as much. If you don’t talk, you won’t curse. You won’t bother anyone. Because if a few fucks and shits are that annoying to people on the Internet, who knows how much they annoy people in real life?

No one really notices, you think. People just carry on the conversation like you’re not even there, only turning around when they want to ask something specifically to you. You won’t lie – it hurts a little. It makes you realize just how easily replaceable you are in some people’s lives.

A couple of people do notice. You’ll always be thankful for your immediate friend group, you think. Haechan and Mark deliberately engage you in conversation when you fall silent. Jihyo often comes over then too, and sometimes Yeri.

But only one actually reaches out to you, asks why you aren’t talking so much.

Mark startles you a bit when he asks. He’s often asked if you’re all right, if you’re feeling fine because you look a little tired, but this time, he pinpoints it exactly. “Why don’t you talk anymore?” he asks as the two of you walk from the university labs to the train station.

“I’m talking right now, Mark,” you reply quickly, though you feel slightly off kilter.

“You know what I mean.” He stops walking. “You’re not as… loud? You don’t talk unless someone else explicitly talks to you, and even then, you don’t, like, curse. Or laugh. Or anything.” He pauses. “You don’t yell when we patrol, either.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you try to digest his words. A huge wave of emotion that you can’t even begin to decipher makes tears prick at your eyes, but you will them away. “Do you…” You chew your lip, then decide to just go for it. “Do you think it’s annoying when I curse? Or that it pisses people off?”

“What?” Now Mark looks confused. “Where did you get that from?” His eyes narrow. “Was it another article?”

Your wince tells him everything. “Y/N,” he groans, slapping his face. “I thought you stopped reading those!”

“Well, it’s not like you stopped either!” you snap defensively.

Mark’s shoulders sag. “Fair. But… Jesus.” He shakes his head. “Whatever article even mentioned that is stupid as fuck.”

“A lot of things are stupid,” you mumble. “Doesn’t stop them from getting at us.”

A short silence follows.

“Let me see the article,” Mark says.

It doesn’t take long for you to bring it up on your phone. As he scrolls through, his eyebrows rise higher and higher on his forehead until he’s finished. There’s a disgusted, yet slightly amused look on his face as he hands the phone back to you. “You know this is, like, blatantly sexist, right?” he says.

“Yeah, I know.” You shove the phone into your pocket. “But it’s just… after I read that, I realized just how much I do curse every day. And if people online were getting annoyed by it, why wouldn’t people in real life be annoyed too?”

Mark just gathers you into a hug, crushing you against his chest. You relax into his warmth. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmurs into your ear. “I think you’re hilarious. Your cursing is funny as fuck. I always wish I had your ability to come up with insults on the fly. Remember Doc Ock?”

You snort, voice muffled against his shirt. “How could I forget?”

“Yeah, and do you think I’m ever going to forget you calling him a ‘fucking nightmare straight out of a tentacle porn horror flick’?” Mark pulls back a little to look you in the face. He’s smiling broadly. “The only reason I’m quiet during fights is because I can’t think of anything worth saying that’s funny. That’s your job, and I won’t let you quit.”

A short laugh bubbles out of your chest. “Fine.”

“Now can we both make a pact to stop reading those stupid articles?” Mark asks, fully letting you go. You miss the warmth of his touch around your shoulders. “They’re shortening my lifespan, but the only way I’ll be able to stop reading them is if you promise not to read them either.”

“You make it sound like we’re going cold turkey from drugs,” you retort. “But fine. I do need to stop.”

“Pinky promise?” Mark holds out his pinky like the two of you are six again, promising not to tell each other’s guardians that you played in the dirt again (like they couldn’t already tell from the brown spots all over your clothes). His eyes sparkle.

An unknown emotion builds in your chest, so strong and powerful it almost knocks you over. You link your pinky with his and press your thumbs together, smiling widely for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

“Pinky promise.”

. . . . .

Mark has had panic attacks before. He used to have them several times a month after Uncle Ben died, but after almost ten years, they haven’t resurfaced.

Then one day, several months after Germany, he’s walking through the university halls to Tuan’s lab when he feels the familiar, yet unfamiliar sensation of choking on his own breath.

It’s never been like this before, he thinks after he’s pulled himself out of that dizzying haze of pain. There always used to be a cause that he could pinpoint. Something black that looked like a gun. A man’s bald head that looked like the murderer’s. A spot of blood on a white sidewalk.

This time, he’s just walking down a hall. There’s nothing he can really see that would trigger an attack. Hell, nothing in the university even really reminds him of his uncle’s death. Guns stopped triggering him a while ago (thank God, or he couldn’t be fighting crime at night). He hasn’t been fazed by blood in several years.

So what’s wrong with him?

Maybe it’s just stress, he postulates, standing up on shaky legs. He’s got a lot to deal with this year, what with preparing for competitions and college applications and all. It’ll get better soon. This is probably just a one-time thing.

Except it isn’t.

He has another panic attack at home as he’s lying in bed, then another while he’s trying to cook something in the kitchen. After almost burning himself while turning off the stove, he just lies down on the kitchen floor, not caring how gross this position is, and starts reevaluating his life.

God, he’d forgotten how much these things hurt.

His old therapist told him a lot about panic attacks, how they could be brought on by many things like trauma and stress. Mark knows his trauma isn’t fully gone, but most of his triggers have faded. It’s probably stress, and now that he thinks of it, he has a lot to be stressed about.

So he knows what’s going on. Telling someone would probably help, but it’s not like Aunt Mei could afford a therapist again, so what’s the point? His only option is to keep going.

So he forges on through life. The fear of another attack keeps him on edge, but he’s learned from his younger years that he can’t really avoid them. He just has to keep going. Keep living. There’s no point in telling anyone.

Until he walks into you suffering an attack of your own.

He literally almost walks into you. He’s just opened the door to your apartment – he has a spare key, and you weren’t letting him in – and you’re crouched just inside the door, trembling and sweating, breathing far too quickly and shallowly to be normal.

Mark’s heart seizes. A sort of sick sense of relief floods his mind when he realizes what’s going on – he isn’t alone.

Then he feels totally, utterly ashamed. Under no circumstance would he ever want someone to undergo a panic attack like him.

He racks his mind for the tips his doctor gave Mei to help get him through his own episodes. Keep calm. Short, simple sentences. Avoid surprises. Slow their breathing.

“Y/N, I’m here,” Mark hears himself say. He sits down a short distance away, keeping a steady countenance even though he’s freaking out on the inside. “Can I hold your hand?”

You don’t say anything, just weakly raise an arm. Your breath is just as fast as before.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking it. His thumb starts soothing patterns over your palm. “Okay. I’m going to start tracing squares onto your hand. If you can, follow my tracing with your breath. Each corner is one breath, okay?”

There’s the slightest nod. He starts tracing.

Mark doesn’t know how long he sits there, helping calm you down from your panic. Aunt Mei told him his panic attacks would last around fifteen minutes, but they never felt that short. He just keeps tracing your palm, offering small encouragements every now and then, and eventually, your breathing starts to slow until it’s back to normal.

He scoots closer, bringing your head to his chest. You just lean against him limply, like a rag doll, breathing heavily.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark finally murmurs, all thoughts of your group project gone. The only thing he’s focused on right now is making sure you’re okay. “Actually, are you tired? We don’t have to talk right now.”

“It’s fine. Not too exhausted. Just… didn’t want to worry anyone,” you mumble into his shirt. Another heavy breath. “Weak. You didn’t look like you were having problems, but –” you gasp – “stupid stuff. Kept setting me off. Loud noises, small spaces…”

Mark’s heart sinks. “How long?” he asks.

“First one was the day Mr. Stark came over,” you answer.

Jesus Christ. You’ve been having these panic attacks for months already, and you never told anyone. Mark feels a little like crying. “What happened then?”

“Explosion in the lab,” you gasp. “Wang messed something up, it exploded. I started hyperventilating but Yuta pulled me out before I spiraled.”

A memory surfaces in Mark’s mind. “So that day you ran to the bathroom at school…” he trails off, feeling sick.

How did he not notice before?

“Someone banged a locker too loudly,” you mumble. “Sounded like an explosion. Something crashing.”

Trauma. There’s no doubt about it. “Were you remembering… homecoming? When the building got dropped on us?” Mark presses gently.

You nod against his chest.

Oh, God. “I wish you’d told somebody,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

“I wanted to.” Your breath is back, but you sound close to tears. “It just felt like you were handling it so much better than I was. You were going through school fine, but I was panicking over just fucking loud noises, and then I also started panicking over nothing at all.” You heave a deep breath. “I thought I was dying.”

Mark shifts you in his arms into a more comfortable position. “I used to have panic attacks after Uncle Ben died,” he states.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Anything that looked remotely like a gun used to set me off. Black staplers, hole punchers, stuff like that. Blood, too. Once, a bald man sent me spiraling. This was mostly before we met, so I didn’t think you’d know.”

“I didn’t,” you say, lifting your head to stare up at him. “Mark…”

“I started having panic attacks again about a month ago.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “The first once just came out of nowhere. I was walking down one of the halls to the lab. My old therapist told me attacks can come randomly, just out of stress. So, nothing to be ashamed about there.”

You sit up, though you still hold Mark’s hand for strength. “If you say so, how come you didn’t tell me?”

He laughs slightly. You’re feeling better, if you can be as snappy as this. “Same reason as you, I guess.” Mark smiles ruefully. “I thought you were handling things really well. You looked like you were sailing through school, even when I got that F in Spanish. So… I don’t know. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Burden me?” You scoff. “Shut up. You’re never a burden. Not to me.”

Something in Mark’s heart blossoms. “Y/N,” he starts, but he can’t say anything more.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask, voice smaller. It’s almost as if you’re scared of the answer, but it’s already on the tip of Mark’s tongue before you even finish the question.

“Of course not!” he snaps. “Never,” he adds, more gently.

“Good.” You smile. It’s wobbly and a little forced, but it’s a real smile. “If I’m not a burden to you, you’re not a burden to me. Tell me things, all right? And I’ll tell you.” You squeeze his chest between your arms.

Mark breathes a soft sigh as you close your eyes, pressing your head against his chest again. “All right,” he murmurs. “Are you going to tell Johnny?”

At that, you freeze. “N… no,” you finally reply, sounding choked. “Not… not yet.”

“You should,” Mark reprimands slightly.

“Then you should tell Mei,” you retort.

Stalemate. Mark sighs. “All right. At least I know now. But if it gets worse, I’ll tell him myself,” Mark warns.

“Fine. Same goes for you,” you say.

“Fine.” He pats your head and you wrinkle your nose like a bunny. Mark almost coos at the sight. “Let’s rest. Group project can get done later.”

“I like the way you think,” you say, stumbling on your way up.

Mark catches you, puts you upright, and smiles. “I’m glad you do.”

. . . . .

It’s one of those unusually slow days where you just want the day to end. The snow outside isn’t exciting anymore – in fact, it’s more slush than snow, which is gross – school is boring, and Wang isn’t in the lab today. Mark still has stuff to do for Tuan, though, so you end up walking home from the train station alone. You’re not patrolling today because neither Mei nor Johnny have late shifts tonight. Also, you’re really tired.

All of this gives you too much time to think, especially about the person who should be walking home right next to you.

Mark has always been someone easy to figure out, at least for you. He doesn’t talk as much as you, but when he does, he’s very sweet. He wears his emotions on his sleeve but in a subtler way than most. A lot of people can detect a change in his mood, but they can’t exactly pinpoint what mood he’s in.

You can, though. On day one, when the two of you met, you just clicked. You immediately understood each other. After almost ten years, none of that has changed.

Until now.

You sigh, taking your shoes off at the door. Johnny isn’t home yet, but he will be soon. You walk into your room and throw yourself on the bed to wait, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It’s totally Mark’s fault, you think wryly. He’s become confusing. How are you supposed to comprehend the swells of emotion you feel when he does something kind, or sweet, or just plain comforting?

Well, that doesn’t make sense. Mark’s been doing those things ever since you two were children in elementary school. So maybe not understanding him isn’t his fault. Maybe it’s yours.

Your thoughts turn to the time he found you during a panic attack, the comfort of his fingers tracing simple squares into the palm of your hand. It could have been a lot worse, you think, if he hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t held your hand and helped you through.

A rush of emotion fills your throat. You’re too tired to fight it, so you just let it wash through your mind. It feels… confusing, yes, because there’s too many strands of feelings to pick out of the wave, but it also feels nice. Gentle. Caressing, soft.

It feels like how Mark’s hand felt, loosely gripping yours.

That was just the last time you felt like this, you remember. There were other times, too. As you run through the memories, you realize those moments aren’t as few and far between as you originally thought. Laughing as you walk home from the train station. Awkwardly stuttering while stealing Captain America’s shield in Germany. The hug and the pinky promise from a few weeks ago.

Maybe this is just what best friends do. Maybe this is just what happens when you’ve known someone for so long they’re basically a part of you.

But the title “best friend” doesn’t feel like it’s enough anymore. Yeah, Mark is your best friend and he’ll always have that title in his arsenal. It doesn’t encompass everything, though.

No, best friend is far from covering it all.

You like him. You like Mark.

As something much more than a best friend.

Your throat constricts as your mind races. For so long, you’ve ignored every sign that your feelings towards Mark might be something more than platonic.

Then you remember the night you thought Mark died underneath the abandoned building. The half-finished, panicky thoughts from that terrifying moment rush back so quickly you feel like you’re having vertigo.

Please, please help me find my best friend, I can’t live without him, I’m sorry for everything I said to him these past few weeks, I love him and I want him back, please –

You sit up straight with the realization, trying to breathe.

I love him.

You love Mark. You’ve probably loved him for a long time, you just didn’t realize it. Or maybe you just didn’t want to, because what if he doesn’t feel the same way?

Mark took a bullet for you, your brain whispers. Then the last conversation you had with Lia comes to mind.

“I thought he might’ve actually liked me, but… it’s pretty clear who he really does.”

“Lia, I promise you that he really did like you.”

“Maybe. Just not as much as he or I thought he did. Take care of him.”

“I will.”

Maybe he does.

Your throat constricts again. You feel the (now familiar) sensation of your chest closing up as thoughts and memories rattle around your mind.

Am I seriously going to have a panic attack over Mark liking or not liking me? is your last coherent thought.

You almost don’t hear Johnny calling your name as he walks through the door. Even when you do, you can’t respond. His voice gets more worried as he gets closer, and you see his eyes widen when he opens the door to your room.

It’s like you blink, and then he’s next to you. Vaguely, you hear him ask if he can hold your hand. When you nod briefly, he doesn’t trace patterns into your palm, but he holds it gently, quietly talking you through the episode until your gasping turns to heaving that turns to normal breath.

For a long time, you just lie on your bed, feeling Johnny’s hand ground you to the earth. “How did you know what to do?” you finally ask, voice slightly raspy.

“One of my roommates at university used to have panic attacks,” your brother replies quietly. “He taught us what to do in case we ever had one or encountered someone having one.” He sucks in a breath. “How long have you been having these?”

Well, there’s no point in hiding it. “A few months,” you admit.

Johnny sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it trembles anyway. “You already have to work just to let the two of us survive, while I’m just going around and doing things that don’t matter. I don’t make money. I just take up space. I don’t help. You had enough to deal with.”

Your bed dips and then Johnny’s putting you into a very light chokehold. “Excuse me?” he says teasingly, though you can hear an undercurrent of sadness in his voice. “Did you just say that you don’t matter? Because you do. Very much.”

“But –”

“Nope, my turn.” He lets you out of the chokehold but keeps a gentle hand on your arm. “I will tell you something right now. If you weren’t here, I would no longer have anything to live for.”

You shut up.

“I make enough for us to live, don’t I?” Johnny looks down at you. “And don’t you technically make a lot of money for us each year, keeping your academic scholarship?”

“Well…” You swallow. “I mean, I guess?”

“So you’re not allowed to say you’re a waste of space.�� Johnny turns you around to look right into his eyes. “You’re my younger sister. I love you far more than you can imagine, and I want to worry about you. It’s my duty as your older brother. I want you to be able to talk to me. Trust me, you not telling me things stresses me out more than you telling me everything.”

A ping of regret hits your heart. There’s so much more you haven’t told him, so much more that you can’t tell him just yet.

Well, he knows this now, at least.

“What causes your panic attacks?” Johnny asks gently, rubbing soothing circles onto the top of your hand.

You can’t tell him about the loud noises, but small spaces is reasonable. So is stress. “I’m not completely sure,” you begin slowly, “but I think it’s stress. Small spaces, too. Most of the time, they happen out of nowhere.”

Johnny sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You look up at him, confused.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” He hangs his head.

“Oh, no. No.” You punch his shoulder. “If I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself.”

“Caught by my own logic,” Johnny groans, rubbing the spot you hit. “Fine. What caused this one?”

Man, you just promised yourself you’d start telling Johnny things, and then he goes asking something like this. You swallow. “Stress,” you say truthfully. Your voice gets smaller. “I also think I’m… I think I like Mark.”

Whatever you thought was going to happen, you didn’t expect him to laugh. “Johnny?”

Your brother thankfully calms down, though a smile stays on his face. “Congratulations, you’re officially the last one to know.”

“… What.”

“Y/N. My oblivious younger sister. Listen to me.” Johnny stares you straight in the eye. “There are many cases where best friends just remain best friends forever. However, you and Mark definitely do not fall in that category. Anyone who’s seen you two interact can tell.”

You have no clue to what to say to that.

“It’s obvious you two like each other,” your brother finally says, smiling even wider. “I’m just happy you figured it out.”

“This is so embarrassing,” you mutter, pulling away to flop onto your bed. “You think he likes me back?”

Johnny snorts. “I know he likes you back.”

Silence falls in the darkening room. “Go for it, Y/N,” Johnny finally says. “You’re brave. You can do it.”

Lia’s words come to mind again. “I thought he might’ve actually liked me, but… it’s pretty clear who he really does.”

“Maybe,” you say, even though you think you already know what you’ll do. “Maybe I will.”

. . . . .

Mark doesn’t live in Florida. Nor does he live in Texas. No, he lives in New York, where the weather can still be shitty, but it’s more or less predictable.

He didn’t sign up for this.

The day starts out nice enough. Gray light streaks through the sky as the two of you start out for Stark Tower, suits in hand. The sun is fully up in the sky by the time the you reach the tower, and it only shines brighter as Mr. Stark teaches the two of you to fix up more of the nanotech.

Somehow, the two of you hadn’t managed to fuck up your suits that badly that week, so Mr. Stark lets you go early. The sun is still shining brightly at that point – it’s probably two or three in the afternoon – so you suggest going to Central Park to work on your research papers in the shade.

One hour passes in quiet bliss, then two. You ask him to read over a paragraph and he asks you to check over the diagrams in his appendix. All the while you two are working, the sun is shining brightly, making you thankful for the shade the trees provide.

Then the clouds start coming in.

Mark doesn’t react to it at first, just welcomes the extra cover from the intense sun. It’s only just started getting warmer so there’s still a cool breeze, but after months of freezing snow, the heat isn’t entirely welcome yet.

But the clouds keep coming to the point where they’ve all but blocked the sun. You look up with a frown. “We should go,” you say, shutting your laptop. “I think it might rain.”

“Really?” Mark can see why you’d think that, given the heavy clouds, but the sun was shining so brightly just an hour ago. The weather probably wouldn’t change that fast.

You shrug. “Better safe than sorry. Plus, it’s already five. We’d be going soon, anyway.”

You turn out to be right. It starts drizzling by the time you reach the subway station, and he can hear the rain start pouring as the train takes them back home.

“This isn’t Florida,” he complains. “I thought it wouldn’t start raining until, like, next month.”

“We love our favorite global issue, climate change!” You make jazz hands while rolling your eyes. Mark laughs.

He’s so in love with you it doesn’t even make sense to him anymore. Is this how Mei and Ben felt? Is this how his parents felt? If so, how did he not realize it earlier, if you make him feel like this all the time?

The rain is still pouring down in sheets by the time you two emerge from the subway station. “Let’s wait for a bit,” Mark says, unwilling to get soaked to the bone. The apartment isn’t too far away, but in this weather, it might as well be a mile.

However, the minutes pass, and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up at all. In the end, you just put your jackets on and run for it.

Mark hasn’t run through the rain in a long time. Physically, it isn’t pleasant. Water soaks his hair and his clothes, and he can only hope that it won’t ruin his laptop, too.

But a smile still blooms on his face as you run next to him, eyes squeezed almost shut to block out the rain, water running through your hair, mouth open in a laugh that sounds like music to his ears. Somewhere along the way, you grab his hand, pulling him along faster as your shoes squelch through puddles.

You drag him under a shop awning about halfway back to the apartment to catch your breath. Despite the cold rain, your cheeks are glowing with contagious warmth and excitement that makes Mark let out a breathless laugh.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, gasping for breath, listening to the sheets of rain pouring onto the awning. Water drips down your faces and into puddles on the ground, and Mark privately thinks you shouldn’t look this beautiful, but you do.

“Hey, Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of a rose-colored daze.

“Mhm?” he replies.

A flash of uncertainty passes through your eyes, but steely fire quickly replaces it. “Can I kiss you?”

The world comes to a standstill. It’s like he’s frozen in time, listening to those four simple words play over and over in his ears.

Can I kiss you?

“Mark?” Your voice is smaller this time, but you still gaze at him with a look that he recognizes – not just from your face, but from his aunt’s, too, when she looked at Uncle Ben. It’s a look that must be mirrored on his face right now.

It’s love.

He nods once, twice, then breathes out a little “yes” that even he can barely hear through the crashing rain, but he knows you heard it when your smile turns blindingly bright and you loop your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss.

It’s messy, a bit cold, and your noses bump into each other the first time your lips press together, but Mark just laughs and you just smile and then he’s leaning in for a second one, a bit more practiced this time, cold lips turning warm as Mark holds you close, hands encircling your waist, just reveling in the feeling of your body pressed against his.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time you two break apart, skin chilled but faces warm, smiling shyly but broadly, eyes sparkling. “You’re beautiful,” Mark breathes, then immediately goes tomato red.

You laugh, loudly but – you’re so cute – shyly as well. “So are you,” you reply.

The two of you race home after that, laughter unaffected by the gray clouds and pouring rain. And as Mark stands, kissing you in the apartment lobby as water drips off of him into puddles on the floor, he feels nothing but bliss.

His life’s been flipped upside down, ever since that spider bite. So many things have gone wrong.

But this?

Mark smiles against your lips.

This is one thing that’s gone right.

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calitraditionalism · 3 years

Text

Arc Two: Chapter Seven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Someone watching Littlepaw sleep would have assumed she was in the middle of a nightmare. Her paws twitched erratically; her pretty little face was scrunched up into a deep grimace; every once in a while, the fur along her back started to stand up straight before flopping back down. The someone observing her would have been compelled to shake her awake and assure her that everything was fine, that her bad dream was baseless.

In reality, Littlepaw was in the grip of intense confusion. She had gone to sleep with the intent to talk to StarClan about leaving the Clan behind – if for nothing else, just to get an idea of what was outside the Territory from those that lived in the sky and could see everything. She wasn’t sure that they would visit, since she had given up the seer life in all but official changing of mentors. Still, it was worth trying...and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she sort of missed the soothing and gentle presence of StarClan cats.

At first her dream was set in that beautiful field she usually saw when speaking with her ancestors: grass of that perfect length and softness, that stray butterfly dancing around her paws, the whole thing. But instead of Meliclight, the cat that visited her most, or some other spirit with the stars in their pelt and eyes, she now just saw a shadow in the distance. It was a shadow like one seen on a cloudy day, vaguely silhouetted and barely darker than the land around it. She couldn’t even tell what it was from this far away. She squinted and unconsciously took a few steps forward.

Abruptly she was turned around, facing the sunrise that was also common in her visions. The brightness of the sky made her look away and squeeze her eyes shut. She could barely open them again – the sun was just getting brighter and brighter, drowning out the stars above her. And yet, oddly, she felt no warmth.

“Meliclight?” she called. “…StarClan? Anyone?”

Then she woke up.

She spent the morning mulling over her dream and brought it up to Flyfang during breakfast. Flyfang couldn’t make heads or tails of it either.

“Snowshine could probably tell you what it means,” she suggested. “I’m sure she’d love to actually do seer work for once rather than leading around all these boneheads.”

Littlepaw gently admonished Flyfang (there were Clast cats around them, for stars’ sake!) but agreed that talking to Snowshine was probably the best idea.

However, predictably, Snowshine was handling a debate of some kind between a Clast native and a newcomer. Littlepaw hovered around the corner where she was for quite a while, waiting. When it became clear that this argument was going to take a while, she gave up and started looking around the settlement.

There was another seer that had come to Clast for a momentary stay – a silver tom named Starkfeather, who hadn’t done much in the time he'd been here beside eat and sun himself. Littlepaw hadn’t spoken to him very much – or at all, really – but she figured he was her next best option.

As she thought, she found him laying against a house wall, exactly where the sun best heated up the cobblestone. His eyes were shut, but he was clearly not asleep, from how he was purring and gently waving his tail, tapping it sometimes against the wall, sometimes against the ground.

“Excuse me,” Littlepaw began as she approached.

Starkfeather didn’t respond, except that his mouth twitched.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” Littlepaw raised her voice a little, assuming he hadn’t heard her. “I had a vision last night, and I was hoping you could help me figure it out.”

One brilliant green eye opened and roamed until it landed on her. A pause, a grunt, and then Starkfeather shifted to sit up at an agonizingly slow pace. Littlepaw kept her patience and smiled politely at him until he was adjusted and looking at her fully.

“A vision?” he said, sounding bored and sleepy. “What kind of vision?”

“Well…” Littlepaw sat down too, straight-backed (or about as straight-backed as cats get when sitting). “I’m not entirely sure. I used to dream of StarClan a lot, in this field with a sunrise, and I was there again, but-“

“Why would you dream about StarClan?” Starkfeather looked down at her, eyes narrowed.

“Oh-“ Littlepaw hastened to add on. “I used to be a seer apprentice, so I talked with them. But I quit, and-“

“Quit?” Starkfeather repeated, almost patronizingly slow. “You gave up on seerhood?”

Littlepaw shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “Y-yes. About a month ago.”

Starkfeather was eyeing her now, head slightly tilted. Littlepaw waited for him to say anything for several long moments. When he didn’t, she continued. “Anyway, so I had a dream again, because I was wondering about leaving the Clan-“

Starkfeather cut her off again. “I know who you are. You’re Morningsky’s kit.”

“You know my mother?” Littlepaw asked, nervous now. Was he going to tell on her?

“She’s been looking for you,” Starkfeather said, oddly contemptuous. “She wouldn’t shut up about how the greatest seer apprentice in the Territory disappeared without a trace.”

“Oh…” Littlepaw’s eyes lowered of their own accord. She had been happy to leave her mother behind, but a little worry had niggled at the back of her head for a long time, about whether Morningsky would miss her or not. Had she asked for her daughter, or her future seer serving under the leaders?

Before she could ask, Starkfeather snorted. “So let me get this straight – you gave up being a seer, and you ran away to this backwater place, and now you’re saying you’re getting visions from StarClan again, like they’d talk to you after all this.”

Littlepaw felt herself shrinking in posture. “I mean…”

“It's a little pathetic, trying to show off to adults, really.” Starkfeather rolled his eyes. “You have no business talking about dreams. Why don’t you leave seer business to those of us who trained all the way and graduated? You quit, and-”

“Well, aren’t you insecure!”

Littlepaw looked to her right. The blind cat Laurelclaw had come in with was strutting up to them, tail and head high and big eyes sparking. She had a smile on, but those sparks looked a little…aggressive, for lack of a better word.

Starkfeather frowned. “And who are you to interrupt-“

“You oughtn’t be talking about interrupting, boy, when you didn’t let this little chickadee finish any of her sentences.” The molly kept moving forward until she was standing almost between Littlepaw and Starkfeather, her nose nearly touching the tom’s and making him lean back a little. “And you really oughtn’t be talking like she’s harming your work when all you’ve done around here is sit on your prat and suck up prey like you’re trying to eat for a whole litter.”

The conversations around them, Littlepaw noticed, were dying off. She felt the eyes of several cats on her and the molly.

Starkfeather must have noticed too, because he stood up as straight as he could, looking annoyed. “You’ve barely been here long enough to learn my name. You can’t say that I’ve-“

The molly leaned in even harder, talking in a loud whisper. “I pay attention, Starkfeather. And I wouldn’t have to be here half a heartbeat to know that you just got insecure because a cat that quit being a seer is doing your job better than you ever did. Feels awful, doesn’t it? You might not be able to show your face around here if she has another dream! Have to go hunt your own food out in the valley, I’ll wager.”

Starkfeather bristled. “You have a lot of nerve-“

“Ohhh!” The molly’s eyes widened even further than they already were. “I know that tone when I hear it. Are you going to hit a blind cat now? That seems about your speed, picking on the weak and the harmless. Go on, then, we’re all waiting.”

Littlepaw stared in awe at the molly, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. Conversation had died entirely around them; when Littlepaw looked back, everyone was staring, some with their mouths a little open, some trying very hard not to laugh before this confrontation's conclusion.

Starkfeather’s eyes darted between the blind molly, Littlepaw, and the community watching them. He was looking more and more flustered by the heartbeat, mouth moving with nothing coming out of his throat.

“Weeell?” The molly turned her head so that her right cheek was facing Starkfeather. “One hit ought to do it. Come on!”

Starkfeather made a few noises that sounded equally outraged and helpless. Then he whipped around and stalked away, tail lashing.

“That’s what I thooo-ooought,” the molly called in a sing-song voice, a bit of a taunting laugh tucked in there. “Better go bully someone where there’s no one to watch you!”

Littlepaw was so caught up in her amazement that she jumped in alarm when the blind eyes turned on her, paired with a wicked grin.

“You okay, kiddo?” the molly said.

“Yeah,” Littlepaw managed, haltingly. “Um… thanks. I didn’t mean to cause an argument.”

“You didn’t,” the molly said. “That prick was asking for it, talking to you like that. I overheard and, well, I can’t resist skinning fools when I can.”

She lifted her chin, looking past Littlepaw, and tilted her head questioningly, smile dangerously bright. Littlepaw looked back to see the observers quickly finding business elsewhere and resuming their conversations awkwardly. Littlepaw couldn’t fight the giggle that escaped her and turned back to the blind cat.

“Really,” the molly said, quieter, lowering her head to Littlepaw’s height, “what has that twerp been doing since he’s been here?”

Littlepaw smiled without her permission and lowered her voice too. “Well, not much. He showed up after I did, and I haven't heard him talking about StarClan at all.”

“Then he really has no grounds on giving you crap.” The molly nodded sagely, grinning. “So that made that argument even more fun.”

Littlepaw laughed a little, then covered her mouth. “I shouldn’t be mocking anyone, it’s not nice.”

“But it sure is fun,” the molly said. “And you need to learn to dish it back out, my girl! What if I hadn't been here? I’ve heard you talk with your friend, you’ve got a good vocabulary. You could’ve dug him into the dirt with Hurst if you wanted.”

Littlepaw blinked. “I mean, maybe, but…I don’t know how, and…”

The molly tsked and shook her head. “No one’s been teaching you the real important stuff, I see. Well, you want lessons, you just come on around and find me. I’ve quite a vocabulary myself.” She winked. “And it’s quite colorful, if I may say. You’d be surprised.”

Littlepaw’s next laugh was louder. “I might take you up on that, then.” She paused, then remembered her manners. “Oh, my name’s Littlepaw. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.”

“You needn’t apologize for that,” the molly said. “But it is good to have a name attached to a voice. I’m Darkpelt. Your friend is Flyfang, I think? Laurelclaw mentioned her to me. He says she’s quite the fighter.”

“She is,” Littlepaw said proudly. “And she might end up being my mentor as a warrior apprentice.”

“Very good.” Darkpelt nodded again. “Then you’ll learn how to kick keisters both physically and verbally, if you so care to.”

Littlepaw grinned, a flare of boldness and excitement in her chest. “Well…I just might care to.”

#warrior cats #steorra #arc two #chapter #chapter seven #littlepaw #starkfeather #darkpelt

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kumeko · 4 years

Photo

Title: an eye for an eye

A/N: For the second @misteriida zine, which sadly got cancelled due to covid. The theme was Bnha Fantasy, so I couldn’t resist covering Iida’s arc in this world.

Summary: Paladins upheld the law. Paladins strove for justice. Yet, as Tenya held his brother’s limp hand, all that burned within him was a desire for revenge.

…

Standing in the middle of the hallway, Izuku glanced at the wooden door in front of him, and then at his best friend Uraraka. She looked just as nervous as he felt, her teeth worrying her lip as she slowly nodded. Turning back to the door, he timidly knocked. It was strange. Very strange. Usually it was the reverse; Tenya knocking on Izuku’s door to make sure he wasn’t just on time but early for their paladin lessons.

In fact, this morning, as Izuku tumbled out of bed, he had been afraid he’d overslept and missed Tenya’s knock. Only that wasn’t the case, Iida had been nowhere in sight when he and Uraraka left the dorms. The only answer, as impossible as it felt, was that he’d overslept.

“Tenya?” Izuku tried, knocking a little louder. There was no response, not even the sound of someone fumbling for their clothes. He bit his cheek. This was starting to feel serious. “Do you think he left early?”

“Maybe?” Uraraka reached for the doorknob. It turned easily. “It’s unlocked.”

“He wouldn’t leave it like that.” Swallowing, Izuku pushed open the door and stepped inside. Morning light shone in through the window, revealing a sparsely decorated room. There was a well-organized desk, carefully hung clothes, and a neatly made bed; all hallmarks of Tenya. “He’s not here.”

“That’s strange.” Ururaka followed after, glancing around the room. Her hands gripped the hem of her shirt. “He wouldn’t leave without us. Did he forget to do something?”

“Maybe? We should go—” Spotting an envelope on Tenya’s pillow, Izuku raised a brow and picked it up. “A letter?”

“What’s it doing there?” Uraraka peeked over his shoulder.

Flipping it over, Izuku’s eyes widened as he saw his name neatly written in black ink. He couldn’t explain it, the sense of foreboding that washed over him at the sight, only that he felt something heavy in the pit of his stomach over it. “It’s addressed to me.”

“Open it,” Uraraka murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. He wondered if she could feel it too, this dread that refused to leave. “It might be important.”

“Yeah.” Mouth dry, he opened the envelope and pulled out a letter with a trembling hand. There were two pages filled with Tenya’s cramped writing. Taking a deep breath, he read the contents aloud. “To my friends, Uraraka and Izuku.”

I am sorry for any hurt I am about to cause you. I know that I am doing something wrong. Many times over the past few weeks, I contemplated telling you. You both give good advice, and I am sure that it would be the same in this matter. If I had told you, you might have talked me out of it. Yet, I do not know how to explain this to myself, let alone you. I have never been good with words, I am only friends with you because you reached out to me. Even writing it down now does not clear my thoughts. Where do I even start? As you know, my brother had been injured last month by the paladin killer, Stain…

-x-

Gripping his wooden sword firmly, Izuku swung down quickly. It hit the practice dummy with a satisfying thwack and small bits of hay floated to the ground. His armour clanked as he slid back into position. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “How was that?”

“Great!” Tenya smiled broadly at his friend, giving him a thumbs up. Honestly, it was impressive how far Izuku had gotten in the span of a few months, especially since his background had nothing to do with any form of skilled fighting. Crossing the training ground, he stood next to Izuku and slowly adjusted his stance. “If you stand like this, though, you’ll be able to transfer your power better.”

Izuku frowned. “I knew something felt off.” He looked down, adjusting his footing to match Tenya’s. “This better?”

“Yeah.” Nodding, Tenya stepped back. There was something really fulfilling about teaching Izuku; maybe it was how quickly he picked things up or maybe it was just how open he was to suggestions.

Holding her practice sword loosely, Uraraka left her target and approached them. Mirth coloured her voice as she added, “That’s our class leader for you, noticing the smallest of issues.”

“It’s an important detail,” Iida countered, pushing his glasses up. This wasn’t the first time he’d argued this point, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. If more paladins noticed these things, they’d be better at their jobs. “It can mean the difference between life and death.”

Izuku nodded. “It does.”

Uraraka sighed. “Right, right. This is why people think you two need to lighten up.” She shrugged. “Anyways, Tenya, you really do have the best form.”

Iida flushed, pleased. He wasn’t a prideful man, but it was nice to hear someone had noticed all his hard work. Rubbing the back of his head, he thanked her before glancing at Izuku. “Though I think Izuku has the strongest attack.”

“W-w-what?” Flustered, Izuku shook his head rapidly. “The strongest? Me? T-that’s not…”

It wasn’t good to be humble to the point of ignoring your own strengths. Honestly, anytime they praised him, Izuku would immediately panic, as though they’d found out a great secret. It was strange.

Before he could ask, one of their instructors sprinted past them, heading toward the school’s front gate. Tenya barely turned around in time to catch two more instructors following after, one of them yelling for someone to get the school’s healer.

“What was that?” Uraraka asked, squinting toward the front gate. As the tall, imposing doors opened, they could hear a huge uproar as people poured in.

“It’s Stain!” someone yelled, their voice startling clear amidst the clamour. “He’s killed again!”

“Killed?” Izuku paled, glancing at them.

Without another word, they sprinted toward the gate. Iida had heard rumours about the paladin-killer Stain, that low villain who struck paladins in the middle of their rounds. There was no honour in his attacks, just a body count that was now in the double digits.

And now he had another death on his hands.

At the gate, one of their teachers, Kayama, was clearing a path through the students crowding the way. Unlike her usual playful expression, her face was tight with worry. Fiercely, she shouted, “Keep back. We need to get him to the medic.”

Behind her, Tenya could just barely make out Yagi and Aizawa. As the crowds thinned, he caught glimpses of a stretcher, of gleaming silver armour, of red blood.

“Who do you think it is?” Uraraka whispered, instinctively reaching for his hand. She trembled; he could feel the vibrations through his arm. Or maybe it was him shaking.

“I don’t know.” Izuku stood on his toes, straining to make out the injured paladin. “We’d have to check who was out on patrol.”

Tenya rubbed his chin as he recalled the patrol schedule. “If I remember correctly, Jean, Endeavor, Tensei…” His voice caught as he uttered his brother’s name. The stretcher cleared the crowds, providing him with an unobstructed view of the victim. A mop of black hair, the insignia of the runner, Atlanta, carved onto the breast plate, the Iida family sword lying next to him.

For a second, Tenya couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear. In slow motion, he saw Uraraka gasp, felt Izuku grab his arm. Aizawa looked at him, pitying, before turning straight ahead.

Tensei groaned. In an instant, everything came rushing back and Tensei started to run. “Tensei!”

“I’m sorry.” Kayama stood in front of them, her trademark whip wrapped around her arm. Blood flecked her cheek and she shook her head. “You have to wait till our healers have checked him.”

“Tensei!” Tenya yelled again, trying to push past her. His world narrowed to just his brother’s form, quickly carted away to the school building. “TENSEI!”

“You can’t!” Izuku pulled him back, his voice thick with concern. “W-we have to wait.”

“Yeah.” Clearly shaken, Uraraka grabbed his other hand. “Let’s wait, together, okay?”

Kayama grabbed his cheeks firmly, forcing him to look at her. “Listen to your friends. I’ll get you the second it’s safe.”

Tenya looked at his brother one last time before slowly nodding.

-x-

Or maybe I should go even earlier than that. The Iida family have been paladins for generations, a line that’s been unbroken. Tensei has always been the ultimate paladin, the very person I aspire to be. My brother used to come back from the school, training me on his holidays…

-x-

“You ready?”

Standing in the middle of the armoury, Tenya adjusted the collar of his leather armour uncomfortably. At twelve, he was taller than almost everyone in his class, but still his brother’s hand-me-downs were a size too big. “I think so.”

“You think so?” Tensei poked his head in. Catching sight of Tenya, his eyes widened a fraction before he burst into laughter. Doubling over, he wheezed, “You look like you’re playing dress up.”

“Hey!” Tenya tugged on his armour again, trying to get it to fit on his frame properly. His cheeks burned red-hot as his brother continued to laugh. This was not how he expected today to go. “It’s…it’s just a little big.”

“More than a little.” Calming himself down, Tensei wiped the tears from his eyes. He straightened up and appraised Tenya. His lips quirked as he tried not to laugh. “Come here, I’ll fix it for you.”

Puffing his cheeks, Tenya trudged over to his brother. “It’s not that bad,” he mumbled.

Realizing he’d gone too far, Tensei tried to mollify him. “You’re right, it’s a good attempt.” He crouched, loosening and retying various straps.

Despite himself, Tenya could feel the difference. The leather clung to his skin tighter, though still not enough to be called a proper fit. When Tensei finally stepped away with an approving nod, Tenya begrudgingly admitted, “It’s better. Thanks.”

“Yep, you look like a proper paladin now,” Tensei replied, grinning brightly.

Tenya bounced on his feet, his fists shaking excitedly. “Really?”

“Really. Just missing one thing.” Tensei glanced around the armoury, at the spears and swords proudly displayed on the walls. Heading over to a small trunk, he opened it up and pulled out a wooden sword. “Your weapon.”

Eagerly, Tenya grabbed it. Sure, it wasn’t a real weapon, but it was the next best thing. Maybe, just maybe, if he impressed his brother, he’d even be able to hold one today. He could dream, at least.

Now properly suited, they headed over to the stables. In the paddock, Tensei had set up a single training dummy. The straw-stuffed humanoid-on-a-stick looked a little worn; no surprise, considering how many times Tenya had fought it with a stick.

But he didn’t have a stick now. No, he was using an actual wooden sword. Standing in front of it, Tenya frowned as he stared down his enemy. “You will be defeated today.”

“Good fighting face,” Tensei praised, crouching down next to him. His cheek twitched from supressed laughter but at least he was taking it seriously now. “Do you remember the stance I showed you?”

“Yes!” Iida held out his sword and adjusted his feet, shifting his weight so it distributed more heavily on his back foot. His armour bumped against him slightly as he moved.

“Close!” Resting a hand on Tenya’s arm, Tensei gently bent the elbow. “You need to relax your stance a little. If you’re too rigid, you can’t strike with enough force.”

Tenya tried to keep his expression serious throughout the training lesson, but it was hard. His brother only had so much time at home, and he chose to spend it training him. There was nothing more amazing than that. His brother was the greatest paladin of all time.

-x-

I can already guess what you’re thinking. The teachers and other paladins can handle this. Maybe. My brother is not the first paladin to fall to Stain’s hand. Even with all those injured, we still haven’t been able to catch him. No one knows where he goes or when he’ll appear. Besides, even if we did, they will try to capture Stain alive. To give him a fair trial, as our laws entail.

My brother is not the first to fall but I want him to be the last. It is not the paladin’s way to demand revenge. Justice, sure, but not revenge. I fear I desire nothing but the latter.

Iida paused at those last words, not sure how to continue. Where to continue. He leaned back into his chair, staring at the paper on his desk. He had spent the last few hours trying to find the right way to say goodbye to his friends, but that was impossible. There were no words to describe the strange mess of anger, fear, and loss that settled in the pit of his stomach. What could he say, to explain the way he felt when he sat in the recovery room, clenching his unconscious brother’s hand? Tensei’s pulse had been faint, so very faint. Even now, he could feel it, as soft as a bird’s wing. Death had been in the room that day and it was only a miracle that it hadn’t taken Tensei away.

His brother was alive, but only just.

Tenya picked up his pen again. Would his friends understand? Food had lost its taste, sight its colour. There was only the red of blood, the red of hatred, the red of revenge. It left a bitter sensation in his mouth but it was something at least.

No, there was no way he could describe the white hot anger that burned inside him, threatening to consume him whole. It was something that could only be experienced and he hoped they would never understand.

Outside, an owl hooted. Tenya looked outside his dorm room window at the night sky. It was a cloud night, the stars barely visible. This was it. The hour was late and if he wanted to avoid the night patrol, he had to leave now.

Quickly, Tenya scrawled his name at the bottom of the letter before folding it into an envelope. Setting it on his pillow, he stared at his friends’ names. They would be hurt. They might never forgive him.

That was fine. This was more important than his own happiness.

Steeling himself, Tenya removed his paladin badge from his tunic. It was the last, final step. There was no going back now. The school would never take him back if he succeeded. And if he failed…

Before he could second guess himself, Tenya whirled around and left. One way or another, he was going to end it.

#tenya lida #bnha #uraraka ochacho #izuku midoriya #iida tensei #fanfic #fantasy au

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fatefulfaerie · 4 years

Text

A Man With Two Souls II

Oscars' eyes opened slowly as he felt once more the floor beneath him.

He didn't say anything to the Cotta-Arcs, as they had been so hospitable, but if he were honest, the sleeping bag didn't do much. Besides, it was easier to attribute his inability to sleep to the cold floor beneath him than the worried thoughts in his mind.

He tossed to the other side, closing his eyes to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day, and they had already spent most of the night planning the airship heist.

Well, it had mostly been Jaune and Ruby.

Oscar always felt that they were most fit to be leaders, which is why he listened attentively to their plans. Weiss, Blake, Yang chimed in every once in a while, but Maria was the most vocal with her many insults towards Caroline Cordovin. And, of course, Qrow, who sat silently on the couch that was farthest away from the group with crossed arms.

Oscar sat up in his sleeping bag with a sigh, looking out at them now, sleeping.

Of course they were sleeping, they probably fell asleep as soon as their heads met the pillow.

The guest bedroom they were given wasn't too small, Maria and Qrow taking the two beds and Jaune in a sleeping bag across the room from Oscar. Ren and Nora were between them, always starting out separate and then inching closer to each other almost subconsciously throughout the night.

At the moment, they slept with their hands clasped in each other, but Oscar wouldn't be surprised if they got closer.

He didn't know much about them, how they met, but he had a feeling that it was quite traumatic, and that they needed each other because of it.

Oscar slipped the sleeping bag off his legs before standing up and heading downstairs.

A small glance to his right was enough to see team RWBY as he descended, Yang sprawled out every which way on one couch and Weiss neatly curled up on another.

Ruby was the only one not on one of the three couches, the young huntress in a sleeping bag on the floor.

Oscar walked past them once reaching the end of the stairs, flicking on the light of the kitchen.

Glass in hand, he poured himself some water before looking into the reflection it gave, the tan, almost golden specs swimming in his green eyes. He'd almost forgotten what they used to look like before all this.

Life was so much simpler back then.

"Can't sleep?"

Completely taken by surprise, Oscar dropped the glass on the floor, turning around with a gasp.

"Sorry," Ruby said with a small smile.

"It's okay," Oscar said, still a bit flustered, "it's just water."

He looked down at his feet for just a second and continued,

"And some broken glass…"

"Here," Ruby said as she came forward, "let me help you."

"Thanks," Oscar said as they both knelt, picking up the shards.

"Of course," said Ruby, "it is kind of my fault for startling you."

There was a pause before panic washed over Oscar, turning his head quickly and asking,

"Wait, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Ruby said, "I…I was already awake."

She said those words rather quickly, Oscar hesitating asking why, and if everything was okay.

What a stupid question, the girl beside him had been through so much, of course everything wasn't okay.

So he didn't ask.

"I think that's the last of it," Oscar said as he stood up, Ruby gingerly wiping one hand off with the other above the trashcan.

"Mind if I join you?" Ruby asked.

"Join me?" Oscar retorted.

Ruby gave a small giggle.

"You were about to have a glass of water," she reminded him with a smile.

"Oh…right…" he said nervously, Ruby reaching into a cupboard and grabbing two more glasses.

Oscar watched as she refilled the first with water, but then reached in the fridge to fill the second with milk.

She handed him the first before taking her own, them both hopping to sit on opposite countertops to face each other.

Yet now it was Ruby who was looking into her drink and not drinking it, Oscar taking a sip of his water before noticing.

"Ruby…"

"Hm," she said as she tilted her head back up, her tone perky and joyous, as if the sad eyes she had just seconds ago never existed.

"S-sorry, I must have lost my train of thought for a second," she said before taking a gulp of milk and putting it down on the counter beside where she sat.

"How've you been holding up?" she asked Oscar.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Oscar said in reply.

"Do what?" Ruby asked with a slight tip of her head.

"Neglect yourself to care about other people," Oscar stated.

"Well, that's what being a huntress is about," Ruby argued casually with a shrug.

"And kill yourself in the process?" Oscar said sharply, Rubys' silver eyes blinking wide, "that doesn't seem very caring to me."

Oscar surprised himself that he had silenced Ruby, and that he was talking so outright with her now. But the opportunity was here now, he couldn't waste it.

"You keep pushing things aside to stay positive for everyone else," Oscar continued, "but what about you?"

"I'm a leader," Ruby said, that same casual and cheery tone now a bit quieter.

"You told me once that I'm my own person," Oscar said, "and while I can't say that it truly applies to me, it does to you. You need to think of yourself as a person first, and then a leader. It's not good for you to bottle up everything."

"We have to stay strong," Ruby said her eyebrows furrowing, "to keep people alive. I have to put my team first."

Oscar shook his head.

"This isn't strength."

"Staying optimistic and caring about others," Ruby started, a hint of frustration in her voice, "that's what you're nitpicking?! That's what the world needs! That's what all of us need!"

"I'm not talking about the rest of the world," Oscar said in reply, "I'm talking about you. Sure, in battle hope goes a long way, but what about now. Right here, right now. The moment you need to talk about something and you don't. Please, tell me what's wrong. If not me than anyone, Yang…Qrow…Weiss…this can't be healthy."

Ruby sighed, her eyes opening and closing slowly.

'You know, you don't give yourself enough credit'

Maria's voice rung in her ears, Ruby wondering if that's what she meant all along.

"You're right," she said, to Oscars' surprise.

Ruby took a sip from her milk before holding it in her hands, her head downcast and her eyes swimming with brooding thoughts.

"I've been thinking about my mom a lot recently," Ruby said in a voice Oscar had never heard before. Weak and vulnerable, but Oscar would only describe it as strong.

"Summer Rose," Oscar said, Ruby's head popping up in surprise.

"S-sorry," he said almost immediately, "it popped in my head. Ozpin must have known her."

"He did," Ruby said, "in fact that's why…"

Ruby stopped herself by biting her lip, remembering her present company.

But somehow Oscar didn't need to her to finish the sentence to catch her meaning.

"I'm sorry," Oscar said, his expression melting.

"It's not your fault," Ruby said with a shake of her head.

"But it will be," Oscar said quietly, silencing Ruby completely.

She didn't know how to argue with that.

"Qrow never talks about how she went missing," Ruby said, "what the mission was, but…I think he knows more than he lets on. Tai was home with us and Raven was long gone by then. I always figured Qrow had the answers but…he never brought it up, even when I asked."

Ruby looked up, as if to ward away tears, to deny that they were coming.

"I always thought she died a hero, for a just cause…I think Qrow did too…but now…"

She brought her head back level with Oscars' eye-line.

"She didn't know what she was really fighting for…and know that I do…I can't help but feel it wrong. I know we have to get the relic back to Atlas, and to protect the people of Remnant from Grimm, but…I can't ask my teammates to continue living a life of survival when the world continues to get more and more dangerous, especially when the way forward is so…foggy. I guess that's what concerns me the most…that my hope will run out."

"Look at me, doubting everything I've ever known," she continued, "you'd think one of the Apathy Grimm followed us to Argus."

"I'd think we'd notice if something was following us," Oscar mused.

Ruby let out a snort of laughter and replied with,

"Yeah."

"I wish I'd known her," Oscar said, "your mother, I mean. I know I technically did but…I don't remember much."

"I've been told she's a lot like me, so I guess you have met her…in a way."

Oscar nodded and smiled, finishing the last of his water.

"Hey, Ruby," he prompted.

"Yeah," she said in reply.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

"More than you realize," Ruby replied, inducing Oscar to nod slowly in acknowledgement.

"But hey," she continued, "at least we're trying."

"Right."

#rwby #team rwby #jnpr #team jnpr #Oscar Pine #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #Ozpin #nora valkyrie #lie ren #renora #rosegarden #rwby 6 #rwby 7 #summer rose #team strq #maria calavera #qrow branwen

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higuchimon · 4 years

Text

[fanfic] Rewards of Losing

Another pleasant evening, made even better by a successful duel. Ryou stepped out of the door, enjoying the warm summer air. Much better than the chilly inside of his current – location. He didn’t want to think of it as a lair, though the half-dozen opponents he’d called here would probably disagree.

Of course, they were all cards now. He wasn’t going to worry about their opinions.

But he’d done all that he could here. He’d sealed some of the finest duelists in the XYZ dimension in cards and had a very good idea of how XYZ Summoning worked. He was only one of several operatives from Fusion in this world, seeking out information and taking care of potential troublemakers before they ever knew there would be trouble to make.

That meant that he needed to destroy this place as quickly and cleanly as possible and then head on to his next location. It wouldn’t take long; he kept virtually nothing here anyway. All he needed was the time.

He would make certain that this wasn’t the only place that burned. It would have to burn totally but it would need to spread, just to cover his tracks. A building that only burned when it was surrounded by other, equally flammable buildings, would quickly give away that an unregistered Firestarter roamed the area. The locals – the Guild, he’d learned they were called – would start looking for said Firestarter.

Ryou had a lot invested in not being found and he’d done a very good job so far. He kept himself distant from as many people as possible, while not being standoff-ish to the point it caught other people’s attention. He couldn’t hide being a Firestarter but he could fly under their radar.

And once the invasion starts, I won’t have to hide at all. He didn’t know when the invasion would start. But he suspected it would be soon. Everything had to be put into place and enough people trained to make it happen.

Of course, Fusion and the Professor’s preparations had been built up for quite a while already.

He started to go back inside, intent on getting his prizes and starting the fire. But something across the alleyway shifted, and Ryou stopped, staring intently. Had someone connected to one his opponents followed him here?

He couldn’t see who it was, but his Firestarter senses flared up – he might not know who it was, but he could tell what it was.

There’s a Healer there. That didn’t seem quite right. What would a Healer be doing around here, even if they were allies to an opponent?

“Who are you?” He asked, wary, hand ready to activate his duel disk at a moment’s notice.

The voice that came back was – different in some ways that he’d never heard before. Soft and firm, laced with all the raw power of a Healer at least on his level, but coming from – farther down? A child? No, it couldn’t be.

“I am Kei. And you must stop.”

Ryou’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” Had they somehow seen him? If that were the case, then he’d make sure that they were the next one that he carded. He couldn’t allow them to spread the word. Even if he could escape, it would put the invasion at risk. He couldn’t let that happen.

“What you’re doing. Turning those who fall against you into cards. Denying yourself. You must stop.”

Ryou pressed his lips together. So they had seen him. He would at least give them a good duel before carding them, regardless of their age. “If you want to stop me, then you’ll have to defeat me.”

“That won’t happen.” A soft whisper of a laugh. “I cannot duel, my Firestarter.”

“What?” Ryou shook his head. “I’m not your Firestarter. I already am courting someone else.” Though truth to tell he wasn’t especially thrilled about it, but Firestarters and Healers at Academia weren’t always given the choice on who they courted or bonded to.

“You are. But as to why I can’t duel -”

Ryou could see a pair of gleaming gray eyes moving out in the darkness. They reminded him of Shou’s eyes, though not even as high off the ground as Shou’s would be, and they were – they had -

A light hung not that far from where he stood, so he saw what came out of the shadows very clearly. He simply didn’t believe what he saw. Slowly he shook his head. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t possible. But there it stood regardless, staring at him relentlessly.

It was a cat. A very large cat, one that he might have even thought of as a panther. The cat’s head rose at least to his waist and was as black as a starless night. Intelligence gleamed in those gray eyes that regarded him so calmly.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head again. He’d clearly taken a harder hit in that last duel than he’d thought. That alone made sense. He wasn’t seeing a huge cat and if he did see a cat, the cat wasn’t talking to him. It wasn’t possible.

The cat did not smile. But from the set of the shoulders and the way the tail curled around the cat’s front paws, Ryou knew that it was amused at him.

“As I said, I am Kei. I am your Healer Cat. You are my Firestarter. Or we will be.”

Again Ryou shook his head. “Even if you exist – and you don’t – Yuuri doesn’t take very well to challengers.”

Yuuri won the right to court him against four other Healers. There wasn’t much left of them. If one could call mulch “much” anyway.

Kei’s tail twitched, head raising upward in a very confident gesture. “You may rest assured that I don’t care what he thinks. You are not his. You are mine.”

If this cat was as possessive as Yuuri – no. He’d hit his head, that was all there was to it. He wasn’t hearing this.

“I don’t have any food for you. Go try somewhere else,” Ryou snapped, turning on his heel and stalking back into the building. He locked the door behind himself and hurried to pick up the few items that he wanted to keep. He wasn’t even going to think that what had just happened could even be close to being real.

The last thing he needed in his life was another creature as possessive as Yuuri. It hadn’t yet been decided that they would bond, but as the two respective most powerful Firestarter and Healer at Academia, most people expected that they would, sooner or later. Ryou more or less expected it himself. Who else would he bond to, when he’d never met another Healer who came close to him in power?

Kei had that strength. Ryou knew that even when he didn’t want to know it. There wasn’t a single Firestarter or Healer who could have missed it.

But that’s a cat. Cats can’t be Healers. Or Firestarters. I’m hallucinating. He truly wanted to believe that with all of his heart. He didn’t dare think of what the other options might be.

He packed up what he needed – the decks and the Duel Disks would be sent back home, which meant that anyone searching for them here wouldn’t find them – and found himself grateful all over again that the building had no windows. He stepped out of a different door, cautiously making certain that no one was in the area to see him.

Especially not anyone with black fur and gray eyes.

At least on this side of the building, there were far more streetlights, which meant far fewer places for a large black cat – that didn’t talk, because cats couldn’t talk – to skulk around. He took the time to change out of his Academia uniform to the street clothes he’d picked up to help blend in around here. Perhaps the cat wouldn’t notice him like this.

I’m not trying to avoid a talking cat. He would tell himself that as often as he needed to.

When he was a decent distance from the building, he turned and regarded it for a few moments. His eyes narrowed and his mind lashed outward, igniting the building. Flowers of flame unfolded from one particular side of it, not that far from a bar. The fire probably wouldn’t spread that far, but it would likely be written off as a late night drunk doing something that he shouldn’t. With a small effort of will, he made sure the fire burned bright and strong enough so erase every trace of his presence.

He could hear fire alarms already on the way. He could only stay long enough to make sure any local Firestarters didn’t hear anything about him from the fire. Flames did not identify people by their names, but they could still give enough information to make him quite uncomfortable.

“This has to stop.” Again the cat sat there, tail curled around their paws, staring at Ryou. “You’re hurting people. You know this is wrong.”

Ryou’s first instinct was to correct that. He hurt people because he needed to; because it would help his people when the invasion came. But he wasn’t going to talk to a cat about things like that.

Instead, he finished off the fire, turned on his heel, and headed off into the night. The cat didn't follow.

Not that he looked. Really.

Kei watched his Firestarter until he was out of sight – a distance far greater than a human’s eyes would have been able to. He’d been watching this Firestarter for several days, learning what he could about him.

That wasn’t nearly as much as he wanted. For all that a Healer Cat could tell certain things about any Firestarter, most especially their Firestarter, he couldn’t quite pin down important points about Marufuji Ryou.

He knew that the Firestarter was a Firestarter, and one strong enough and with the right personality that if the wrong event happened, he might well frost over. A nascent Frostflame needed an equally strong partner, or even two on occasion.

He’d known before Ryou said a word that someone else was courting him. If one could call it courting. He could smell the scent of the other, a little faint but there, and he also smelled cruelty. It wasn’t so strong as to indicate it came from Ryou himself, though Ryou did have a few streaks of that himself. Not so much as to turn Kei off, though.

Slowly he got up and followed. He’d tracked Ryou to where he lived some days before and didn’t need to go behind him to get there. But he wanted to keep an eye on his future partner regardless.

What else he knew could be summed up very quickly and easily. Ryou wasn’t from this world. He didn’t carry any of the scents of it beyond what he’d picked up from living here for a scattering of months. But the fact he didn’t even know Healer Cats existed made that absolutely plain.

There were other cues as well. The way that Ryou didn’t seem to know what dueling just for pleasure was came close to the top of the list. He only dueled when he would turn his opponent into a card at the end.

That would definitely have to stop. He wasn’t sure of why Ryou was doing it – he couldn’t read the Firestarter’s mind, only be aware of certain emotions – but it could not keep on happening. He wasn’t even certain of how Ryou did it. That would have to be changed as soon as possible.

Silently Kei slipped through the night, considering his options. He knew the first and most powerful thing he needed to do – bond to Marufuji Ryou. It wouldn’t entirely eliminate his need for a human Healer but it would help balance him. Maybe then he would understand why what he did was wrong.

Assuming that he didn’t already. Without knowing why he did it, Kei couldn’t be certain. He would have to ask that as soon as possible.

There were routes in Heartland City – in any city where Cats dwelled – known only to those of the feline persuasion, be those Fire Cats, Healer Cats, or cats who were neither. Kei strolled down one of those, pausing at one of his favorite restaurants. He would have far preferred eating with his future Firestarter, but until he could convince Ryou that he was neither a hallucination nor a common cat, this would have to do.

This particular route catered to unpartnered Cats of both types. Kei ordered himself a delicately prepared meal of fish and happily tore into it while considering his options.

I’ll have to keep at it with him. He’s stubborn. Which wasn't a bad thing at all. Kei rather liked that, in fact.

His tail swished as he considered what else to do. Ryou would need a proper Healer, a human. Were there any that could serve the purpose? Someone far better than whoever it was that was trying to court him through cruelty now.

I need a duelist for this. He won’t be happy if his Healer can’t duel. Kei knew that already. Dueling sang in Ryou’s veins along with his blood and his flames.

Unfortunately, there weren’t any duelists randomly lurking along the way between here and where they were going. Fortunately, Kei knew exactly where to find duelists. Far too late now to go looking, but come the next day…

The sooner he could locate one, the better. If he wasted too much time, it wasn’t impossible that the Dark Healer who he scented around Ryou could make his move and they could begin to bond. That would be monstrous; not a true bond in the slightest.

But Kei refused to let that happen.

Once he finished his dinner, he loped off into the night, planning for what the following day would bring.

Mizael liked being out late at night. He had a taste for rare flowers that grew best by night – there were few enough Healers who specialized in those, so he had them all to himself more than he didn’t. So he wandered through one of Heartland’s loveliest gardens, one that he’d helped grow, one that featured a great deal of evening primroses, jasmine, and wisteria.

Sometimes he saw other Healers out in the gardens. That was hardly unusual; there were plenty of Healers who enjoyed the night-blooming blossoms, even if they weren’t good at growing them. Every Healer had their specialty, after all.

He was also used to seeing Healers who brought their prospective Firestarters on courting dates to the Night Gardens. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever do that; presuming that he ever found a Firestarter or even a Fire Cat that he might want to bond to. So far, none of the ones he knew who weren’t bonded ever quite seemed right.

What he wasn’t used to seeing in the Night Gardens was a Healer that he didn’t know whose presence sent a warning tingle up his spine. The stranger wasn’t doing anything untoward; he wasn’t even looking at Mizael right now, though he surely knew Mizael was there.

This wasn’t just a strange Healer, though – this was a strange unbonded Healer. He strolled along the walkways of the garden, whispering to the blossoms in the same style that any Healer would. He paused at one twining wisteria vine and regarded it thoughtfully, tracing it with one finger, and a soft chuckle that Mizael didn’t understand.

Mizael approached carefully. This wasn’t just a Healer who was new in town. The closer he got, the more he could feel that this was also a duelist, even if he couldn’t see a deck or a duel disk on them. But a duelist’s spirit could not be hidden.

“What are you doing here?” He finally asked. “Are you new to Heartland?” He’d heard nothing from the Guild about any new Healers and they were reasonably good about letting him know who might visit his gardens.

The new Healer turned towards him. His coloring was unusual, even for Heartland. His hair was mostly a deep shade of purple that matched his eyes, though there was pink in the back as well. He wore a uniform that Mizael didn’t recognize, as purple as his hair. His left arm cocked, as if intent on battle at a breath’s notice.

“Only visiting,” the newcomer said, lips turning upward into a smile. Mizael tried to ignore the shivers that the smile sparked. This was a face that seemed crafted to smile but when he actually did so, all Mizael could think was to make it stop. “Is this your garden?”

“It’s one of the city’s,” Mizael said, reaching up to brush his fingers over the wisteria. He’d always been rather fond of it. “But I take care of it, too.”

“How nice,” the stranger agreed with a slight tilt forward of his head, too slight to really be called a nod. “It’s larger than my garden, but I have to share space at – my school.” Again that way his lips moved that invoked a smile without actually being one.

Mizael nodded; he’d been through that experience when he was at school. All the student Healers had to share a communal garden. Which wasn’t a bad idea; it helped teach co-operation. But he far preferred having his own garden to himself.

“Are you going to be visiting long?” Mizael knew he’d never been good at small talk. There were far better ways to spend one’s time, he believed.

“Unfortunately, not. I came to visit the Firestarter that I’m courting.” Again his lips curved upward. “He’s in town for a time on – business.”

Mizael nodded. Before he could ask the other for a duel, the newcomer tilted his head a bit more. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve neglected my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Yuuri.”

Mizael nodded in return. “Mizael.” He had a family name, but he preferred not to use it. It had never meant that much to him and going only by his given name felt more fitting regardless. Then he smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to be a duelist, would you?”

To Be Continued

Notes: Because I wrote this for YGO Big Bang, I will update it daily until it’s done. Starting Monday I begin GX Month, which I’m quite looking forward to.

#fanfic #ygobb2020 #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #ygo zexal #ygo arc-v #marufuji ryou #mizael #yuuri (Arc-V)#au: healer firestarter #chapters: rewards of losing

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lettalady · 4 years

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A Turn of the Knife - 10 : I love how you twist in my grip

( Alternatively titled: grip )

Your morning is thoroughly derailed, and you are thoroughly fucked, with the day barely underway. Ransom has you on the balls of your feet and spiraling, twisting what you meant to happen to his advantage as he sinks himself deeper behind your defenses.

“Ransom.”

In the mirrored image of the window his grip slips as he shushes you, his left hand sliding from your hip to keep you planted where he wants you as he drifts his right hand up your body. He doesn’t pause to tug at your collar and expose the bite mark he’d left on your shoulder but anchors his hand around your throat just under your jaw. His grunts in your ear are a familiar echo, a welcome accompaniment to the tiny moans he’s driving out of you with every thrust of his hips.

[ find the story on AO3 ]

#a turn of the knife #imagine ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #yep basically ransom drysdale smutness #with a smidgen of story between #knives out prequel #knives out fanfic #hugh ransom drysdale can bite me I swear to.... wait I meant that as frustration not as a way to FUEL the frustration

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satorisa · 4 years

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Lift the Veil - Chapter 14: Thnks fr th Mmrs

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Alternate links for reading available in my description! (Except for on ff.net rn since I’m having technical difficulties uploading it onto there.)

What better way to ring in the new year than with yet another Lift the Veil chapter! Here’s to (almost) new beginnings for our two main characters.

We are one, I repeat, one chapter away from the next arc of this story! So stay tuned for the tonal shift this story will take once we get there!

Happy readings, ya’ll!

Chapter 14 – Thnks fr th Mmrs

And I want these words to make things right, but it’s the wrongs that make the words come to life.

Alone. In my apartment. With way too much food for me to finish without puking it all up, too much alcohol for me to be around in such an emotionally precarious state, and an overwhelming understanding that I shouldn’t be in this situation any longer than I need to be.

I called Ritsuko first, half hoping she would pick up and half hoping she wouldn’t. She answered after the second ring.

“Hey, Risa! I thought you were busy with Riku and Daisuke’s return.”

“I was.”

“Your ‘was’ is worrying me.”

I take a deep breath. “Can you come by? Please.”

“Yeah! Yeah—let me just finish up something first, and I’ll head over as soon as I can. Can you hang in there until then?”

“I’ll try.”

“Okay, Risa, now you’re really worrying me.” I heard movement from her line. “Do you need me to bring you anything?”

“Just empty Tupperware. Please take home some of the food I have here.”

“Gotcha. Just wait for me, alright?”

“Alrighty. Thank you.”

“Always, hun.”

We hung up, and I stared at my phone. Ritsuko would be enough, right? I scrolled through my contacts until I saw Takeshi’s name. Did I need him over? Could he even be over? And what about Akane? Would she—

ACHOO.

The sneeze cut my deliberations short as I accidentally pressed the button to call him. And, after my round of sneezes ended, I heard a faint voice blessing me from my phone. I brought it to my ear, realizing it’d be too late to hang up now.

“Hey, Boss, are you feeling alright?” he asked with genuine concern.

The words rolled around in my head, like bingo balls bouncing around in their cage. I could say yes, effectively putting an end to this conversation and just dump everything onto Ritsuko. Takeshi would tease me for days about this call, but—

“No. I’m not.”

There was silence until I heard a muffled voice that sounded too high to belong to Takeshi. Akane?

“Akane’s asking if you need anything.”

“Just bring some empty containers. I have too much food here. ”

“Awesome!” I hear noise muffling the line. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

“You don’t—”

“Nope. Nu-uh. I don’t want to hear it, Risa. I’m going to be over soon, and there’s nothing you can do about it, okay?”

“…okay.”

“Okay? Good. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He hung up, and I looked at my phone resting in my lap. Ritsuko and Takeshi were heading to my apartment to comfort me after Riku blew up because she found out about Satoshi. In other words, the world was going to explode in my face, and there was nothing I could do about it.

If I could help it, I wouldn’t tell them, but the secret was out. Knowing Riku, she’d intentionally blab about it until she finally came to terms with it. Which probably won’t be until after she’s razed Azumano to cinders. Besides, I’d rather they hear this from me than her. Better from the primary source, after all.

Dammit, Kazama. I really didn’t want to cross this bridge this soon. (Hopefully, this won’t bring that ugly mug of his back to Azumano again, either.)

Some time had passed as I sat there, unmoving, unable to process anything, slowly decaying with each breath I took until I heard them. They didn’t need to ring my doorbell. Ritsuko and Takeshi’s angry voices carried through the walls of my living room.

I sighed before getting up to open the door. And, sure enough, I peeked out into the hallway to see them a couple of units down. I glared.

“You guys better get in here before I throw out all my food.”

“This is your fault, Fukuda!” Takeshi screamed.

“My fault? Let me remind you that—”

I closed my door, mentally readying myself for any potential noise complaints as I returned to my spot on the sofa. When I heard them finally knock on my door, preluded by sweet silence, I let them in.

“Friendly reminder that I do have neighbors so please, for the love of God, keep it down. Thank you!”

“Yes ma’am!”

Ritsuko, still having not seen my place, gave herself a tour while Takeshi stood by the food, silently deliberating on what he’d take back with him.

“Sorry I couldn’t help you move in!” Ritsuko called from my bedroom.

“No worries! How was your business trip to Sapporo?”

“Honestly? I’d rather have suffered at the hands of moving stress than what I dealt with there.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Ritsuko eventually finished and closed my bedroom door behind her. She sat on the sofa, and Takeshi joined her on the opposite end. They looked up at me, expecting and scrutinizing, and I sat down in the space between them to keep them from fighting.

I felt my arms start to shake once I realized that there was no turning back once from this.

“So, what’s up?” Ritsuko asked.

“Just…give me a bit.”

She nodded as I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down. They didn’t really help though; they were only delaying the inevitable.

I took one last deep breath.

“…I was Hiwatari’s friend with benefits in high school. And he ghosted me a month before we graduated.”

They balked. Ritsuko quickly regained her composure, but Takeshi just looked like the world had suddenly turned upside down.

“I know we all had our suspicions, but…” Ritsuko couldn’t continue.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” Takeshi paused. “This is what you were keeping from us? I knew it was bad because Satoshi was somehow always very specific yet very vague but—oh my god.”

“Who else knows?” Ritsuko asked.

“Some of the adults managed to piece it together, and I thought that Hiwatari-san kept it to himself like me…until he told me that Daisuke found out.”

Ritsuko looked at me in horror. “Oh no.”

“So guess who told Riku while being drunk out of their mind on their trip to Zurich?”

“No.”

“Yup.”

Takeshi groaned. “Daisuke, buddy, I love you, but how the hell could you pull a Satoshi with the last person on Earth you should’ve blabbed it to?”

“’Pull a Satoshi?’ What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Fukuda, I don’t know if you’ve had the—ah—displeasure of drinking with Satoshi, so let’s just say that he has no filter when he’s gone. One time, he said…er…”

“’Er?’” Ritsuko repeated.

Takeshi looked at me. “I don’t know if I can share this.”

“After Risa’s statement? You could literally tell me the world is ending tomorrow, and it would still pale in comparison.”

Takeshi bit his lip. “Well, since it involved Risa, I suppose I can. Just brace yourself. Please.” He then directed his attention towards Ritsuko. “You didn’t hear this from me, Fukuda.”

“Just. Spit. It. Out.”

“Risa, um, I don’t know if he told you this already, but he was practically in love with you in high school.”

Ritsuko gasped. “What?”

“Oh, I know. He told me in Vienna.”

“What?”

Ritsuko looked so distraught compared to Takeshi, but he was probably only taking this marginally better because he knew more about the situation. And since I already had enough time for me to decently process everything, I was faring the best out of the three of us. How funny that the ones I called to keep me company while I was distressed are the ones left even more distressed by the situation.

“Okay, okay,” Ritsuko said. “I understand why you didn’t tell us about it, but I don’t understand how or why this happened.”

“Fukuda, get with the program here!” I felt her glare, directed at Takeshi, pierce through me. “There was nothing to be done here.”

“Bull. Shit.” I winced. “They both loved each other; therefore, they cared about each other. If they really cared enough, then they probably wouldn’t have ended up in this mess in the first place.”

“That was their problem: caring about each other.”

Being stuck in the middle of this felt like the personification of what was once my mental state. Their increasing volume, directed at my eardrums, really wasn’t making this any more pleasant than when it was contained in my mind.

“They would’ve found some way to talk it out then. What, did they not trust each other or something?”

“Bingo.”

Ritsuko stopped arguing, and an expression of bemusement erased the frustration from earlier.

“Risa, explain.”

“I…don’t think it’s my right to explain. Well, not for him anyway. Maybe ask Takeshi later if you’re so curious. Or ask Hiwatari out for coffee sometime and get it from the man himself.” I forced a laugh. “Trusting people is hard when you’ve gone through stuff, you know?”

Understanding what I was implying, Ritsuko nodded. I saw tears bead at the corner of her eyes, and she excused herself to my bathroom, leaving me and Takeshi left on the sofa.

“How’re you holding up?” I asked him.

“I honestly don’t know how I’m still keeping it together right now,” Takeshi hollowly laughed. “I know more about it than most people, but I’m still in shock about it. I get why it happened, but like, Satoshi’s the most logical person I know, so it’s just difficult for me to wrap my head around how he could let this train wreck occur.” He sighed. “God, considering how awful I’m feeling now, I can’t even begin to fathom how you two must’ve felt about the whole thing.”

“You can empathize?” I joked, if only to relieve the tension in the room.

“Boss, why do you gotta be like this now? I’m trying not to cry here!”

“Don’t you dare shed any of your tears in front of me.”

He retreated into my bedroom. Moments later, Ritsuko sat down next to me with puffy eyes and a red nose. She offered me a weak smile.

“If anyone should be crying, it should be me,” I said.

“Oh, can it. You want to cry, but you can’t, so you’re making all of us get dehydrated for you.”

“Crap! You’ve foiled my evil plan!”

Ritsuko laughed, and I smiled. Honestly, I was too numb to feel much of anything. Just having Riku find out the last thing I ever wanted to know about and barreling into my apartment with murderous intent was traumatic enough to shock the emotions out of me.

“Honestly though, I was so scared to tell anyone, especially you guys. What if you said that I couldn’t feel the way that I felt because I needed to be mindful of what Hiwatari-san when through? Or took sides, whether mine or his? I couldn’t deal with that.”

“Like Riku?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I get where she’s coming from. Even though I’m understanding of the situation, that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. There’s a lot going on here, and a lot I don’t understand, but I can see why you didn’t tell anyone back then, right? They’d tell you to cut him off, unaware of the baggage you two carry, and it would’ve just made you feel even worse about the situation, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, Saehara and I are adults who aren’t your family. And we’re also his friend. What you’ve said here won’t change anything regarding our relationship with him. Likewise, what he says about you when I ask him about it won’t change the fact that you’re an amazing person that I’m proud to call one of my best friends.”

“Ritsuko!” I pulled her into a hug that she returned.

“After everything that happened, this is what makes you tear up? God, you’re hopeless!”

I laughed, wiping my tears away as I let her go. Takeshi returned, looking like he had taken a trip through the seven layers of hell, but he grinned before sitting back down on the sofa.

We spent the evening digging into some of the food while watching a movie since I had done more than enough talking. And once they left, bags filled with Tupperware and wine, I retreated to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed.

I turned to the music box sitting on the nightstand, winding it up before floating away to dreamland.

…

I woke up the next morning, before my alarm clock would shock me awake or the sun would burn the inside of my eyelids, to my phone ringing. Most people wouldn’t think to bother anyone at this time but, cracking an eye open to look at the caller ID, he wasn’t most people.

“What?” I croaked, irritated that he needed me for whatever reason that warranted a call at this time of day.

“Good morning to you, too.” I could hear the smile in his voice. Damn bastard was enjoying this. “How are you faring from last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“Leaving you alone with all those bottles of wine after what happened yesterday? It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together; you’re probably hungover.”

“I am a perfectly functional human being who has other coping mechanisms besides drowning myself in alcohol.”

“Past experiences say otherwise.”

“I didn’t drink at all last night; I have Takeshi, and Ritsuko as my witnesses.”

Hiwatari fell silent on the other end of the line while I stretched awake, putting my phone on speaker as I got up. While I was making my bed, Hiwatari spoke up.

“So they know now.”

“I’d rather they didn’t hear from Riku, so I told them first. Sorry to tell them so soon.”

“It’s fine.” He paused. “Should I be expecting attempts on my life now?”

“Nope. They took it well, surprisingly. They might give you a hard time because of it, but no one wants you dead. I think.”

After smoothing out my sheets, I admired my handiwork before grabbing my phone and heading to the kitchen for some breakfast. “Anyways, why’d you call?”

“Partly to check up on you in case you were hungover, but I was wondering if you’d be okay with me walking you to the news station today.”

“…really? You called me this early in the morning for that?”

“I’d rather not be greeted by your choice designer handbag of the day in my face.”

“Who said I’m still not going to do that?”

“Damn. I thought this would lessen my chances.” I could hear the lilt in his voice, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay though.”

“I’m about as okay as I’m going to be considering. Thank you for your concern, though.”

“It’s no problem. And could you also open your door, please? This bag is quite heavy, and it might become a problem for me if I keep standing here holding it.”

My usual alarm rang and, startled, I frenzied over to my front door. I swung it open to see Hiwatari standing there, convenience store bag in hand, with unveiled derision on his face.

“…actually, seeing you fresh from bed might be a greeting worse than a purse smashing my face. Tokyo has not been kind to your skin.”

“Get inside before I smash your face with that bag in your hands.”

…

“So, how’s the engaged couple?” Takeshi asked before unceremoniously slurping his noodles and splashing some of his broth onto shirt as if he didn’t just ask a loaded question. He couldn’t be this obtuse considering what just happened.

“Why don’t you ask Daisuke yourself?” Hiwatari asked.

“After what happened when they got back? I’d rather not deal with Beauty and the Beast.”

“And you thought we would have the answer to your question?”

“Maybe not the Boss, but I’m sure you’ve got something, Chief. Gimme the deets.”

“Riku’s out for my head; Daisuke’s trying to protect it: the usual. I have nothing else to report.”

Takeshi groaned. “Useless! It’s like you want me to die in the lion’s den.”

“I’m sure an unsuspecting fly like you will survive just fine.”

And with that, Hiwatari started eating his noodles, effectively direction his attention away from Takeshi and cleanly cutting that conversation short. Thus, I was the next victim of his poor attempt at small talk. “So, Boss, how’s the ramen?”

“Beautiful,” I answered, eyes trained on the wisps of steam coming from my untouched ramen. I noted the sheen of the broth on the noodles peeking out, following the fat bubbles gently floating amongst the green onions.

“Er, that’s not—”

My phone rang, and I looked at my phone to see a text from Riku asking to meet up for dinner later. Considering what had just happened, I didn’t think it would go well, but this was my sister. As hesitant and terrified I was, I wanted to put this behind us as quickly as possible.

“Whozzat?” Takeshi asked when I put my phone down after sending out my reply. He slurped down yet another ungodly amount of noodles, and I tried to conceal my disgust.

Akane scored in the relationship department. Truly.

“Riku. She asked to meet up with her later, so that’s what I’ll be doing instead of enjoying the comforts of my bed.”

Takeshi whistled, shaking his head, before returning to his bowl. “Don’t die, Boss.”

“I’ll try not to; no guarantees.”

I then decided to dig into my bowl, truly savoring my first bite. May this feeling prevail during dinner.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Hiwatari asked, voice laced with concern.

“Yeah. What could possibly go wrong?”

Takeshi and Hiwatari looked up from their bowls with their eyebrows raised. Hiwatari’s skeptical expression, paired with Takeshi’s eyes that begged me to rethink my words, helped me realize that I was only fooling myself. My sister was a human, but she was a Harada. And, considering that we have practically the same blood, I knew the insanity that could arise from it.

No doubt, were this situation reversed, I wouldn’t have stopped until I had the head of whomever hurt my sister roasted on a spit.

“Okay. Fine. Everything can and probably will go wrong.”

“It was nice knowing ya, Boss.”

“Let’s relish in our last meal together before your premature death.”

“Oh, go f—”

“Irasshai!”

…

“God speed!” Takeshi saluted. I returned the gesture.

“We’re here for you if you need us later,” Hiwatari assured.

“Hopefully, I’ll be fine. And I’ll just bother Ritsuko if I need someone. You guys have done more than enough by walking me here.”

“What’re friends for? We gotta see you before you march to your death!” Takeshi chirped.

“Really?”

“Boss, your sister is terrifying.”

“Don’t mind him,” Hiwatari said. “Good luck.”

I nodded, waving goodbye to them as they walked away. And once they started talking to each other a considerable distance away, I took a deep breath before walking in. This was Riku’s favorite place to grab sushi, and I saw her standing by the hostess’ stand, a couple of minutes earlier than what we had planned, as she nervously toyed with a stray thread on her blouse. She noticed me and smiled before turning to the hostess, who greeted us with a blinding smile, as she led us to a booth with two menus in her hand.

Why the booth of all places? The bar was ideal: I wouldn’t have to face Riku, I could occupy myself by staring at the chef, focus on anything and everything but—

“Can I have a beer and a highball?” Riku ordered once our waiter came by. He then turned to me, expecting, just like the sister that sat across from me.

“Just some green tea, please.”

The water nodded, heading off to grab our drink and attend to the other patrons, leaving me to watch Riku flip through the menu. (She didn’t need to. Her staple was the combo of maki rolls.)

“Do you know what you want to eat?” she calmly asked me as if she wasn’t radiating anger and didn’t just order alcohol.

I was not making it out alive.

“Um, I’ll just have some ebi and tamago nigari.”

“You usually order something extravagant. Don’t be shy; it’s my treat.”

It’s precisely because this is your treat which is why I’m being shy. As susceptible as I am to free food, this was a gift horse I needed to burn. “It’s okay. I had ramen, and I’m still kind of full.”

“Huh,” she hollowly said. “Didn’t think your appetite could ever be quenched.”

And the crocodile snaps!

Before she prematurely exploded, the waiter returned to our table with our drinks. Riku ordered for us before the waiter headed off. I moved my drink closer to me, unable to enjoy the warmth in my hands as she downed her beer. I expected her to polish off that highball, but she called a waiter passing by, asking him to for a gin and tonic. Once he left, she grabbed her other drink that she finished in seconds before slamming the glass on the table and staring straight into my eyes.

In any other situation, this would’ve been a great time to ask what college shenanigans Riku got herself into considering what she did took skill, and we could laugh about all the ill-timed hangovers and nostalgia over a nice sushi dinner. This was me trying to imagine this as anything but what it actually was: terrifying.

“Honestly, Risa, what the hell were you thinking getting involved with Satoshi like that?” she asked, more disappointed than angry. “You should’ve known that was a bad idea.”

“Yes because I was able to rationalize while I was sick with the flu and the guy I thought would never love me kissed me.”

She groaned, reaching for her drinks. And when she found them both empty, she groaned again before slamming the empty glass on the table. Again. “If I wasn’t drinking right now, I wouldn’t be able to stomach your bullshit excuses.”

“Yeah, you’re right. All I’ve really got are bullshit excuses for what happened.” I paused our conversation when our water returned, drink in hand, as he placed it in front of Riku. I flinched as she reached out for it, scared she would down it again, but she merely took a sip. She looked at me when she finished, expecting me to elaborate. “I took the opportunity because I knew Hiwatari would—could—never accept my affections.”

“Do you know why he stopped talking to you and tried to erase you from his existence?”

“Did you know about it before Daisuke told you?”

“Not the specifics, but like everyone else, we knew something happened between you two back then. I thought the six years apart would’ve smoothed it out since you tend to over-exaggerate everything but—god. I didn’t think it was this bad.” She sighed before having another sip of her drink. “Are you guys stupid enough to think that getting closer would fix this?”

I shrugged. “Apparently.”

“You two are insane.”

“Just like what you’re being right now.”

She glared at me with a red face as the alcohol settled into her system. “I have every right to after hearing everything from Daisuke. Do you need me to—?”

“I know, Riku. Hiwatari-san told me himself.”

The rage in her expression fizzled out as she stared at me with wide eyes. Was this the ammunition she was waiting to use to get me to listen to her? Was she hoping that this would end it all?

“Y-you need to leave Azumano and get away from Satoshi,” she started. “This closeness can’t be good for you two. I-I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and she furiously wiped them away. Were those her true feelings hiding behind that animosity of hers? Or was it the alcohol causing her emotions to swing?

“I’m calling Daisuke to bring you home now.”

“No! I’m—”

“I’m calling him.”

She didn’t protest. She just sat in her seat, silently sipping on her drink while I headed out to call Daisuke. I returned to see Riku’s head resting on the table.

Passed out or asleep?

Daisuke came by pretty quickly, and I spotted him, completely flustered, as he approached our table.

“Oh, god, Risa. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just make sure she gets home safe.”

He nodded, hoisting her up on his shoulder. I expected him to leave immediately, maybe whispering something under his breath, but he just stood by the table.

“About Riku finding out…sorry. I accidentally slipped up by saying something, and Riku kept pestering me about it and—”

“It’s fine. Just go.”

And with that, Daisuke left. The waiter then came, food in hand, wondering where my sister went. I told him not to worry about it, saying to just leave the food there and get me the check ASAP.

“Risa?”

I looked up to see my parents hovering at the edge of my table. They were excited to see me, but what were they doing here?

“Where’s your sister?” my mother asked as my dad slipped into the booth across from me.

“Home. She ended drinking a little too much, so I asked Daisuke to take her back home.”

My mom gasped before sitting down next to my dad. “Oh my, goodness. Is she alright?”

“I hope so. What brings you two here?”

“Actually, Riku was the one who asked us to come.”

“Why?”

My mom shrugged. “She said she’d explain it to us here. Do you know what she wanted to talk to us about?”

“No clue,” I feigned. The longer I kept my parents unaware of this, the better I’d feel. No way did I want to deal with the wrath of three Haradas at any given time. “You two help yourselves. My treat.”

“Thank you,” my father grumbled, cautiously eyeing the half empty drink Riku left, taking a sip of it, and slowly moving it towards him, before looking through the menu.

“Are you going to eat that?” My mom motioned to the maki set that Riku ordered. I shook my head, and she happily dug in.

I had a feeling the next time I met them, they would be hostile. So I enjoyed this brief moment, getting along with my parents for once and hoping it would never end.

…

Once I was at the news station the next morning, my phone started vibrating like crazy. My mom was sending frantic messages about Riku waking up with a headache, asking me if I was sure that she was okay. Riku certainly was far from okay, but I didn’t want to aggravate this already precarious situation so, like any responsible adult, I lied to my mom by telling her that Riku was having so much fun last night that she wasn’t pacing herself well before silencing my phone and stuffing it into the deep recesses of a pocket in my purse that I zipped up.

“Good morning, Harada-san,” the security guard greeted when I approached the elevators. “There’s someone looking for you.”

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs. I led them to your cubicle.”

“You just…let them in like that?”

“He showed me proper ID, but I can’t seem to recall his name. He just told me that he has official business with you.”

“…and you’re sure that it’s not Commissioner Hiwatari?”

“I’d recognize him anywhere, so it’s not him.”

“Okay. Thank you?”

He offered me a smile that I hesitantly returned before walking past him, mentally noting that we might need a personnel change for safety measures. Who could possibly need to have an official meeting with me and come by unannounced?

…oh shit.

Once the elevator landed on my floor, I rushed to my cubicle. There Kazama sat, leaning back in my desk chair with a mug of coffee in his hands, animatedly chatting with Takeshi who looked ready to keel over. Poor guy having to deal with him so early in the morning.

“And so—oh! Harada-san! The woman of the hour! You’ve kept me waiting!”

“And you’ve entertained Takeshi enough. Let him get back to work.”

As Takeshi passed by me, he patted my shoulder. I expected a look of gratitude of relief on his face, but he looked like he was on the verge of tears. “You’re a saint for saving me, Boss, but the Chief’s going to kill me for coming into the precinct so late.” He rushed out before I could even offer him words of consolation for the predicament this dickhead had put him in.

“It’s to be expected that a Hiwatari knows how to crack the ol’ whip every now and then!” Kazami chirped as I loudly dropped my stuff onto my desk. He was unfazed by the noise, but a couple of my neighbors peeked over the walls of my cubicle, wondering if they could get a glimpse at what had pissed me off first thing in the morning.

“So, what brings you here?” I ask, sitting down in a chair I reserved for guests because of Kazama’s snooty ass lavishly lounging in my comfortable one.

“That’s a rhetorical question, isn’t it?”

“Look, I know why you’re here, but couldn’t this have waited until I finished work for the day? Also, don’t you have super important cases to win back in Tokyo?”

“They’re not as important as getting some much needed R&R.” I scoff at his comment. “And am I not allowed to say hello to my favorite Harada?”

I wince at his words. “You’re not. I have work to do, and you’re bothering me right now, so you need to leave.”

“Not even a please? Goodness, whatever happened to treating your elders with manners?”

“Look,” I started in English, hoping my coworkers would have trouble understanding me, “my job already pisses me off enough, and I don’t need you to add onto that stress, okay? So if you could just lay off until this evening, that’d be great.”

Kazama whistled. “Amazing accent, Harada-san! I expected nothing less from a Todai graduate.”

I glared at him, and he stood up and gathered his things. “I’ll see you at Satoshi’s place for dinner, then?”

“If you’re cooking, I’ll pass.”

He chortled, knowing that I enjoyed his cooking far too much to miss out on it, and he left without another word. As I settled into my seat, I saw the peering eyes disappear in my peripheries. While I got myself ready for yet another day of work, I heard the murmurs of my coworkers as they concocted yet another rumor to spread about me.

Don’t these people have anything better to do than waste their time on the train wreck of my life?

…

As usual, Hiwatari met up with me outside the news station after the broadcast finished. We didn’t talk much on the way to his apartment, but we dropped by a bakery and grabbed a cake.

When we arrived, we were greeted by a lovely smell coming from the kitchen. Hiwatari greeted Kazama while I sat down at the table, admiring the cake through the flimsy plastic window on the box. All I had to do was survive an amazing dinner with not-so-amazing company, and then I could indulge in this beauty.

After talking to Kazama, Hiwatari headed into his room. He came out in yet another pair of ratty pajamas before slipping into the seat next to me.

“Have you talked to Daisuke yet?” I asked.

“No. It’s—I can’t bring myself to see him. I’m upset that he told Riku, but I’m mostly ashamed that it had come to this.” I nodded. “How was your talk with Riku last night?”

“She got super plastered, passed out at the table, and I had to call Daisuke to pick her up. She couldn’t last long enough to tell my parents about it.”

“Your parents?”

“Yeah. She was planning on telling them while half delirious under the influence of alcohol. Luckily, they didn’t find out, but I don’t know how long they’ll be kept in the dark about this.”

“Oh, juicy stuff!” Kazama interjected. He placed steaming hot plates of food in front of us, and it looked like he cooked extra for me to take home. “So, the older sister knows and is planning on making it worse by involving your parents?”

“Well, they have every right to know, but I’d rather they not.”

Kazama’s laugh trailed off as he went into the kitchen. He returned with two cans of beer, placing one in front of me, before plopping into one of the empty seats and opening his can.

“None for you, Big Boy. It’s what got you into this mess in the first place.” He took a sip. “Ah, that’s the stuff!”

For the most part, dinner went smoothly Hiwatari and Kazama rambled on about politics while I savored my food. When we finished, Hiwatari vehemently insisted that he do the dishes, leaving me and Kazama in the living room, crowded around the TV softly playing a rerun of an old drama, while Kazama cut the cake.

“For you, madam,” he joked as he passed me a slice of cake and a fork.

“Thank you, but shut up.”

When Hiwatari finished, he sat on the floor by Kazama. He helped himself to a slice of cake with a blank expression.

“So, the heart of the matter, you two,” Kazama started. “Run your next steps by me.”

“Jump off the cliffs and fall to our untimely deaths,” I grumbled before taking a bite of my cake.

Ah, how blissful.

“Seconded,” Hiwatari said.

“Ah-ah. The goal is to live, children. So, seriously, what is your plan?”

“Hope my parents never find out.”

“And if they do?”

“Die.”

“Harada-san! I trusted you to be stronger than this! What did you expect to happen as a consequence of your actions?”

“This. Exactly this. It’s just as bad as I envisioned it to be.”

Kazama laughed, clearly amused at our suffering, but he eventually calmed down. I expected him to say something absurd or rude to follow my statement, but he didn’t.

“You can’t control others, Harada-san. All you can do now is hang in there and take the punches.” Kazama paused. “Does your family normally react this extremely to these kinds of situations?”

“Yeah. They’ve always been over-protective, but I think it got worse after Argentine kidnapped me.”

Kazama didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to Hiwatari and frowned. “Friendly reminder that this is your fault. I won’t protect you from whatever will come your way. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“You need to accept that the family you found with the Haradas will change or disappear when they find out.”

Hiwatari’s lips thinned in a line. I didn’t know how dear Hiwatari held my family. Likewise, I didn’t know how fondly my parents thought of Hiwatari, either.

The thought of losing people never sat well for anyone, especially Hiwatari. I couldn’t imagine what he could be feeling right now.

“Well, since shit hasn’t completely hit the fan, you two should play it by ear.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s time for me to visit the Niwas! Can’t wait to see how divisive everyone will be! Toodles!”

The front door slammed shut, leaving me and Hiwatari with a half-eaten cake and the TV blaring some annoying advertisement. I moved towards him, concerned at his slumped body.

“So, how’d the thing with my parents happen?” I asked. “I’m genuinely curious; after all, they’re not the Niwas.”

“Because of Riku.”

Hiwatari looked up and, after noticing the shock on my face, looked back down at the floor. “…you don’t know what happened?”

“This may or may not be news to you, but I also cut off contact with everyone in Azumano while I was in Tokyo.” I narrowed my eyes. “What happened to my sister?”

“After you left, she couldn’t leave her bed. She was nauseous, feverous, and could barely keep anything down.”

“What? Why?!”

“Apparently, whenever you two were separated for extended periods of time, Riku would always get sick.”

“Why is this my first time hearing about this? And from you of all people?”

“No one wanted you to worry. And you probably would’ve never found out if it weren’t for me. And this situation.”

“Okay, so what do you have to do with any of this?”

“When I heard about it from Daisuke, I decided to pay Riku and your family a visit. For whatever reason, they thought Riku’s condition was caused by some spiritual connection the two of you share because you’re twins.” Hiwatari frowned. “I don’t understand why you Haradas are so obsessed with mysticism.”

“You’re one to talk with that magical, artsy blood flowing in your veins.”

Hiwatari sighed before continuing. “It turns out that Riku was too anxious without you. Her brain was conditioned to think that the two of you being together meant that both of you were safe. So, whenever you were gone, she ended up worrying about both you and her.”

“What’d you do?”

“I told her you weren’t really gone. You were just living your life in Tokyo without much of a care in the world.”

“…I’m assuming that didn’t help.”

“Not at all.”

I laughed, and Hiwatari smiled before continuing. “Riku needed to learn how to live again for herself. So I made her exercise, go out with family and friends, and suffer through game night at the Niwas. I just needed to jumpstart her brain so that she wouldn’t crumble again when she returned to college.”

“Returned to college?”

“She had to withdraw from college during her first semester after failing her first round of midterms.”

Our eyes met for a couple of seconds, and the shock initially on his face gave way to an expression of hurt. “Harada-san…”

“Continue, Hiwatari-san.”

“Are you sure?”

“Continue.”

He hesitated, and I watched him shift his posture slightly to buy him some time. His hand slid closer to me, unable to move any further: all he could offer at this moment was half-assed consolation, but it was the only thing we could mentally accept right now.

I slid mine closer, thankful for the gesture but too afraid to fully commit, and Hiwatari continued. “Since she wasn’t getting better, I had to coerce your parents into taking her to therapy. She improved from there, and she was able to go back to college the following year.”

“How did you get closer to my parents then?”

“A little while after I started coming over to help Riku, your mother, in true Risa fashion, had sat me down once with coffee and asked me to talk about myself. Honestly, I mostly just sat there in silence while she bombarded me with questions.” I laughed. “But, while one of her daughters was AWOL, the other one practically unresponsive, she still somehow managed to genuinely care about how I was doing.” He paused. “From there on, your parents somehow found a way to make me feel at home. They let me breathe in a way that the Niwas didn’t. Even though I had an inkling they did it to cope with what was going on with the two of you, I felt like that was how it felt to have parents.”

“Huh.”

Hiwatari only smiled. “Well, anyways, my uncle’s right; I only have myself to blame for this mess.” He then glanced at his phone. “And as much as I appreciate this intimate session of catching up, it’s late and we both have work tomorrow. It’s time for me to walk you back.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“…I would insist but, after the conversation we just had, please accept me calling you a ride.”

“Thank you.”

Hiwatari packed enough food to last me a week and enough cake to fatten me up in two evenings. I stood by the door, putting on my shoes, and ready to go home and think.

“Harada-san.”

“Mhm?”

Hiwatari looked lost for once. “Your ride is here.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m sorry.”

I laughed at his awful timing. My hand reached out to playfully punch him in the shoulder but, after seeing that somber expression on his face, I stopped myself. Only then did I realize the gravity of the situation.

“…your ride is about to leave.”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll see you around.”

When the door closed behind me, I sprinted down. The driver was feeling especially chatty for that trip, affording me a handful of minutes to not think about the shit storm waiting for us. And once they dropped me off at my apartment, it took me everything to not march to Mizuame de Noisette and have an evening full of regret.

I headed up to my room like a responsible adult and decided, instead, to pass out on my sofa, unable to fall asleep despite the tinny notes that usually lulled me to sleep.

…

Daisuke had sent me a message the next morning asking if I could meet with him at the museum café. I sent a message to the group chat I had with Takeshi and Hiwatari saying that I had other lunch plans that day and for them to enjoy their midday meal without me.

So, whilst eating a chicken club sandwich in a sterile museum café, Takeshi kept spamming the chat with the lunch menu from some upscale restaurant. I silenced my phone before tossing it into my purse and giving Daisuke my full attention. He was digging into a salad and wincing with each bite he took.

“Um…are you alright?”

“I need to start losing weight for the wedding.”

I blinked, examining Dasiuke’s lean body for any sign of fat. The man was barely filling out his clothes. What weight was he trying to lose here?

“Please don’t tell me you asked me to come over for solidarity during this time of suffering.”

“Oh no. I just wanted to let you know that Riku’s planning on telling your parents about what happened with you and Satoshi before she left for work later.”

I nearly squeezed the filling out of my sandwich.

“I also wanted to apologize, but I don’t think that’s going to help the situation.”

“Well, even though you’re right, I still accept your apology.” Daisuke nodded. “Actually, I’m kind of also here to ask about what happened with Riku after I left.”

Daisuke looked up from his sandwich in shock. “Satoshi told you?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Well, Riku kind of made us promise her to never tell you about it, but if Satoshi decided to tell you, I’m sure he had a good reason to break it then.”

“Is me asking about how he got close to my parents a good enough reason?”

“Considering the impending situation on our hands, I think so. Besides, I think it’s good that the truth is finally airing itself out even if it’s a little…hectic right now.”

“You’re the last person who should be saying that considering this mess is kind of your fault.”

Daisuke sheepishly smiled. “I suppose you’re right then.”

I watched him cringe through another bite of his salad, and I had half a mind to order the menu item with the largest calorie intake. My future brother-in-law shouldn’t have to suffer like this right after getting engaged.

“Well, I honestly don’t know if I can add onto whatever Satoshi already told you. Since I was in college at the time, I only saw Riku on the weekends. She called me a lot because Satoshi was brutal with her, but I don’t think that’s what you wanted to hear from me.

“I will say, even though I am your sister’s fiancé, I do think that she’s overstepping a boundary here. I understand that she’s hurt, but what she’s set out to do is probably going to cause more harm than good.” Daisuke smiled. “But there’s nothing we can do about that now. Once she’s like that, you know it’s impossible to stop her.”

Our talk had made me lose my appetite, and I left lunch with Daisuke earlier than I thought I would. Takeshi came into the news station that afternoon to gloat about his amazing lunch date with Satoshi, to which I didn’t pay much attention to considering I was more worried about what would occur later that day.

When I got a message from my dad around the time that Riku usually left for work, I knew it was over. I messaged Daisuke, requesting that he ask Kazama to grab a table at Mizuame de Noisette later, and I marched home for what may be one of the worst evenings of my life.

#satorisa #dnangel #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #d.n.angel #dn angel #my writing #fanfiction #lift the veil

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ks-caster · 4 years

Text

Letters to Gabriel

Fandom: Heroes

Characters: Elle, Gabriel

Notes: Throughout her arc, Elle develops a coping mechanism where she writes letters to Gabriel - even though she’s often betraying or being betrayed by him, somehow writing her thoughts to him helps.

Gabriel and Peter are going through old Pinehurst files, and Gabe finds a manila envelope full of these letters - she kept them, and they were archived.

Letters 1 and 2, as well as the rest of the outline, are available under the cut.

Chapter 1:

Dear Gabriel,

They didn’t tell me how cute you were.

Or how depressed.

It was just supposed to be a simple meet ‘n’ greet assignment; I go in, say hello, plug my name into the back of your head for when it’s needed later, and then walk off the face of the earth until next time.

Well, you know that’s not how it happened.

My hands are shaking. This has been the craziest afternoon. And now here I am, sitting in a corner of an unused office, writing a letter that I can never send, to a guy I barely know. I’m not good at dealing with stress and fear and uncertainty… all those uncomfortable, nagging emotions that no one—at least in my line of work—ever has. Or at least, they don’t admit to them.

My father has told me all my life that I’m supposed to be stronger, smarter, better. I can’t stoop to being mediocre in anything, and God forbid I should be below-average. So I can’t be worried, not in front of anyone. I can’t be shocked and disturbed that I almost walked in on your dead body. That’s why I’m scribbling my thoughts to a complete stranger on a memo pad I found—okay, stole from—beside Bennett’s phone. I’ve gotta do something, so maybe this will help me calm down before I break down into a nervous wreck.

After I left your shop, Bennett told me that we’re not just observing you because you have a power. We’re waiting for you to kill someone. Bennett said that we needed to see you hunt “in the wild,” because transferring power from one vessel to another is extremely rare. But I’m guessing that the homemade noose—a sturdy thing; I can’t believe that you actually bought it when I said it broke on its own—might just be an indicator that you’re not interested in killing anymore. Maybe what you did before was a fluke. Maybe we’re wrong in our analysis. Maybe we’re totally off-base, and you didn’t kill the guy at all.

But then, why would you try to hang yourself?

Okay, so you probably did murder him. But, well, I’m an agent—if a junior one—and I’ve killed loads of people. You offed one guy… It’s hard for me to remember that kind of… of innocence. I have to go pretty far back. Actually, I don’t even remember the first person I killed, so I have trouble understanding what the big deal is. But it’s sort of sad, still. You seem like an all-around decent guy who made a mistake that can’t ever be fixed.

And you said I was like an angel. When you looked at me, your eyes were so full of light. I’m a manipulative, violent, compassionless bitch, who dreams of becoming a good enough femme fatale to impress her high-standards father. But when you finally got around to figuring out that I was there, when you asked me for my name, when you said I was like an angel… nobody’s ever looked at me like that. Certainly no one’s ever asked for forgiveness from me. More importantly, I was never the kind of person who would ever even consider giving forgiveness if it was asked.

Your face, the way you saw me, what you said… I liked it. It was like I was actually a nice person, for the first time in, well, ever.

Even though it’ll be pretty bad luck for you, I look forward to seeing you again. I want to see your face, and see you look at me like I’m an angel.

I want the excuse to act like I’m an angel again.

Until next time,

Elle.

The letter was written on lined notepad paper with the Primatech logo in the bottom right-hand corner of each mini-sheet. It had been folded several different ways, and also torn in half—all at once, by the slant—and carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Behind him the lock on the door rattled as a key was inserted, and Gabriel took a deep breath and then slid the whole stack of papers back into the envelope, closed it, and hid it inside of his shirt. After spending several virtual years alone with Peter in the dreary loneliness of his mind, Gabriel didn’t keep too many secrets from his friend. But this… until he’d read the whole thing, he wanted it to be just his. Not so much secret as personal, he decided, and that was okay. He was entitled to a little privacy.

Chapter 2:

Elle’s second letter was written on the backs of old calendar pages. On one side of each piece of paper a month was divided into little squares for each date, and on the other side her simple, slanted script filled the entire page with dark blue ink.

Gabriel had taken the big manila envelope back to the hotel room he was sharing with Peter, and had laid the stack out neatly on the desk, in the order they had been in originally. He resisted the urge to look ahead; he had all the letters, so he might as well read them in the order in which they were written. Besides, this might be the only record left of Elle Bishop’s life, thanks to the efficiency of people like Bennett who wouldn’t want dead agents to leave a paper trail. Out of respect for her, he decided, he would read the letters in order, leaving the memory stick for last, since she clearly wasn’t very high-tech in the beginning.

Dear Gabriel, the second letter began.

Hey, it’s me again. You know, I’ve never actually had peach pie before; it was good.

Being with you… was good.

From the moment I stepped through the door, I was walking on air. I was expecting the “angel look” again, but the whole night, I got something better, something I never knew I’d ever want. You looked at me like I was… me. Not “Agent Bishop,” not the Director’s-Creepy-Twisted-Protégé-Daughter, just me, and no one else. All evening, I was just “Elle.” And it was wonderful.

You said you fought with a hunger for more abilities, that you had wanted to be “more special,” and that now you think it’s okay to be ordinary. But oh, Gabriel, you’ll never be ordinary. No one ordinary could ever make me—me!—feel so calm, so complete, so at-home.

Gabriel, I don’t care how corny that romantically-retarded Bennett said it was. I stand by what I said: you are special just the way you are.

And some tiny corner of my brain, the part of me that still has enough human left in it to care, is utterly repulsed and terrified by what I’m about to do to you.

I tried—well, okay; my attempt was lame and went nowhere. I bucked at the reins a little, that’s a better way of putting it. I told Bennett after I left that I thought your suicide attempt was a wake-up call; that I didn’t think you’d kill again if left to your own devices. I even said I refused to turn you into a monster.

But then he reminded me that if I didn’t follow orders, I wasn’t an agent, and if I wasn’t an agent, I couldn’t stay with the company. I’ve been trained—as Bennett reminded me—since I was four years old, by my father, who believed in me, who supported me, who groomed me to be the best and brightest. If I’m not with the company, then… where am I supposed to go?

He’s my dad. He’s put so much effort into raising me. I can’t betray him.

Not even for someone who makes me feel as… as right as you do.

I gotta stop writing you letters, seriously. I have the one from the day we met stashed in the bottom of my jewelry box—dunno why I kept that one—but there have been others, just notes, really, scribbled on napkins or post-its. Like I said in the first one, I don’t really know what to do when something’s wrong, you know, in my head. Whenever I’m upset or hurting or just surprised about something, I always “tell you,” even though I’m not actually sending you, the real live Gabriel, any of these letters. It became a habit practically over the night, and it’s sticking like a leech. I’ve tried keeping a journal instead, but it just doesn’t work.

Because when I write, I think about what you might look like reading it. I imagine your face, your eyes, how you might look at me, and tell me it’s okay to be ordinary, that I don’t have to be special either.

But if everything goes as planned with our date-night next Saturday, then… Well, it’s just really, really stupid and probably unhealthy for me to keep doing this. I’d never live it down if someone found these. So this will be my last letter to you, Gabriel.

I really wish there was something I could do to save you from me.

Elle

It wasn’t the last letter, clearly. The stack below it on the desk had to contain at least four or five more.

Gabriel stood up and strode to the window, pulling on the thin chain to make the horizontal blinds rotate open. He stared down at the parking lot below, needing a moment to breathe before continuing. So, even beforehand she knew that what she was doing was cruel and terrible.

Turning quickly on his heel, Gabriel stalked back to the desk, sat himself down, and picked up the third letter. Delaying the inevitable was just another kind of slow torture.

Part of Chapter 3:

What have I done?

Elle’s third letter, written in black pen on plain unlined copier paper, began without any introduction.

What have I done? She wrote, the script perfect and even, like that thought had consumed her long enough for her to write it out neatly before she could continue. The rest of the letter was barely legible—her hands must have been shaking terribly, or else she’d written it in a moving vehicle. Probably the former, Gabriel thought as he carefully deciphered the wobbly handwriting.

What have I done? Oh Gabriel, what have I done to you?

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Gabriel, you can’t imagine how sorry I am—or perhaps you can. You tried to kill yourself, after all, when you murdered that man, and now I’ve destroyed you, and there’s a razor-blade on the desk by my elbow still wet with my blood. Some people say that cutting helps when you feel like this, but it didn’t help me at all.

Nothing can help me right now; not even writing this. The thing I do to keep myself sane now hinges on someone whose sanity I shattered. Irony is cruel…

Even killing myself—yes, I thought about that—wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t undo anything. So here I sit, bandages wrapped around my bleeding arm, writing yet another letter I can never send, to a man to whom I really do owe these words. I’m so sorry.

And you didn’t kill me.

You told me to get out—to run away before you hurt me. Even in that state, even in the frenzy I pushed you into, you had a strong enough heart to try and save me.

The paper was badly water-damaged; from tears, Gabriel assumed. These obscured the writing so badly that for several paragraphs, only a few scattered words were readable.

Twenty-two years of my life, the letter continued after the worst of the damage, and I’ve never had anyone look at me like you did—in the clock shop like I was an angel, and in your apartment like I was just Elle. You made me feel like I could actually be that way; not Agent Bishop, but just myself.

The next sentence was crossed out, and Gabriel had to focus carefully to make out the words. Even my father never looks at me that way, she’d said, and then deleted as best she could.

But I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t unmake the monster I created. No matter how much I wish I’d been brave enough or good enough to say “no” at the time, I can’t change the past. I hate myself, and I think I always will. I hope I do. If I brush this feeling under the rug, if I forget how horrible this was, how horrible I was… then what will I become? It must have taken a demon to raise a demon.

She post-scripts more about how much of a coward she is: she doesn’t type it because she doesn’t want any chance that a record of her emotional slip-up will reach Bennett or her father. When Gabriel finds it, it has been torn in half and then carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Outline:

Chapter 3: Elle’s third “letter” is a long rambling apology, dated the same day she manipulated him into killing Trevor. That night she went home and was so full of self-loathing that she didn’t know what to do. She tried to let it out by cutting herself, but it didn’t help; she wasn’t changing anything, and even suicide wouldn’t change what she’d done to him. So she patched herself up and decided to write him a letter—a letter that she knew even then that she could never actually send—telling him how incredibly stupid and guilty and sorry, sorry, sorry she was. Twenty-two years of life, and she’d never had anyone look at her like he did that day in the clock shop; first with eyes full of tears, then with wonder, like she was an angel, and then that day when they’d had pie in his apartment, like she was just Elle. Not agent Bishop, not some made-up character, but Elle, just herself. Even her father didn’t ever look at her that way. (Perhaps that bit is crossed out?) But she can’t undo what she’s done, no matter how much she wishes she’d been brave enough to say no at the time. The letter is written in shaky handwriting on pieces of unlined blank printer paper. She post-scripts more about how much of a coward she is: she doesn’t type it because she doesn’t want any chance that a record of her emotional slip-up will reach Bennett or her father. When Gabriel finds it, it has been torn in half and then carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Chapter 4: Elle’s fourth letter is written—still by hand—a little more neatly on lined, three-ring-punched paper. It has also been torn and repaired. This one is dated several months after the first, and she talks about how she has Peter in custody, and how she’s read the new files on Sylar, and can’t help but wonder if he’s happier that way, with no inhibitions or conscience. But then she records a conversation she had with Dr. Suresh, and Mohinder tells her about how he found the words “Forgive me!” scrawled in blood on the wall of Gabriel’s apartment before the evidence was removed. Now Elle is conflicted. She wants to be a good daughter and a good agent, but she’s having problems with her father. Her father is concerned about the problem Sylar poses, and she’s afraid that she is being blamed for his actions, even though she was following orders when she created him. That’s why she writes another letter—not to Sylar, but to her friend Gabriel, the sweet single guy whose oddities made him easy to talk to, like he would understand her problems because she wasn’t any stranger than he was. But then she reflects on how she destroyed that part of him, and she can never forgive herself.

Chapter 5: Elle’s fifth letter is a rant, written so hard on the paper that it is torn in places and grooved in others. It is on paper torn out of a notebook, and the only tape repairs are where she tore it from writing too hard. She starts off by calling him every bad name she can think of in all capitals, then calms down enough to record that she tore up her two previous letters, and then thought better of it and fixed them, because writing these was helping her keep her head on straight. She goes on to say all the horrible punishments she’d like to inflict on him, and then says how scared she is. Scared because she created an even worse monster than she ever expected, scared because without her father to guide her she has no idea what she’s supposed to do, scared because there’s relief mixed in; she finally doesn’t have to try so hard to impress him. She’s so confused, and even though she hates him, writing a letter to the old him seemed like it might help.

Chapter 6: Elle’s sixth letter is written shakily again, and hasn’t been ripped, though several parts of the page were burned off and re-written on clean paper, which was then taped to the bottom so that the whole thing is readable. She admits how much pain she is in, and how lost she is, and how she is going to Bennet—the man who pressured her into turning Gabriel into the monster who killed her father—for help, because he was the man with the plan; the one with all the answers. She feels a dull, routine sort of hatred for him, but she is so confused and hurt and lost that she doesn’t really know how she feels about anyone anymore. She had even started to blame her dearly departed father for turning her into what she is, but she feels that that’s disrespecting him in death and… She feels that she shouldn’t need the man who murdered her father. She shouldn’t need anyone; she’s supposed to be strong. But she needs him. Writing to him is the only thing keeping her sane. And maybe that simple fact just goes to prove how truly crazy she really is.

Chapter 7: Elle’s seventh letter is written on burned and repaired paper just like her sixth, from sitting on a plane with Claire Bennet, of all people, on her way to some mystery company to get help. She describes again how the lightning is building up inside of her and making her sick, and how she barely dares to hope that this new company will be able to help her. She’s vacillating wildly between hating him and wanting to kill him and almost wishing he were here—the old Gabriel—so that she could talk to him, and have him look at her like that one more time, like she was just Elle and nothing else. The fact that he could feel remorse for what he had done—when he tried to hang himself—the fact that he could try to change, to go straight… The old Gabriel had sort of inspired her to be better. But it wasn’t enough, apparently. She still didn’t have the guts to take his side against the schemes of the Company.

Chapter 8: Elle’s eighth letter is typed, and in perfect condition. There’s nobody to fear reading it, really, although she does admit to deleting it from the system after she prints it. She says, “Hey Gabriel, what do you know, I’m writing another letter that I’ll never give you, and you’re asleep in the next room over. This is ironic.” She goes on to say how grateful she is for everything he did. Even though he claimed she did it on her own, she says she never would’ve thought it was okay to forgive herself if someone else hadn’t done it first. She says that the things he’s done only allow him to see the good in others better, because he knows what it’s like to be drowning in his own darkness. She admits concern over the Arthur Petrelli situation, but she chooses not to tell him the truth just yet. She says she intends to, but right now he’s so new to the idea that he has a choice about who he is and how he lives. She believes that he’s not destined to become his parents, but she’s not so sure he’ll believe it yet, so as twisted and evil as Arthur is, she lets Gabriel believe he is his father for now, because if he finds out what Sampson Gray is like, she’s afraid he’ll go right back to how he was. She concludes by saying that she believes he has to power to change, and that Arthur may be using him, but he’s also helping him whether he intends to or not. She plans to stick close and help him break away from his pseudo-family, and then tell him the truth when she thinks the time is right. Then she ends by saying, “look at me, acting all mature and knowing, like I think I’m a seer or something. You’re important to me, Gabriel, and I’ll do anything in my power to undo the wrong I did you, even if I have to lie to you for now.” –This would end the cannon drabbles, because Elle literally dies the next day, and Gabriel is confused when he finds a memory stick also in the envelope.

Chapter 9: This one’s a video letter from Gabriel himself; the Gabe of the future. In it, he details out how time would’ve progressed, and talks about his life with Elle—now Elle Gray—and his son, Noah. (The video shows him holding up a picture of their family.) He talks about how Elle’s power started maturing, and she’s a lot more than she seems. She told him that the future would end; that their lives together wouldn’t last, but he said he didn’t care. He wanted her here and now, even if it wouldn’t be forever, because he loved her. A few weeks ago, she started to seem distant and preoccupied, and she finally ‘fessed up that the end of the future was coming soon. She said that she would use the last of her power as she faded to make sure that their son had a chance to survive. He couldn’t time-travel, but he asked her to put this with her letter collection, so that the Gabriel—the Sylar—of the past would find it and know that even though this particular future was gone, the chance for a life without hands covered in blood was still there if he had what it took to follow it. –Gabriel finishes this video in confusion. There’s also a file on the stick, a typed letter from Elle-of-the-Future.

Chapter 10: Elle-of-the-Future writes and explains how she “caught” past-Elle before she made it to that beach, swapped clothes, put on the bloody bandage, and hid her away in another country before taking her place. Since the future—and her existence with it—was disappearing, she would’ve literally faded and vanished if he hadn’t killed her, and she’s still alive, in the past, and pregnant with their son. She says that her vision isn’t nearly as specific as that of the person who initially explained all this to her, and she doesn’t know where his head will be when he reads this, so for their child’s safety she doesn’t say where Elle is. She does say that she loves him, and still believes in him.

Chapter 11-etc…: Meanwhile, Elle—hidden in another country—still writes letters to Gabriel whenever she needs to clear her head. She writes about what happened between her and Elle-of-the-Future, and also writes one when she figures out that she’s pregnant—and it’s gotta be his. She writes about how—on that last, craziest day of her life—she was terrified, but sort of exhilarated, because she knew she’d have to rely on him more, to protect her.

She writes about how Claire’s media revelation has forced her to keep herself very carefully in check. She has the baby, writes about it, about how much issue she had with her powers maturing while she was pregnant, and how she was afraid to use them at all until the baby was born.

She writes at length about labor—she has Noah in a wrecked buss, or some such violent scene. Afterward she lets loose a stunning, frightening display of power that has been held in check for far too long. This reveals her true nature to (bad guys/media) and she has to go on the run. Rebel helps her—she leaves his true identity out just in case some random person ever reads it, to Gabriel’s great amusement when he finally reads it.

Elle ends up working with kids like Rebel and Molly—and a few OC’s—to help other Empowered in need, and once she’s set up in a house, the kids all live there, so she’s part partner, part mom. She writes to him about how she’s not just a mother to her own child, she’s got a group of grade-and-middle-schoolers sleeping on her couches.

Also she writes all her thoughts about Noah’s name. She wants an angel’s name, because with all the exposure it’s not safe to call him Gray. She thinks about Michael, but it’s too much like Micah, who lives with her, and she doesn’t want it to get confusing. (She doesn’t get a chance to name her son until a while after he is born, due to running for their lives.) In the end, she chooses Noah, because Noah was a survivor, and she thought that if there was any sort of fate attached to a name, she wanted one that came with protection. It didn’t occur to her until later—and another letter—that Bennet’s first name was Noah. Oops, oh well. Maybe Noah Grayson Bishop will be a better Noah than Noah Bennet.

Her letters conclude with some confessions about how much she still misses him, and how she’s so dependent on her memory of him, and wants him for real. Then she says how she can be totally honest here because no one will ever read these, and how even now she doesn’t have the guts to send them, even though she learned through Molly—whose power matured, making her basically omniscient—that he was reformed now and safe to have around baby Noah. She also admits that she’s frightened, because her power is maturing as well, and her body is changing into she doesn’t really know what.

At this point, Molly decides to send the entire package to Gabriel. She writes him a letter as well, explaining that she can’t like him—because of what he did to her parents—but she can’t hate him either, because of what she’s seen of his life and the way he has been changed. She reflects that she doesn’t really have the capacity for hatred anymore, because she knows everything about people, and can’t help but sympathize at least a little. She finishes by saying please don’t tell anyone that she sent the letters, because word might get back to Mohinder, and he wouldn’t understand.

Then Gabriel writes back. In the penultimate chapter, he says he needs to explain, to apologize, and that he’s been thinking about her and missing her too. He says he wants to meet.

In the epilogue, Gabriel enters a restaurant—or wherever—and sees the back of Elle’s head. He is overcome by nerves. She may not have been present as such, but his last memory of her is killing her. He is afraid to approach; his foot won’t move forward anymore. Then Elle lifts up Noah, and he looks Gabriel straight in the eye. It’s a baby’s face, but somehow it says, “Well dad, what are you waiting for? Get over here.” He smiles, and takes the next step towards the booth.

Down comes the curtain, have a nice day readers!

#Beth's New Year's Cleaning Queue #free to a good home #any and all parts available for general use with credit #heroes #heroes fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction ideas #writing #writing ideas #First two chapters written plus an outline

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duhragonball · 5 years

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Dragon Ball Z 044

Last time, the crew from Earth finally found out that they weren’t on planet Namek at all, but a Fake Namek. This is the fourth episode of this arc, and I feel like they kind of made a mistake dragging it out for so long. I think the issue here was that Toei needed to do some filler episodes, but most of the cast was dead, hospitalized, or en route to Namek, so the only possible way to go was to have Bulma stop off someplace for a side-story, except she would never do that, because the mission is too important. So someone had the bright idea to have her go to the wrong planet by mistake, and get scammed by a couple of aliens. It’s a lot like the Princess Snake episode from the Saiyans Saga, but Princess Snake worked a lot better because it was just the one episode. In theory, I could get behind a four-episode arc about the heroes being deceived, but the longer you draw out the deception, the harder it is to suspend the audience’s disbelief. Holes start to form in the plot. Princess Snake’s scheme didn’t make a ton of sense either, but her true motives were exposed so quickly that it didn’t matter.

I do like the designs for Lychee and Zurkuro. They bear a slight resemblance to Dodoria, but they’re different enough to keep things fresh.

I don’t know which one is talking right now, so let’s just say it’s Lychee. I don’t even know if that’s his real name, but whatever. He tells Bulma the truth: that they were castaways who got stranded on this planet much the same way Bulma’s group crash landed here. But Bulma’s ship is still mostly in tact, which means they finally have a chance to escape.

This is a flashback to how they found the Earth crew after the crash. Gohan’s pose is hilarious to me.

So why didn’t they just take the spaceship as soon as they found it? Well, Lychee says there’s a “cosmic tidal current” blocking their way off the planet. I’m guessing that same force was what made Bulma’s landing so rough.

The two aliens really did have telepathic abilities, which they used to find out everything they needed to know to deceive Bulma and Co. I’ll be coming back to this later.

Everything else that happened on this planet was an illusion generated by their psychic powers, which must have been pretty impressive, since they weren’t even nearby when they found the last Dragon Ball.

So why didn’t they just kill Bulma, Krillin, and Gohan and take the ship? Apparently they just didn’t want to? I doubt Lychee actually treated their injuries, though, so I’m guessing none of them were seriously hurt in the first place. On the other hand, it would be rather interesting if the gang really had been on the brink of death, and Lychee did everything in his power to save them, even knowing that he was going to trick them later.

What I’m getting at is that it seems like these two have a very strange sense of morality, at least by human standards. I think most people would agree that if you’ve already decided to betray three people and abandon them on a hostile planet, you might as well kill them, especially if there’s a good chance that they’ll kill you if they find out what you’re up to. Instead, Lychee and Zurkuro went through this whole elaborate ruse just to keep them occupied (and alive) before they had their chance to take the ship. Now that the conditions are favorable for launch, they’ve sprung their trap.

They even grab Bulma’s Dragon Radar and make plans to travel to Namek themselves, in hopes of finding the Dragon Balls. What a couple of assholes.

Krillin tells Bulma to go after them, since she’s the only one who isn’t tied up with nautilus tentacles. Incidentally, they’re not even that dangerous. Lychee and Zurkuro said they were man-eaters last episode, but this time they explain that the nautili will just hold Krillin and Gohan for a while and eventually let them go. This is a weird planet.

So here’s where things really go off-track for me. So these guys’ entire scheme was for the sake of taking Bulma’s ship, but they never figured out until now that they would need a password to get the door open. They literally read Bulma’s mind to find out about everything else they would need to know, but they just skipped the part about how to get into the ship?

It’s not like they didn’t probe her knowledge of the ship, either. They know that it’s operated by voice commands, after all. This seems like a pretty big plot hole to me.

While Bulma wonders what to do, Gohan and Krillin break free of the nautilus-creatures, because they have super powers. Really, it was kind of foolish of the aliens to think they could trap these two, knowing how strong they are.

Back at the ship, the aliens find Bulma and force her to open the ship for them. She suggests that they all go together, which seems like the simplest solution to all of this. Seriously, why did they treat this like a zero-sum game? Lychee and Zurkuro are literally trapped here, and when help arrives, they decide to viciously betray their saviors, albeit in a nonlethal way.

Well, they tell her that it’ll take fifty years for them to reach their own homeworld. Guys, you just told her you planned to go to Namek first. That’s where they’re going. Just hitch a ride to Namek, and then head back to Earth, and by then Bulma won’t even need the ship anymore, and she’d probably let them have it.

Also, why do they even care about going back to their home planet? Anywhere would be better than here, right? I understand being homesick, but this is a matter of survival.

Bulma starts to cry as they tell her that there’s snakes and lizards on the planet that she can eat. Well, she’d better not eat Snakey, because he’s awesome. Also he’s huge, so I don’t know if he’d be easy to cook.

The aliens get into the ship, but then the platform lowers and they see... Krillin! I don’t know why his signature catchphrase, “I hate snakes,” never caught on in the States.

The aliens aren’t much on brawn, but they’re desperate at this point, so they stand their ground...

SCHMACK.

YAHTZEE.

LIFTOFF.

TIME TO GO TO THE REAL F’N NAMEK ALREADY.

And these two idiots are stranded again. Congratulations, you played yourselves.

Meanwhile, Vegeta is also on his way to Namek. The narrator is careful to point out that he’s coming from a different direction. It’d be funny if he ended up on Fake Namek like a few minutes after Bulma left, and he ended up killing Lychee and Zurkuro.

Back on Earth, Goku still keeps trying to sneak out of the hospital. Dude, just chill out. Honestly.

Then finally Bulma’s ship arrives at the real Namek. Thank goodness. It took nine episodes, but we’re finally here.

This time Bulma leaves nothing to chance. After verifying their position, she starts checking the atmospheric conditions outside...

...Except Gohan and Krillin have already left the ship. Really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that it’s an Earth-like environment, since Kami and Piccolo were able to live on Earth.

Gohan thinks this place resembles where Piccolo trained him, so maybe Piccolo chose that area out of an instinctive yearning for his homeworld.

Bulma gets a signal on the Dragon Radar, so she’s feeling optimistic. Krillin and Gohan sense a lot of ki in the distance, but Bulma figures that must be the Namekians, since they ought to be very strong.

And then Vegeta lands on the planet. Ruh-Roh.

Krillin tells Gohan to suppress his power so Vegeta’s scouter won’t pick them up, and then he throws down his hat in frustration.

He starts improvising a new plan. Krillin suggests that Bulma leave the Dragon Radar with them while she returns to Earth. She promises to come back with Goku, but it’ll take two months to make the round trip. That’s a long time to be stuck on a planet with Vegeta.

Elsewhere, Vegeta starts taking stock of the situation. Frieza and his men are already here, but he has no idea about the Earthling contingent. He seems confident that he can whoop any of Frieza’s henchmen, but he admits that he wouldn’t stand a chance against Frieza himself. This would be the first direct confirmation that Frieza is stronger than everyone else.

Bulma sets up an interstellar communicator and phones... Master Roshi of all people. I guess she doesn’t trust her dad at all. She updates him on the situation, and tells him to fill Goku in, but not Chi-Chi.

Meanwhile, here’s a real, honest-to-goodness Namekian... and he’s dead.

As expected, Frieza has wasted no time gathering the Dragon Balls, and he already has four of them. Also, the Dragon Balls here are huge.

So yeah, this marks the official entry of Frieza into the story. He’ll be around for a good long while, so get used to him.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #gohan #bulma #krillin #goku #vegeta #lychee #zurkuro #frieza #zarbon #dodoria #master roshi #fake namek #real namek #dead namek #namek saga

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captainsbabysitter-blog · 5 years

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Drunk and Disorderly

Pairing: Always McKirk

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Summary: A drunken one night stand brings some unwelcome thoughts and questions.

Length: 1748 words

Warnings: None, really.

Notes: Okay, so after weeks of saying this was in the works, I finally found the ambition to finish the damned thing. Once again, un-beta’d, unedited, and flashed through at the speed of goddamned sound so mistakes are likely.

We shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. That’s the thought Leonard had as he and Jim stumbled through the door of their dorm. Hands groped, lips and tongues met, and there was a groan that Len’s mostly sure was Jim. I should stop this.

Then he felt Jim’s lips on his neck. Shit.

“C’mon, Bones…”

Is he sauntering or stumbling? Either way, Len followed the pied piper that Jim has always been over to the bed. That’s when things got fuzzy. It was a mess of clothes flying, a hitch in Jim’s breathing when Len found just the right spot on the hollow of his throat to suckle a mark into the skin, and the electrifying sensation of Jim’s hips bucking up into Len’s as the doctor’s famed hands explored every inch of skin as it’s exposed.

“God, kid you’re gonna kill me,” he couldn’t stop the awe in his voice as he looked down at Jim sprawled out on the sheets, not a scrap of cloth left to hide him from Len’s hungry gaze.

Jim stretched out over Len’s bed with a lazy smile and hooded eyes, the usually brilliant blue darkened with obvious lust. “Then maybe you should hurry up, old man. You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Len released a controlled breath through his teeth before he finally stripped himself down. He leaned over Jim to rummage through the bedside table for the lube he knew Jim kept on hand for just this reason. When he had the tube in hand, Len pressed a kiss against Jim’s temple and trailed them down his chest. Jim spread his thighs to give him more room to work. The hiss against the chilled gel was quickly replaced by some wordless sound of approval as Len worked him open with expert fingers.

“Jesus, Bones!” Jim’s back arched up from the bed as he adjusted to the intrusion only to have a second and third finger follow the first. “Just get on with it!”

“Don’t be such an infant and be patient,” he grumbled back before distracting Jim with a sucking bite into his thigh. The moan he received in response sent shocks of arousal through his system.

When he was satisfied, Len slicked himself and tossed one of Jim’s legs over his shoulder. He kept his eyes trained on Jim’s face for any sign of excess discomfort as Len began making shallow thrusts, inch by inch, until he bottomed out. It struck him again that this was actually happening; everything between them was officially changed. If I’m going to Hell, might as well enjoy the ride.

After a few more moments to collect himself and every ounce of restraint he had left, Len gave an experimental roll of the hips. He was treated to a sort of strangled noise of surprised pleasure from Jim. It undid everything he’d done to keep control of his own actions. The next thrust drove into Jim like a piston, and Len was driven further and further from his senses by the litany of pleas and moans spilling from Jim’s lips.

“Bones! God, you feel so good.” His fingers flexed on Len’s shoulders and his back arced off the bed when Len’s hand wrapped around his neglected cock. “Shit!”

Len leaned down to capture Jim’s lips with his own, smirking a little to himself as the kiss muffled a few curses when he gave his wrist a little twist on the upstroke. He wished he could still say all of this was from the alcohol, but his drinks had started wearing off a while ago now.

Instead, he just enjoyed the feeling of Jim’s muscles clenching around him, the feeling of Jim’s nails digging into his shoulders, the sight of the younger man meeting him thrust for thrust with sweat-slicked skin and pleasure-glazed eyes. He logged every gasp, every moan, every stuttered plea for more, harder, please! Every time Jim dropped a ‘Bones’ with that pleasure-wrecked voice, Len could feel another shot of arousal send him higher and higher, closer to his own climax.

Afterward, when they were laying in a tangled mass of limbs and sticky sheets, Len decided to let the complications of what happened that night be a problem for future Leonard. He found an unsoiled area of the sheet and cleaned the both of them off before he settled in to sleep. Jim was already dozing and offered him a lazy smile of thanks before reattaching himself to Len’s torso and slipping off to sleep.

Dammit… Len carded his fingers through Jim’s hair and tried to calm himself enough to sleep, but that little voice was back with a vengeance. Just wait until morning. He’ll pretend it never happened and you’ll have the memories to jack off to the rest of your life.

Morning came all too soon. The clock read 0800, and Len hadn’t slept a wink. Nightmare scenarios had played through his mind one after another long after Jim had drifted off to dreamland. Would they be able to just forget this all happened? Would Jim even remember? He’d only had a few drinks that Len had seen, but there’s no telling how many the kid might’ve had before he’d gotten off shift.

The hardest question for him to answer was whether he could even go back to what they were now that he’d had a taste of more. Now that he knew what Jim’s skin tasted like, how he smelled when he was aroused, how he sounded when… I’m so fucked. The realization was almost painful.

He managed to escape Jim’s grip and stumble into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. A silent prayer went up to whatever deity might still bother listening to him for Jim to still be asleep when he emerged. Someone must have taken pity on him, because Len managed to dress and book it out the door for the library before Jim even twitched a muscle.

‘Where’d you take off to so early?’ The com message came less than 30 minutes after Len made his escape.

‘I got a call from the clinic.’ A bold face lie, but he didn’t think he could even look at Jim without vivid memories of the night before clouding his mind. ‘I’ll be on shift until sometime tonight.’

‘Kick some ass and save some lives, Bones.’

The next few days were a test of his minimal evasive training. He’d be up, showered, clothed, and out the door before Jim every morning and he’d pick up extra shifts or put in hours of extra studying to avoid going home before he knew Jim should be fast asleep. It meant running himself ragged on less sleep, and the clinic had started denying him the extra clinic hours citing fatigue limitations, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to from his days in residency.

Every time Jim tried to pin him down for dinner or drinks, Len had another excuse. ‘Sorry, test tomorrow. Got a lot of studying to do’ or ‘Can’t. Picked up extra clinic hours. Damned xeno studies is kicking my ass.’ All plausible excuses that he knew Jim probably wouldn’t think twice about. At least he thought so.

About half way into the second week of avoiding Jim, Len came back to the dorm at nearly 0130 to find the source of all his problems sitting awake and waiting for him to walk through the door. He ran his eyes over Len warily before he finally broke down and asked, “Why’re you avoiding me, Bones?”

“Don’t be such an infant. I’m not avoiding you, I’m busy.”

That lie went over about as well as he thought it would. Jim gave him a hard stare that quickly broke into resigned acceptance. His next words came out in a rush and hit Len like a speeding bus, “You haven’t been at the clinic nearly as much as you tell me you are, you sure as hell aren’t studying in the library, and if you need my word that I’ll never bring up what happened last week I’ll give it I just… Miss you. Shit, I shouldn’t have let it get that far I’m sorry Bones.”

“You’re… Sorry? About what?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his tone. “I’m the one who should’ve stopped things.”

He swore that the wheels were a little too damned greased in Jim’s head. Len could see them turning and could see the instant Jim seemed to realize what went on. “Then why didn’t you?”

If he could fold in on himself and disappear to avoid answering the question, he would. For the briefest second, Len debated bolting back out the door and just requesting a room transfer so he could pretend until the end of his days that this whole thing never happened. Instead, he took a shaky breath and focused his eyes on anything but Jim.

“Because I wanted it and I was just drunk enough to excuse taking the opportunity when it was presented to me.”

“And why’d you take off instead of sticking around to talk to me?” Jim pushed, almost seeming to enjoy the uncomfortable shift in who had control over the conversation.

Fear twisted itself in Len’s gut for probably the millionth time since that night. “If I talked to you, I couldn’t pretend you didn’t remember. If you remembered, I couldn’t say it was all just some drunken mistake because you know me better than that.”

“Yeah… I do. You’d think you’d know me better than that, too.” Bones finally chanced a look at Jim and frowned to find that damned self-satisfied smirk. “So, Bones… Wanna date?”

There was half a second where Len was sure his heart had stopped. He stared dumbly at Jim for a minute or two before taking the few strides over to the couch and pulling the infuriating future captain into a demanding kiss that knocked the breath from them both.

When they pulled back, Jim gazed up at him with a quirk of his lips and mirth dancing in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

“Yeah, kid, that’s a yes,” he mumbled against Jim’s lips. “You got some free time tomorrow? We skipped the whole first date when we jumped into bed.”

“I can squeeze you in, I think.” The double entendre wasn’t lost on Len. “But only if you’ll actually stick around until I wake up in the morning this time.”

“I think I can do that.”

#mckirk #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #tia writes

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sapphireswimming · 5 years

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Petecure (a voltron fic)

For @cthulhu-with-a-fez!! Happy birthday, friend!!! It’s been like two years but I’ve finally come out with another segment of this fic, haha. This happens directly before Jentacular :D

Hunk and Keith, food and friendship, 3.5k

(still not posting to ffn yet, because these are middle chapters of the fic-to-come)

Petecure, n, modest cooking; cooking on a small scale

Keith was panting hard, sweat beading down his neck by the time he finally ordered the gladiator to power down. His entire body hurt but he liked the burn.

It was one of the reasons he liked coming down to the training deck so often when he was free. Going up against the sleek humanoid robot kept him sharp, always on the move. And when you were fighting for your life, even against a training dummy, there wasn’t really any time to think about anything else.

Like the fact that they were on an alien spaceship. In the middle of an intergalactic war ten thousand years in the making. And were somehow the Universe’s only hope to defeat the Galra.

His sword transformed back into bayard form with a flash.

As the gladiator resumed its place against the wall, Keith rolled his head around his shoulders, listening to the vertebrae in his neck cracking in sequence. Then he pulled one arm across his chest in a stretch. The strain made his arms shake.

He’d spent a couple rounds too long on the sparring floor, and it was already starting to take its toll on him.

He shook out his arms, waving them in wide arcs as he decided where to go next.

He was sweaty and gross and should hit the showers. The warm water would help. But before that, he wanted food. He was the kind of hungry you only get after a long, intense workout, and it would become a physical pain in his stomach if he left it until after a shower.

So off to the kitchens it was. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t the closest stop after the training deck. Coran’s grandfather hadn’t been thinking that one all the way through when he designed the place.

He made his way through the hallways as quickly as he could, swinging his arms from side to side in powerful movements in an attempt to keep them from seizing up on him.

But he was already uncomfortably hungry by the time he got to the mess hall and realized that there was no food. Or, at least, no food to speak of.

Resting a sweaty forearm against the doorframe, Keith stared at the goo hoses coiled up against the wall and groaned.

He did not want goo.

He really, really did not want goo.

Even if it was filling and had all of the protein and whatever else he was supposed to be getting, he was fed up with the way it stuck to everything, coating his teeth and throat with film. The way it oozed everywhere.

Unappealing to begin with, it had lost much of its charm as a constant source of food after their food fight at the table meant that he was picking it out of his hair and behind his ears and every wrinkle in his clothes for days afterward.

Nearly everything in the Castle of Lions was a significant upgrade from what was left of his home in the desert, but this was not one of them. He would be more than happy to go back to the canned goods and scavenged meat he’d lived off of after getting kicked out of the Garrison. He’d happily never touch the goo again in his life.

But it wasn’t like there were really any other options.

Keith sighed.

There was a fridge, or, at least, what he assumed was a fridge, on the far left side of the kitchen, over by the stovetop. He eyed it curiously. He hadn’t given a thought to it since they arrived. It had probably been empty for the past ten thousand years. Or, worse, hadn’t been empty for the past ten thousand years and was now sporting the finest mold growth in the galaxy.

Unable to resist his now morbid curiosity, Keith walked over to the fridge and slowly extended a hand, wondering if anyone had bothered to check it since they got here.

With a soft pop, the doors opened and frosty air billowed out in a cloud around him. Keith coughed, quickly covering his nose with the crook of his arm in case he was breathing in mold. But once he looked up, he saw that there was no fuzz, no moldy growths, no foodstuffs that had gained sentience in the past few millennia.

But it wasn’t empty, either.

In fact, it looked like a fairly normal fridge. Sleeker tech than he was used to, of course, and with a lot more vegetables in one place than he had ever seen. There were plants packed in high on every single shelf: bags of what looked like kale and spinach in several distinct shades of blue, as well as bunches of herbs, and something that might have been squash, if he was more confident about what a squash looked like.

He leaned forward to get a better look at it, pushing the doors open wider. Almost as soon as his fingers brushed against the vegetable, there was a yell from behind him.

“Ahhhh! No, put that back!”

Keith’s hand flew up so quickly it nearly knocked over the shelf and he had to pinwheel in order to keep from falling over as he turned, heart pounding, to see Hunk standing in the doorway.

He was standing, both arms outstretched, and a bag full of slightly glowing pink spheres were splattered across the floor where he’d dropped them. Hunk ignored them, stepping around them quickly as he all but ran forward.

“Don’t pick that up,” he said, breathlessly, all but begging Keith to step away from the fridge.

Keith was surefooted again, and didn’t feel like his heart was going to jump out of his chest anymore. He blinked at Hunk, then turned back to the innocent looking lumps in the fridge in confusion.

“Why not?” he asked.

Hunk’s eyes flew wide and he blurted, “I don’t know if that’s poisonous yet!”

Keith stared at him.

“I just picked it this morning and Pidge and I don’t have the scan results back yet,” Hunk went on to explain as Keith’s face twisted in disbelief.

“So… wait…” he said, putting a hand to his temples. “So you’re keeping it in the fridge?”

“Just until we find out if it’s edible or not,” Hunk assured him.

“In the fridge?” he repeated incredulously. “You said it might be poisonous!”

“Well, I don’t want to waste it if it’s good!” Hunk protested, the tips of his index fingers tapping together. “I’ve got big plans for that if we can eat it,” he said.

“Right,” Keith said glumly, finally turning to close the fridge door, careful not to touch anything inside. “If we can eat it.”

“Well, it’s not like anyone else has gone in there,” Hunk mumbled in his defence. “I didn’t think I needed to put up a huge warning sign to tell everyone to keep out of the fridge no one else uses.”

“Yeah,” Keith huffed as he swung the doors closed. “That’s because we don’t have any food,” he pointed out, turning on his heels only to catch sight of the goo station and rediscover how truly unappetizing an option it was, despite the low rumbling in his stomach.

Screwing up his face, he bypassed the bowls and resentfully made his way to the stash of space juice boxes. He picked one up and took a seat at the island in the middle of the room, opposite where Hunk had just grabbed a cloth out of a low drawer.

He pouted as he viciously poked the little straw into the pouch. Too viciously, because it stabbed through both sides of the thin film, threatening to spill everything over his clothes and the island if he moved wrong.

“Euhhhhh,” he sighed explosively, wanting to chuck the entire thing at the wall if he knew the outburst and ensuing clean-up detail wouldn’t make him feel just that much worse.

“Oh, whoa, hey, man,” Hunk said, quickly redirecting his attention to the situation at hand. “Here, take this,” he said, holding out a glass.

Keith gratefully dumped the pouch upside-down and watched the contents trickle down into the cup. He squeezed the pouch to help it along, then shook out the last remaining drops. Just as he started looking around for what do with the empty pouch, Hunk swapped it out for the cloth he’d grabbed earlier.

“Uh, thanks,” Keith said, bobbing it in his hands before wiping them.

“No problem,” Hunk said, dumping the pouch into the waste chute. But when he turned around, he saw Keith had already climbed off of his chair and was cleaning up the mess in the doorway. “Ah, you don’t need to do that,” he said, rushing over. “I was going to-“

Keith stared up at him, cloth halfway to one of the pink shapes that had spattered on the ground. “This isn’t going to kill me, is it? Melt my hands or anything, right?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” Hunk said, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, it should be fine.”

“Then it’s fine,” Keith said, wiping everything up.

Hunk blinked at him. “Uh, thanks,” he said, as he knelt down to pick up the few that hadn’t exploded upon impact.

“No problem,” Keith said.

They both pushed up at the same time, Hunk with four pink spheres clutched to his chest and Keith with a drenched cloth that he maneuvered around so it didn’t drip everywhere.

“Where do you want this?” he asked.

“Uh, oh, the sink is fine,” Hunk said, laying his treasures out on the counter as Keith unceremoniously dumped the mess in the sink.

As he washed his hands, Hunk looked over. “You’re up early,” he noted.

Keith looked back at him with a sideways glance. “So are you?”

“So, uh, what were you doing? Were you training? You look like you might have been training. Cause you’re, you know, all sweaty and stuff.”

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being sweaty or anything. Sweaty and stink…” he broke off before he could dig himself into a hole but Keith didn’t seem to have minded. He climbed back onto his chair and swirled his new glass of space juice around in his hand.

“Sooooooo,” Hunk said, rearranging the pink spheres for a minute before turning to look at Keith over his shoulder. “Long training session?” he guessed.

Keith nodded.

“Not hungry?” he asked, quizzically, nodding at the glass.

“Oh, I’m hungry, alright,” Keith returned sourly. “Could eat an elephant,” he muttered.

Hunk laughed. “Sorry, no elephants here.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, sipping at his juice again.

“You should have more than that, you know,” Hunk said, looking at him seriously. “You were probably in there for a couple hours, right? You need some carbs and protein and stuff.”

Keith considered Hunk for a moment, wondering how he’d known how long he’d been training, then decided that didn’t matter because Hunk was right. His stomach was squirming uncomfortably now and he needed more than just the juice.

But, looking back over to the goo again, he found that he still felt nothing but complete and total apathy toward getting any, let alone eating it. “I don’t feel like it,” he said, making a face.

Hunk followed his look to the goo station and pulled a face of his own. “Yeah, man, I hear you. that stuff is nasty,” he said.

Keith turned to him in surprise. “I… I thought you liked that stuff?”

“Me?” Hunk laughed loudly, turning to him with a spoon in hand. “No. No way,” he said, spoon swinging his denial. “Well, I mean, it’s grown on me, I guess. Kinda had to since there’s no choice because it’s basically been our only food option since we got here. But it’s so… blegh,” he said, eloquently.

Keith blinked at Hunk, uncomfortably started by this revelation.

“And don’t get me started on the texture!” Hunk continued. “And I mean, I’m a texture guy,” he said, hand over his chest. “At heart, ‘cause, like, variety is the spice of life, right?”

He heaved a huge sigh and looked over at Keith commiseratingly.

“Anyway,” he said, turning back toward the counter. “I would go for some of the Garrison’s yam enchiladas right now. Even the cheese French toast, which, as everyone rightly noted, is a perversion against all mankind.”

“Me too,” Keith said. He stared down at his glass. “Didn’t think it could get much worse than canned chili and peanut butter sandwiches every day.”

“Oh,” Hunk said, looking back at him with wide eyes. “Oh man. That’s rough. That… that what you had at that shack?”

“Yup,” Keith said, popping the end of the word. “Pretty much,” he said, swirling the glass around so that the liquid sloshed up the sides.

“So… what kind of food do you like?” Hunk asked curiously as he continued his work at the counter.

Keith shrugged, then realized Hunk couldn’t see him with his back turned. “I’ll eat just about anything, I guess,” he said. “Just… not…” he glared at the goo station again.

Hunk laughed. “That’s fair,” he said, chopping away. “But is there a kind of food you particularly like?” he asked again. “Favorite meals from home or from the Garrison? Taco Tuesday?”

Keith made a face, but it was less a grimace and more a grumbling confusion as he tried but failed to come up with an answer. It took Hunk a few long moments to realize that Keith might not have thought through what he’d put on a list of favorite foods.

Something twisted deep in his gut at the thought, and he vowed to do something to change that. Somehow. Even if they didn’t have access to any normal food from Earth here in the Castle.

He wasn’t sure how he could do it. But the first step was obvious. They had to get something to eat that wasn’t goo.

So he turned back to the counter and redoubled his efforts, trying to hurry his preparations.

“Yeah,” he called over his shoulder, trying not to let the silence grow too awkward between them. “I don’t know what my favorite foods are either, really,” he said, pretending to have misunderstood Keith’s expression. “I mean there’s just so much to choose from!” he said, slicing some swirly looking marshmallow plants and divvying them up between two bowls.

“Because where would you even start?” he asked, turning around to catch a glimpse of Keith’s thankfully amused expression as he took another sip from his glass. “There’s rice dishes and pasta dishes. And soup and bread, oh man, bread. And then you’ve got your meats and veggies and dairy. And Indian food and Thai food and Filipino food,” he counted them off on his fingers, starting over with each new classification and soon running out of fingers to continue.

“There’s too much to choose from!” he said, making a cheerfully frustrated noise. “It’s hard enough just picking, like, pizza toppings, man. Because do you go with a classic pepperoni? Or Hawaiian? Or a mushroom, sausage, green pepper combo? Or white pizza? Or chicken and artichoke? Like, ahh, it’s all just so good,” he said, eyes and mouth both watering at the images he conjured up in his mind’s eye.

“Dude,” Keith said, sounding like he wasn’t sure if he was impressed or worried.

Hunk laughed a little self-consciously, then, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, too much talking about pizza?”

Keith shook his head a little and smiled. “Nah. Never too much talk of pizza,” he said. “But…” he trailed off, not entirely sure where he was going.

“Hmm?” Hunk asked, tilting his head back as he scraped the sides of the bowl.

“Nothing,” he waved his hand. “But… you really like food, huh?”

Hunk scoffed at the obvious statement. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s kinda the basis for all of human life, isn’t it? Civilizations have been build upon food. Society is formed around food. It’s what defines entire cultures around the world!”

Keith raised an eyebrow, not entirely sold on the claim.

“We all need food to survive. We eat like three times a day,” Hunk said, a little quieter now. “That’s a lot of your life spent eating, you know? So, like, you might as well make it good food, right?”

Keith could agree with that. “Well, that would be nice,” he said. “Too bad we’re stuck on an alien planet with nothing but green goo to eat,” he sighed.

“Not… necessarily,” Hunk said, putting on the finishing touches.

Keith’s forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“Well,” Hunk said, turning around with something in his hands. “I don’t know what these are going to taste like,” he offered, placing a bowl down in front of Keith and another in front of himself as he pulled up a magnetically anchored stool for himself on the other side of the island. “But at least it’s not goo.”

Keith stared down at his bowl, piled high with swirled puffy things and what might have been some kind of berry on top of some sliced beet looking things. He pulled it closer to him slowly.

Hunk couldn’t tell if it was in reverence or distrust, but Keith readily grabbed the makeshift chopsticks Hunk had discovered in one of the Castle’s many storerooms.

Twirling them around, he was about to dig in when he suddenly paused. “You’re sure nothing in here’s going to kill me, right?”

Hunk grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “Pidge and I, we set up this program that scanned each ingredient for its basic component parts and chemical makeup and then we analyzed that and compared it to your—“

“Okay, okay,” Keith cut him off with waved chopsticks. “I get it. Just… wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to kill me.”

Hunk gasped in mock offence. “Me? Kill you off? How could you think such a thing?” he cried in an overdramatic voice. “I can’t kill you,” he said, “because… then we’d be down a paladin and…” his tone suddenly changed to something more worried. “We wouldn’t be able to form Voltron and then Zarkon would probably be able to take over the rest of the galaxy no problem and—“

Keith stopped with his food halfway to his mouth, staring at Hunk who was visibly going off onto increasingly distressing tangents.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” he said, one hand held out as if to pacify him. “Calm down, Hunk,” he said, staring at him with wide eyes. “It’s oaky.”

Hunk blinked at him. “Oh,” he said. “Right, yeah, uh, sorry, I just…”

“Eat your food,” Keith ordered through a mouth full of food before he could continue his nervous rambling. He jabbed his chopsticks at Hunk’s untouched bowl for emphasis.

Hunk plopped down in surprise with a quiet, “Okay,” as he picked up his own chopsticks. He didn’t start eating right away, though, too intent upon watching Keith’s initial reaction to the meal.

Keith took his time chewing, then swallowed. Paused a minute. Stared down at his bowl.

Hunk watched him nervously.

“Well,” Keith said, stretching his arms off to each side. “Not dead,” he proclaimed. “And that,” he said, pointing down at his bowl, “is a whole lot better than the goo.”

Hunk smiled tentatively.

Keith grinned. “Come on, man, quit worrying. You said you already checked this stuff and I trust you. And Pidge,” he added. “Besides, none of us are going anywhere until we have a chance to punch Zarkon in the face.”

Hunk grinned. “Heheh, good one,” he laughed before digging in. He ate more slowly than Keith, rolling each bite over his tongue, considering the taste and blended palette as he chewed and swallowed.

“Hmm,” he said, considering. “Not bad for a first try. Seems kind of dry, though. Could use a bit more sauce. It’s just hard when there isn’t any good sauce making material around,” he said, screwing up his face in thought.

“There’s those pink things that splattered when you dropped them,” Keith pointed out, digging down further into his bowl that was already half empty. “Or the goo, honestly, because the one thing it’s good at is covering stuff. And that’s what you want for a sauce, right?”

Hunk brought down both hands on the table and stared at Keith, who blinked at him, suddenly worried. “What?” he asked, mouth full.

Hunk turned to stare at the goo dispenser, then at the counter where he’d been working. “Yeah. Yeah,” he muttered to himself, hand on his chin as he thought hard. “Yeah, that might work if I took some of the… and then add in the… or if I sauté it? Oh yeah, that might be better because then you’d get the flavors out of the fresh stuff and that might actually work…?”

It became clear to Keith after a few moments that Hunk had completely disappeared into his head and wasn’t about to stop muttering his mental notes and calculations any time soon. He shook his head, leaving him to rhapsodize over whatever ideas he was formulating for his next culinary experiment.

But until then, he thought after a quick internal debate, he decided that Hunk wouldn’t even miss his bowl of food. In fact, it would be helping him, to take it, and finish it, and rinse it out in the sink. It would be like helping him clean up after all of his hard work preparing everything.

So, he nodded as he pushed his empty bowl aside and slowly reached out for Hunk’s, who didn’t even notice as it slid across the table, it was doing him a favor.

Really.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #hunk garret #keith kogane #cthulhu with a fez #puppetmaster55 #since you were part of the first installment too #didn't get this done in time to have anyone take a look at it so hopefully there aren't too many typos and it's all good #but i did get it done in time to get it posted on your bday even in your own timezone so look at that! successssss #so i tried to get this done over the summer when you were helping me out but... well... this will have to do :)#fanfiction #mine #ss #happy birthday kelly I hope it's a fantastic one!!!!!!#kelly

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galvatronsthighs · 6 years

Photo

Part four! Story under cut! <<PREVIOUS | FIRST | NEXT>>

The base was dark and no doubt abandoned.

Not that anyone would have rushed to help the lumbering shape anyway. Seems the Decepticons really did take to his orders when he told them to run and they fled from everything.

Of course they would, he’s a monster, he attacked them, some are dead because of him…. A soft ‘thwak’ brought Galvatron’s processor back to the moment. Cyclonus’s arm had come loose and flopped over his torn chest giving the ex-leader a nudge back to reality. With a soft grumble he shifted the two unconscious bodies a little more and continued on his way. His steps were loud and echoing, each door opened with a sound like claws trying to shred concrete, did they always sound like this? A few lights flickered dimly as if deciding if it was worth turning on just for them, probably not. The med bay had been messed with, while fleeing it seemed some of the Decepticons had saw fit to raid the place for some supplies. With a sigh like a old steam train finally choking out it’s last, Galvatron dropped his cargo onto two available berths and his systems screamed in relief. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem for him, just two mecha? But his injuries were still rife from the battle they had just went through. It didn’t matter. They would heal. They always did. Applying some gentle percussive maintenance to the med bays systems Galvatron got the place humming with some weak attempt at life once more. He approached Scourge first, the mecha was undoubtedly lighter than himself and Cyclonus despite being the same size and the larger wing struts were just bigger targets, certainly during the fight they were. Galvatron shook his helm trying to rid himself of vague echoing memories of himself swinging wildly at Scourge, overtook in the desperate moment, and landing a few blows on the wings as he picked them up. His unconscious form didn’t move at the sensation of his wings being touched but Galvatron faltered, they bent and sagged in places they weren’t meant to. He did that. Just like Unicron said. Unicron was right about him. Galvatron dropped the wing and let it flop, as throbbing thoughts pounded at his processor making him stagger back and sink to the floor. His new spot was not much better either, just above him Cyclonus lay, bent and crooked. He did that. The monster. Pain called to him a sweet siren song, a delicate lullaby riding on waves of throbbing agony. Galvatron could feel the still slightly-wet cuts along his back, paint a small arc against the berth he leant on as his body lacked the energy, or the will, to fight much longer and it sagged over to the side, before collapsing the final distance down to the floor. Exhausted, wounded and tired in far too many ways there was nothing that could’ve kept Galvatron conscious for much longer. A weepy voice in the back of his helm hoped he wouldn’t wake up again and this would be over.

Waking up was a different matter. It felt as though cement had been poured into every available opening, every minute gap within his systems. Feeling almost literally dusty did not aid him in the slightest either. A breathy, dry groan escaped his vocal unit as Galvatron rolled to his front a little more. One hand, two hand, move, repeat. Galvatron almost crawled his way forwards a staggering, full, inch. By the AllSpark he was pathetic. Maybe he should repair some of his injuries… With slow and careful movements Galvatron pulled himself over to an adjacent room, the doorway providing him with a hold on either side to hoist himself up with. Sparks flew and energy crackled as his systems revolted at having such pressure and work put on them. Before his self-repair systems were second to none and these kind of injuries probably would have already been healed to a decent, manageable amount, but who was he kidding, that was all Unicron too, Unicron made him who he was, Unicron did it all, who was he without Unicron? Pathetic? Mistake? Aimless? Directionless? Nothing. Galvatron cringed and his systems groaned, no, no, not now, he should push the thoughts of that thing out of his processor. He wasn’t nothing without Unicron! He… he hadn’t even had the chance to try yet! That’s all! He can do it! He can do it… He can… try… Looking at the systems Galvatron had the dawning realisation he knew nothing about them, and absolutely nothing about what he could do to fix himself. The Auto-repair systems were shot, barely able to manage the most basic of repairs at best, everything here was a joke. No wonder it was his home. With a sigh, he decided it’d have to do.

Letting the system hum to life, Galvatron slid himself onto the berth and allowed it to work. Mostly superficial damages were being fixed, holes and bleeds in his external systems getting patched, his support structure also got a very basic once over, with cracks and breaks being welded back together and his cuts wiped and covered over. It tried to engage in a more thorough system repair, parts requesting access to his internal systems but the machine itself didn’t even have the capability to finish it’s own request. Galvatron decided it was adequate at what it was. He could move better and looked like nothing happened, that’s all he needed. It had handled the worst of it, and as long as he doesn’t over-stress it his self-repair system should be able to finish it off now. He did feel grateful to have the gashes on his face patched up however. They felt the worst. The only bit of outdoor light that graced the room had slithered along the wall and Galvatron frowned. The auto-repair system had shut off a while ago. He blacked out again, didn’t he? Galvatron heaved himself off the berth, grunting painfully as it still felt like a knife was wedged in his lower abdomen, if only the repair system fixed that. He had a mission. He had to repair his friends, he had to free them… he had to… save them… Quick Stepping into the adjacent room he came to a spluttering halt. Both Scourge and Cyclonus were fixed. Not a dent or a smudge on them. An analytical panel hanging from the ceiling was hooked up to both of them, it’s screen split as it displayed both of their vitals, but, the most curious aspect of all, both of them were strapped down, clamped to the berth. It’d be a miracle if they could even turn their heads with bonds so tight. A few attempts at a word formed in Galvatrons mouth but only escaped as the most faintest of sounds. Swinging around the berths Galvatron strode down between them, hand on the monitor he looked over the results it showed. “Finally woke up, eh?” Galvatron froze. He did not recognise that voice… no, wait… he did… deep in his systems… it was so long ago now… He could feel his spinal strut try to bunch up, fear overtook his spark, panic embedding itself in like a burrowing Scraplet. Another person. He’d have to talk! He’d have to do something! “Face me.” They were cold and commanding, yet a edge of curiosity peaked in their tone. Galvatron relaxed his systems and un-hunched himself. One hand refused to leave the monitor however, like a small safety blanket, with a twist of his pede’s he turned to face the voice. “Down here.” Nearer the end of the berths a small figure stood. Human. No, not quite. His memory circuits buzzed as a fresh load of static blared through them, but there were images to the static, sound too, he could just make it out. “S… s… sssssss… Sari?” How could he forget her name. The small hybrid had not grown an Earth-inch from the last time they’d met, when he was a different person. Her colours were dull however, greyed and a few streaks of dirt covered her. She had a scar over half of her face, optics cold and wary, her organic body was hard to see under layers of battle-grade armour forced upon her during cycles of battle. “So, you remember me huh? Your friends here didn’t seem to” Her eyes thinned as she glared at him, an icy glare probing him for answers. “O… oh… oh… I…” Galvatron’s words died in his vocal unit, his head pounding as he struggled to say something, anything. It didn’t help, not in the slightest, when Sari relaxed. The sudden, almost wrong, motion send Galvatron into a minor panic. “I’M SORRY!” He squealed. “Hey, hey, calm down” Sari held her hands up, but it did not help at all. “I’M SORRY!” He squealed again and the monitor was released from his grip. Galvatron sunk to his knees, his forehelm touching the ground as he practically tried to force himself into it, “I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY!” He continued to shriek. “ENOUGH!” Sari yelled, silencing him, “I’m not here to fight” Sari paused, waiting for an answer, but Galvatron just looked at her with wet optics and let out a quiet sniffle. “I mean, if I was, wouldn’t I have brought all the Autobots with me?” She tried again, Galvatron merely looked around the room, although his view was hampered by him keeping his face pressed to the ground, “Will you sit up?” Sari hissed a little annoyed. Galvatron obeyed. “I came here because I saw what happened. You fought these two, didn’t you?” She gestured to Cyclonus and Scourge on the berths. Galvatron nodded weakly, unable to look at the two motionless figures. “I saw you crying” She added as if it answered everything. Galvatron nodded again, the very mention of it practically provoking his systems to begin weeping once more, but a hasty sniffle managed to stop him from full-blown tears. “I’ve never seen a Decepticon do that… I’ve never heard you beg for forgiveness as you fight… My curiosity was peaked” She added. “Ah” Galvatron quietly choked out. “What’s going on?” Her voice turned stern and demanding again and she stepped forwards. “I’m sorry!” Galvatron whimpered quickly, “I deserve it! Whatever it is!” “What?” Sari backed up again, “Look, I’m… I…” She cocked her head and looked him over, “I won’t hurt you, I just want to know why the most feared monst… ah, Decepticons ever known were fighting amongst themselves while their leader bawled his optics out!” “It doesn’t matter… It was all for nothing… I couldn’t help them… I couldn’t save them…” Galvatron covered his head with his arms and curled up. “Save… them…? You’re talking about that planet-eating monster aren’t you?” Galvatron shrieked like he’d been shot, tears escaped from him freely. Did everyone know? No, everyone shouldn’t know, why should they? No one deserves this? No one deserves him! No one deserves that! Was Unicron common knowledge? Who was he hurting now? Oh, come on Galvatron, you know the answer to that! Everyone! Unicron’s hurting everyone! It’s all his fault! He left Unicron! He left and now Unicron has no toys! The room was empty when he looked back at it, no Cyclonus, no Scourge, no Sari. But there was a shadow, grinning as it seeped in through the ceiling. Unicron was hurting everyone! It’s all his fault! He should never have left! Galvatron was vaguely aware of himself shrieking. Sorry Unicron. Sorry. Sorry sorry! I don’t… Please don’t… Galvatron lunged at the shadow seeping in. Are you happy now Unicron? Yes, of course you are. He loved watching them fight. Are you happy now Unicron? Will you stop hurting them? I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please. The shadow was gone and instead something blue and burning hit him in the head. Feeling like all his energy was gone anyway, Galvatron collapsed with a whimper. The room seemed a bit more normal now. Something was cycling air through it’s vents, hard. “Uuugh,” He groaned, “Ow” “Get up” The cold commanding tone jabbed into him like a dagger. “Yes Unicr-!” Galvatron blurted out with a harsh obedient tone, but that name tasted like vile, bitter poison and he gagged himself before completing it, but still stood up. Looking around the room once more, he found the source of the noise and the blue burning thing. Sari floated an arms length away, her own arm stretched out and in weapon-mode as she panted heavily. The floor where she once stood was suspiciously dented and new scratches littered the place, her and Galvatron. “Yes?” Galvatron croaked, notifications pinging in his processor that he’d obtained a few new lacerations and dents himself. Sari squinted back at him, she must have attacked him for screaming rather than answering, yes, that’s it, he deserved it anyway. “It is… that ‘moon-eating monster’, he… he controls us… well… he sort of made us too… he owns us...” Galvatron felt the words tumble out of his mouth freely now, no point in trying to bury the memory she knew of him anyway. “Is he still controlling you?” Sari refused to move, seemingly ready for a fight. “N...no! I don’t think so! He left me! I think so… W...wh… when I… I touched the AllSpark!” Galvatron felt his spark race and energon pump burn as words spilled from him, “I touched it and then I saw how bad everything was! It’s awful! I hate it! I… I hate him! He laughed at us! This is all funny to him! Like a game! He… he hurt me! He hurt US! He… Unicron did it, I was so stupid, I believed him, he said it was all going to…” Galvatron sunk back to the floor, hands sticking themselves to his helm as he groaned “I… just want all this pain to go… It’s… consuming… I… He… We...” Sari landing back on the ground sounded like two buildings falling over as the noise shattered the eerie silence left when Galvatron gave up the fight with his stuttering vocaliser and shut up. Her weapon was largely deactivated but the low-level glow from her palm betrayed it. She approached. Her hand touched his pede. A short blast from her jetpack and she was up on his knee guard, sat there, staring at him, like an Osmium Owl. Although Galvatron could only see her feet, he didn’t want to look at her he didn’t want to face her. Sari didn’t like that and hovered over until she took up his field of vision. She was angry. There was searing fury that would have sent the very stars cowering. “Unicron ate Earth” She snarled. Galvatron felt the panic rise again, his faceplates twitched uncontrollably, he tired glancing around, anything to avoid her, to avoid the boiling, squirming feel of empty horror, but she was not having it and followed his gaze. “My Father was on that planet. MY DAD!, and your ‘BOSS’ ate him AND my planet!” She shrieked, “That was CYCLES ago! SO MANY that my dad was still alive! Oh yeah, he’d be dead by now, it’s been too long for a ordinary human to live, but NO, that thing took him while he still breathed!” Sari reared back and punched him, her powered-up form decorating his forehelm with a hefty dent. “I tried approaching this calmly… nicely but… but you will show me EVERYTHING! THEN I will decide on what YOU THREE deserve!” Her fist crackled with a familiar blue energy prompting an equally familiar scene to play out in his head again. Drifting through space, angry, bitter, alone. Until that green light bathed the very void itself as he came to you. Only now, an angry girl stood by watching, waiting, judging...

#galvatron #sari #sari sumdac #transformers animated #maccadam #cyclonus #scourge #TFA: Homecoming #eschaton #attempting art #Galvatron keeps on turning out cute even when I don't mean him to hahahaha

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soulstealer1987 · 6 years

Text

Arc 3, Chapter 2

Ziist Grozein

You know how you're always sore all over the day after you spend a lot of time exercising? Yeah... well, Gallus didn't get to skip out on that fun part. He also wants absolutely nothing to do with whatever it is the Circle's arguing about, but unfortunately for him, he might just wind up involved anyway. Clearly, this can only go well.

Crossposted from AO3. Masterpost is here.

Arc 3: Live by the Sword

Arc 3, Chapter 1 ~ Arc 3, Chapter 3

Gallus’ first day of training with the Companions went pretty well. Vilkas was, unsurprisingly, even more of an egotistical prick when it came to his teaching style, but Gallus was willing to admit he did know what he was doing. (Of course, he wasn’t at all willing to admit that to Vilkas, or really, anyone other than himself.) But seriously, was footwork really that important? Gallus doubted it. He just wanted to actually use a sword at some point in the near future.

Gallus’ second day of training with the Companions was a complete and utter nightmare, mainly because everything hurt. It hurt to move, it hurt to stand, and it definitely hurt to do anything remotely physical. He got a few sympathetic looks from some of the less experienced members and Farkas, but overall, that day was a nightmare.

The third day was better because he was significantly less sore and Vilkas finally told him to start using his actual sword to practice before eventually deeming him ‘not bad’ and sending him off to the smith working the Skyforge to get some better armor. By better, Gallus suspected Vilkas meant heavy, which he definitely wasn’t on-board with. Not only was heavy armor more expensive, but it was almost as hard to move in as the mage robes, and unsurprisingly, extremely heavy.

The smith working the Skyforge, one Eorlund Gray-Mane, was surprisingly friendly and a nice contrast to Vilkas being… well, Vilkas. He apparently just happened to have a new set of leather armor lying around that he’d made for no reason, and said Gallus could have it for a significantly cheaper price than it was worth if he made the cut for the Companions.

From the fourth day on, the days began blurring together, if only because there wasn’t much variety in them. In all honesty, if Gallus had known getting better with his sword would entail getting shouted at by someone whose ego is perhaps a bit bigger than it should be far too often, he probably would have looked elsewhere. But he made a commitment to at least give the Companions a try, and he’s going to see it through.

If nothing else, there’s a lot of positives to training with the Companions, too, even if he doesn’t remain with them for long. Aside from the obvious exception of Vilkas, most people are nice or at least somewhat sociable when he tries to start a conversation. (With… a couple of exceptions, but he’s been told that Aela hates everyone and Skjor is… Skjor, and that’s apparently enough justification for everyone else.) Even if he gets nothing other than an increase in his sword-fighting skills, he’s already improved a lot. And the mead’s good.

Weeks pass without much event. Sun’s Height turns to Last Seed. Gallus trains, and trains, and trains, because he damn well wants to figure out who he was before his amnesia happened and he’s not going to let a little thing like the many deadly dangers of Skyrim stop him. Although he’s still definitely running as fast as he can in the other direction if a giant’s involved, because he’d rather not get whacked into the sky anytime soon. And, in a lot of situations, running as fast as he can in the opposite direction is the smart thing to do, never mind that most of the Companions never do it, because victory or Sovngarde, that’s why.

Gallus supposes there’s probably a reason he hasn’t seen very many elderly Nords, and that whole victory or Sovngarde thing is probably exactly why. Even so, he distinctly remembers something he overheard Kodlak Whitemane tell one of the newer Companions not too long ago.

To be getting on in years as a warrior, one must be either very strong or very cowardly, Kodlak had said. You tell me what the older warriors here are, lad.

He’d been talking to Torvar at the time, a Nord who’s probably the only Companion Gallus thinks he could hold his own against at this point without any Illusion magic, or as the Companions would likely call it, cheating. Honestly, Gallus isn’t sure how Torvar’s lasted as long as he has, because he hasn’t seen him sober yet.

Granted, he hasn’t seen him fight, so maybe he’s got some hidden depths. Very well hidden depths, if most of the other younger Companions - whelps, the Circle calls them, and him for some reason - are to be believed.

Back to Kodlak, though. Presumably, he’s something called a Harbinger, which isn’t actually the position of leader in the Companions, but is the closest thing they’ve got to one. A Harbinger is the one that holds the Companions together, and it’s not hard for Gallus to see that Kodlak’s a damn good one. Then there’s the Circle, comprised of Farkas, Vilkas, Aela (the Huntress) and Skjor, who apparently advise the Harbinger on things.

Gallus may not have been around long, but he’s reasonably certain that Vilkas is avoiding Aela and Skjor, and they’re avoiding him in turn. Why, he doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure it has to do with the one time he did nearly walk into a shouting match between the entirety of the Circle and Kodlak.

Well, okay, maybe not the entirety of the Circle. He only heard shouting from three people, but considering that he couldn’t seem to find Farkas or Kodlak anywhere else, it’s quite likely they were there and just were being a bit more mature about… whatever the issue was. Gallus tried not to pay too much attention, but he heard something about wolves and something about blood and that was when he left before they could notice his listening in.

(Of course, he’s not entirely sure they didn’t notice him, if the suspicious looks he was getting from Aela the next day were any indication. In his defense, he wants absolutely nothing to do with whatever it is they’re arguing about. Damn it, he just wants to learn how to fight with a sword, he doesn’t have time for their drama.)

“You wanted to see me?” Gallus asks, although unnecessarily. Kodlak’s sitting where he always is, or at least seems to be. Actually, that’s a little concerning, that he’s always sitting in one place or another, but Gallus pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being. It’s not his business, in any case.

“Yes,” Kodlak nods. “I did. So, Gallus. You’ve been with us for some time now, correct?”

“Yes?”

“While many of the others seem to have forgotten this,” Kodlak says, “when you first came to Jorrvaskr, you said you did not wish to become a Companion, but merely to train. Am I wrong?”

"No...”

Gallus thinks he knows where this is going now, and while nothing Kodlak can say or do will change his mind at this point, he might as well humor the man. Even if he suspects his past had nothing to do with the Companions by now, and likely his future will have little to do with them, either, he does respect Kodlak. If it’s for nothing else, it’s for the way he’s been able to keep all the exceptionally immature warriors living in Jorrvaskr from killing each other. Not an easy feat.

The man’s got leadership skills, even if he claims not to be one. This, Gallus knows for certain. He’s not at all certain why he knows leadership skills when he sees them, but that’s something less concerning than his apparent talent for breaking and entering. So he might actually look into that one, if he can.

"I understand perfectly if you haven’t changed your mind,” Kodlak says softly. “In fact, I can’t say I blame you.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Gallus agrees. “I just came here to learn how to protect myself, and… well, I think I’m making progress?”

“You certainly are. Vilkas might not be telling you this, of course, but he’s quite impressed with how quickly you’re picking things up,” Kodlak smiles, and his eyes twinkle mischievously. “He doesn’t need to know I told you that.”

“No, of course not,” Gallus agrees. “But… yeah. I don’t mind helping out with jobs and things, and I wouldn’t mind outright joining except that I’m not so sure I could leave.”

“You’re right about that. Once you’re in, you’re in for life,” Kodlak frowns. “Which, in normal circumstances, is absolutely fine. But you, lad, have a different path ahead of you. I would have liked to have had you as one of us, but I’m not one to intervene when fate is involved.”

Gallus is, understandably, confused. Very confused. He must look it, too, because Kodlak quickly adds, “Ah, ignore the ramblings of an old man. I really called you here to ask if you would mind accompanying Ria and Farkas on a job.”

“It kind of depends on the job,” Gallus shrugs, “but to Oblivion with it. What’s the job?”

“Retrieving a shard of Wuuthrad from a tomb not far from here known as Dustman’s Cairn. It should, theoretically, be easy enough that any one of us should be able to do it alone, but I fear it will not be that easy in the least. Shards of Wuuthrad are always heavily guarded.”

“Got it,” Gallus says, deciding to ask what Wuuthrad is later. The name sounds vaguely familiar, in any case, so he’s probably heard about whatever Wuuthrad is from Ria at some point or another. It’ll come to him eventually. Hopefully. “I can do that, sure.”

In retrospect… it probably was a bad idea. Of course, Gallus couldn’t have known then what was coming. Neither could anyone else.

Getting there went alright. Gallus certainly didn’t mind getting paired up with Farkas, who didn’t talk much and was nice when he did, and Ria, who could ramble on and on about obscure parts of Companion history for hours if not days on end but was still probably one of the friendliest warriors in Jorrvaskr.

Initially, once the trio got into Dustman’s Cairn, things were great! Sure, there were draugr everywhere, and draugr were supposed to be long-dead ancient Nords who were cursed to be undead in their tombs, or something. But seeing as they weren’t that hard to deal with even when Gallus was on his own, either being dead for long periods of time had screwed over their combat skills or they just had never been particularly good at fighting. A lot of people Gallus knew would probably insist it was the former. He suspected the latter.

Regardless of draugr combat skills, everything went to Oblivion pretty soon after they entered, and it wasn’t even the draugr’s fault.

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