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halcyonstorm · 3 years

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Ahhh my final submission for LH drabble week: Angst Monday (yes i posted it on a tuesday)! Please enjoy and comment your thoughts and feedback. @levihan-drabbles

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoë Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shingeki no Kyojin Chapter 126: Pride Spoilers, Shingeki no Kyojin Chapter 126: Pride, Shingeki no Kyojin Chapter 132: Wings of Freedom Spoilers, Angst and Feels, right person wrong time, What-If Series: Part 8 of Short Fics Summary:

They just wanted an ending.

The sound of the shotgun rang in Hange’s ears as she shot two of her ex-soldiers dead, tears trickling down her face. She hated that it had to end up like this. She had known them personally, too. The whole world was against them. She took a deep sigh. After surveying the forest and deeming it safe, she returned back to Levi’s side. He was unconscious with Hange’s Survey Corps cloak wrapped around his face. Her heart ached when she started unraveling the cloak, exposing his injured, tainted face. The biggest scar ran from the top of his forehead, through his right eye, into his cheek. She felt herself get overwhelmed seeing him in this shape.

“The pursuers are all gone, Levi…” It’s safe, for now, she wanted to say. You’re safe with me. She knew this was temporary, though. They would never truly be safe again.

Hange had begun to set up camp. She pitched a tent, chopped at trees and gathered sticks to start a fire and was able to clean Levi’s wounds and body. He could develop an infection if she didn’t act fast. After all, she wasn’t sure how long he’d been face down in the mud unconscious. She started with his hand, using a wet cloth to clean the dirt as gently as she possibly could. Then, she wrapped his exposed wound, starting at his wrist and weaving the bandage around the empty space on his hand. She brought his hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on top. It broke her heart to see him in such critical condition.

After his hand, she tended to his face. She dampened her cloth in the basin of water, slowly and gently caressing his face to clean off the dirt and mud. She took this moment to indulge in admiring him. He looked peaceful, at least for that moment. She brushed his raven black hair out of his face, patting his gash with the cloth, blood crusted on the scar. His skin was smooth as she couldn’t resist the urge to touch his cheek with the back of her hand. His eyelashes were long and straight which she never noticed before. She had never been this close to him before. She made her way down his face to his lips. She dunked the cloth in the basin again, wringing it out, and then dabbed at his lips to cleanse them. As she cleaned him, she felt tears well up in her eyes.

“The fact that you're still alive with these wounds is because you’re an Ackerman,” she determined, starting to sterilize her needles in the fire. She grabbed the thread and started to stitch his face. She was careful, making sure to only go as deep as she needed to avoid causing more pain. Her heart throbbed in her chest when she imagined how much pain he was in. I wish it were me instead. She thought. After carefully poking and prodding at his face, stitching him up as well as she could, she dumped her tools into a pot of boiling water to be cleansed. She ran a hand through her hair, gripping a chunk of it and squeezing, tempted to pull it out. She felt like she was going to explode. After everything her and Eren had been through, he still turned his back on her and her soldiers. Rage boiled up inside her, poisoning every cell in her body.

Why couldn’t things be different? She’d ask herself.

“I’d rather the two of us just live here. Right, Levi?” She said softly aloud, turning to look at Levi’s unconscious face. Her selfish ideas spilled from her mouth and into the ears of her partner. She truly wanted to live with him. She wanted a life with him. She wanted to wake up with him every morning, make him tea, explore the forest, forget about the shitty world they were born into for even just a moment. She was grateful he was unconscious and couldn’t hear her. She allowed the tears to flow for just a brief period. No one was around, she was safe to let it go. Her exhale was shaky as her throat tightened. She blinked and hot tears came rushing down. She covered her face with her hands, allowing herself to cry. Not just cry… to sob. Her heart felt as if it was being torn apart strand by strand. Like someone physically shoved their hands inside her chest, pulling it apart. She felt a strong urge to scream, but she covered her mouth tightly with her hand, allowing a few moans to escape.

All she wanted was peace. She wanted all the suffering to end. She wanted Levi to be healthy and happy. She wanted to explore the world with him, try new things with him. There was so much she wanted to do couldn’t, and she knew that. When she joined the Survey Corps, she knew what she signed up for. She wasn’t afraid to die for the cause, but she just wanted Levi to be happy. She knew how deeply he had suffered. He lost his mother, Isabel, Farlan, Gunther, Eld, Petra, Oulo, Mike, Erwin, and countless more soldiers. She would do everything in her power to make him happy and not just survive but to truly live.

Later that evening, she began to work on building the cart to carry Levi. She contemplated carrying him on her back, but it was unrealistic. She was strong, but not strong enough to carry him for possibly days on end. She was working on hammering a nail into the wheel when there was a crash of lightning. Suddenly, she was knelt in soft, white sand. The sky shone turquoise behind her. She placed her makeshift hammer down, leaving an imprint on the sand. She put her hands on the ground to help her stand up. That is where she saw a familiar tall man with his dark brown hair tied in a knot. He was facing away from her, sitting in the sand with his knees to his chest. She slowly walked up to him, sand filling her shoes.

“Eren?” The man turned his head to face Hange. She is hesitant to sit down, but he waves her over to him.

“Hange-san,” he began. “I am sorry for everything.”

“Wh… What are you talking about?”

“You’re going to die soon,” he admitted, drawing circles in the sand. “Levi will try to stop you, but you can’t let him.”

“I don’t understand… how do you know all this?”

“This is all a part of my plan to eradicate the Titans…” he muttered. “But I am sorry it has to end this way. I know how much you and Levi care for each other. It will be painful, I will admit. But it is for a good cause.”

Hange shook her head in confusion. “What the hell? What will happen to Levi? Isn’t there another way?”

“No… There's no other way. Levi will be survive in the end. Don’t worry about that.” He had already made up his mind. “I am sorry. Go inside. Levi is waiting for you.” As Eren spoke, he pointed into the distance. Suddenly, they weren’t in the sand staring at the turquoise sky anymore. They were in a similar forest with tall pine trees. There was a small cabin with smoke exiting through the chimney. The cabin looked like it was something Hange and Levi could’ve made themselves. She opened the door hesitantly to find Levi sitting in the rocking chair, a cup of hot tea in his hand.

“Hange, you’re home,” Levi said, pleasantly surprised. She noticed his scar was present, clean and healed. He didn’t wear an eyepatch like she did. His right eye was white and cloudy. He stood up slowly, placed his tea cup in the tea dish, and walked towards her. She was able to admire his outfit. He wasn’t in his military gear, but in a beige sweater and grey trousers. He looked comfortable and at peace, which is what Hange always wanted for him. She was at a loss for words.

“What is this?”

“This is the most I can give you, Hange-san. A life with Levi.” She felt tears well up in her eyes. “I can let you stay here a little while longer.” Eren disappeared when she looked back to where she heard his voice. She looked at Levi, placing her hands on his cheeks. Levi’s lips curled into a small, sad smile.

“Look at our house, Hange,” he said, gesturing towards the center of the room. She looked away from him to admire the house. Their house. It was very cozy: it had two large burgundy sofas against the back and right wall, a fireplace in the center of the living room which had fierce flames. Levi led her to the kitchen and dining room. The kitchen had off-white square tiles as the floor and wooden cabinets, as well as a stove. There was a wooden table with two chairs. It made Hange’s heart swell, even bringing tears to her eyes. They did get to live together in another life.

“Levi…” she whimpered, looking at him again. He grabbed her hand, interlocking their fingers.

“We’ll be here again, one day…” Levi said. Suddenly, she felt a breeze flow through her hair. Then, the house started to fade into nothingness and blow away. Levi was the last to disappear. Hange felt herself reaching out and grasping for him, begging him to come back.

Then, she was back to reality; hammer in hand, arm in the air, ready to swing.

What just happened? She asked herself. She felt as if she had taken a long nap, dreaming of a place so distant. She swore she had a dream, but it was long forgotten, deep in her unconscious mind. A tear was streaming down her face, her heart pounding in her chest, as if she just woke up from a nightmare.

“Don’t tell me… Eren… the world…” she muttered. The words came spewing out of her mouth for a reason unknown to her. “LEVI!” She turned to look at her partner only to find out he’d woken up. He was attempting to sit up.

“That damned beast titan…” he groaned, pain overwhelming him.

“You don’t need to get up,” Hange insisted, placing her hands gently on his chest. He eased back to his previous supine position. “What happened?” He briefly explained what happened, how Zeke was prepared to die for the cause. Hange sighed. She could barely handle the thought of what happened. She did hear the thunder spear go off, after all… She felt guilt tug at her damaged heart. Maybe she could’ve prevented it.

“I know you’re full of regret, but for now…” She was interrupted.

“What's left if we run and hide like this?” Levi asked, looking her in the eyes so fiercely she couldn’t look away. She felt her face turn red and hot.

“So, you heard my soliloquy, huh…” She mustered up the strength to look away. She was embarrassed, but then she realized he didn’t reject her. He said ‘what if we run away and hide like this?’ Him, her, together. He looked past her shoulder.

“What is that? Are you planning to pull me by horse? I know you, you aren’t able to stay out of the action…” She noticed his eyes were starting to appear wet… was he tearing up?

“That’s right. I can’t.” Hange sighed, looking into her lap.

The two knew what was to come; Hange and Levi knew what was coming from the moment they joined the Survey Corps. Duty first. Love second. They yearned to be together, but they knew that they had met each other at the worst time. Perhaps in another life, they would find peace. They would find freedom from this terrible world and find comfort in each other. They just wanted an ending. An ending to the war, an ending to the suppression of true emotions, an ending to the strain on their hearts since the first day of joining the military. They didn’t care where or how, as long as it was an ending together.

#levihan #levihan fic #levihan angst #chapter 126 #chapter 132 #aot #snk #aot fic #snk fic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe

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nightshadedawn · 3 years

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Persona 5 Royal Playthrough pt3

I ended up going through two Palaces before I could update y’all. Oh well.

...Yeah, no, quit calling me Miss Special Snowflake's boyfriend. It's not happening.

Ryuji, Morgana, and Yusuke having a conversation in the laundromat: "It's like he's our mom," says Ryuji... the mom friend.

Every time Morgana is like "I have to turn into a human so no one else can have Lady Ann!" then expects no one else to hear him makes me laugh. Like, bitch, no.

I have the restaurant in my Thieves Den 'cause I like it. Yusuke, Ryuji, and Morgana are there. They're so precious.

I got a three in a row Tycoon on cutthroat!!!

Ryuji and Ann just keep going "Shoulda figured" and other versions of the statement every time I win.

Ann just rejected Morgana's feelings HARD. I am happy.

Ryuji is too good, honestly. Why would anyone not like him? He's... He's always trying to build the team up, make them proud of themselves and what they've done. I will admit that he has his moments of being not a great human, but they're teenagers who were given absurd powers, so honestly, can you blame them?

I didn't know darts was an actual minigame! There's so many minigames. I'm so happy.

I don't like Akechi. I don't know why some people do. Like, his death scene was a bit... too late for a redemption for me, right after he tried to kill Joker, several times. His pain is understandable, but still... I can't.

Their "two sides of the same coin" also doesn't seem particularly fair. It's totally uneven in everything but color schemes.

Guys, GUYS, please, PLEASE decide whether you're going to react to my teasing or not.

"We don't have to deal with them directly," Ryuji says joyfully about the mafia. Oh you sweet, sweet, innocent child, if only you knew what I do.

I literally can't play this game around anyone else because I tend to yell "BABY!" to Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke and "BITCH" or "FUCKER" to... a rather long list of villains in this game... and Makoto.

I can literally feel Yusuke's anxiety about his painting when you take him to Leblanc to see Sayuri.

How can you say Yusuke isn't gay when he says everything I do is beautiful?

I love Ryuji's 9th social link. It's LITERALLY written like a confession scene. This also means I kinda hate it because... I can't date him.

Also... PRETTY BOY RYUJI PRETTY BOY RYUJI PRETTY BOY RYUJI

I actually kinda thought that the new scene for Ryuji being a crossdresser is kinda funny??? Is this bad??? I wanna see him in a dress, tho. I gotta agree, he'd be a natural. Not the like, painfully obviously not taking it seriously from the dancing game, though.

Though I do think it's valid that he freaks out when two strange adults come up to him and try to take him somewhere, especially in a place known for being shady, and at night.

...When Ryuji complains about it, I do feel bad about ditching him. Then again, I blame the cat.

Ryuji may be my ideal type on paper, but I'm also highly attracted to Yusuke and this is so totally unfair.

*softly chanting* butlers butlers butlers butlers

Don't mind me just... *makes meticulous plot to avoid having Makoto join the team that i may or may not write a fanfic about*

Makoto is one dumbass bitch. Like, honestly, there's nothing she does that's in any way remotely smart.

...I thought I'd just skip Makoto's scenes until she became relevant, but here I am, still skipping her scenes. Does that mean she’s still irreleveant?

"Witch" I suggest, and Makoto complains! "Would you prefer "Bitch"? I can use that too.

I put Yusuke on the team in the middle of the palace through settings, replacing Morgana, who had been standing right behind me. Which made Yusuke stand right behind me. It looked like he was holding onto my waist and standing uncomfortably close. Bro, babe, I love you, but not in front of my boyfriend and girlfriend!

Just accept the compliment, guys, I'm not going to compliment Queen.

...Opening chests with Ann or Ryuji is just so sweet because they're so affectionate and touchy feely. Especially Ryuji.

Math. Fucking. Sucks. I should not have to use math in a game. I hate this. Obviously it's the Palace Makoto comes in that this happened.

Well, I finished the Palace in a day. I love the feeling. But it was getting close there. Joker and Yusuke were down to no spells...

...Yoshizawa hasn't showed up yet. When is she getting shoehorned in?

WHY IS THE VELVET ROOM RED!?

My very first playthrough I didn't execute a single execution except for the first one we have to do. It really screwed me over my second playthrough...

...I broke the electric chair. That's certainly something that happened.

147 games of Tycoon later and I've only been a beggar 31 times in total, versus the pure thirty wins in just Cutthroat.

They're in their summer uniforms and it makes make miss warmer weather already. It's fucking snowing outside. Grrrr.

Beat Kaneshiro! ...Wasn't a fan of his new boss battle. I'm even playing on safe mode! But whatever.

Makoto is a DISASTER at Tycoon. She exclusively got beggar all three times I played with her!

...RYUJI YOU CAN'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT AND NOT LET ME DATE YOU.

Ann, sweeties, baby, you're doing so well.

She confessed to me, then in the call afterwards it was basically insinuated I proposed... WHICH IS LIKE FUCK YEAH 'CAUSE SHE ACCEPTED IT.

It makes me think of the future conversation where they're talking about marriage.

Anyway, if you haven't noticed, l love Ann.

My next playthrough I'm not gong to date her, though. I'm a completionist and I want ALL of the possible awards. But... I refuse to cheat on Ann. So I'll date everyone else then just hang with Ryuji... despite how cringy some of the date things are.

...If Akechi wasn't, you know EVIL and tried to KILL ME, SEVERAL TIMES, I might, MIGHT, like him. But in truth, I think that's really just the Persona 5: Revival talking. We get... into some stuff during that.

I know that either Atlus or the translators know EXACTLY what goes on in the Persona fandom because otherwise "He's too pretty to be wrong" would not be an option when talking to the newspaper girl about Akechi. I have to agree with her that his looks aren't really, you know, awesome enough for that.

Also, I read it as "He's too petty to be wrong" at first and I think that's an accurate sum of his character.

YO AKECHI-FUCK I HAVE NO NEED TO SEE YOUR ASS LIKE THAT WHEN I HAVE BOTH A BF AND AND GF.

...fucker fucking giving me shit about my fake glasses...

If you COULD date the boy out of mod, Akechi would definitely be the one they were pushing you to date. Like Makoto. Or Yoshizawa.

But hey, at least I get to not be nice to him.

I remember seeing this picture where Ann, Ryuji, and Joker kept going to the movies together and seeing 3D movies, and Joker couldn't wear the 3D glasses properly because of his own. I keep imagining that picture during this event with Caroline and Justine.

You know what? Some people call Joker a loli lover because of them, but nope! He's just adopted two more siblings. That is my stance on it.

FUcking

Fucker

WHAT THE FRRRRRRRR

FUCK YOU ATULS OR TRANSLATORS OR WHATEVER

APHRODITE AND MARS ARE FROM TWO DIFFERENT MYTHOS. Aphrodite is GREEK, Mars is ROMAN. Their reversed are VENUS and ARES. USE ONE OR THE OTHER PEOPLE.

I get very pissed about this, and it's worse with Hades.

7/4 is the day I am screaming at, if you were wondering.

My dad asked me if the other students think Joker's stupid because every time I answer a question right they get all surprised.

I don't really like Makoto, as I'm sure you've noticed, but she was super nice about Ryuji's special move idea. And that put her ahead of Akechi in my book.

TESTS ARE NERVE WRACKING EVEN WHEN THEY'RE FICTIONAL

Yusuke and Ryuji are good boys, the best boys. And they're so awesome about their special move.

AND RYUJI OFFERED MONEY FOR YUSUKE'S FOOD. And implied that he did it before???? Ryuji, you best boy.

This boys' outing DOES make me happy, though. Like, insanely happy. Dunno why.

Maybe because Joker gets to be so flipping cheesy.

...fuck you, Yoshizawa.

HONESTLY WHAT THE EVER LOVING--- Grr. Too many choices while with her. Too many. OOC Joker when with her. 0/10.

I LOVE THE FESTIVAL PHOTO

And you know, it's really hard to choose between Lala-chan and Ann, but... GONNA TAKE ANN ON A DATE

Got her some flowers. Lets see if we can give them to her this time!

"Such a good FRIEND." Babe, we're DATING. For like, TWO WEEKS NOW.

AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO GIVE HER FLOWERS

Ann called Yusuke a pretty boy, but then she's missing out on the REAL pretty boy, Pretty Boy Ryuji.

Ryuji, why're you so worried about other girls when you've got ME?

"I like the shade." "What are you, moss!?" Oh, admit it, Ryuji, I'm growing on you.

Cargona. Snrk. Gods, I love you, Ryuji.

Dome town with Ryuji! "Isn't it all couples?" That's the point!

I COULD GIVE RYUJI THE ROSES!?

Sadly, I bought those for Ann. Ryuji, you get the noodles.

AND HE FUCKING LOVED IT.

"It feels like I really captured Ryuji's heart!" FUCK YEAH I DID

Gonna give Yusuke the bracelet when I get the chance.

Why is everyone color coded in the chat room? Kawakami, Akechi, Mishima, and the reporter are all ORANGE. What's the point? Well, Akechi's more of a golden orange, but close enough.

While Mishima is not my first choice for a date, he's definitely not my last.

...But the boy really needs some fucking sleep. He's not drawn with the bags under his eyes, but I can see them!

It's not fair that they give Akechi a kicked puppy sprite. I'm... goddamnit, they're trying to make me not hate him.

When Makoto doesn't know something, I'm brought great joy.

NO DAD MAKOTO IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND ANN IS AND SHE IS LITERALLY R I G H T T H E R E

First day in Futaba's Palace! I've gotta say, this is my second favorite palace. Kamoshida, Futaba, Madarame, Sae, Okumura, Shido, Kaneshiro, Holy Grail. In that order. I HATE Kaneshiro's place and dealing with the Holy Grail. But whatevs, man. I love this game. (Vanilla, at least, this one is still on the fence)

I found out a cool little thing. On the uphill sand slopes in the town (don't know about anywhere else) if you're running and turn back quickly, Joker will do a little animation to steady himself. It was cool and made it seem, I dunno, more human? Anyway, while I was admiring this, Ryuji and Yusuke just stood at the top of the slope and Ann followed me while I was running. Best girlfriend ever.

Kin-Ki is looking pretty kin-ky if you know what I'm sayin'

Please don't murder me because I do terrible puns.

*we fall through the trap door* *Ryuji starts screaming* Same, baby, same.

...Makoto is seriously annoying. Like, she's got no business acting as familiar with Futaba's situation. The one who WOULD be the most familiar is Yusuke, and I'm glad he recognizes that. It's not the exact same, none of their stories are after all, but I feel like those two get each other better than even Ryuji and Joker understand each other.

Yusuke and Ryuji's special attack is THE BEST

Ryuji and Joker getting up close and personal in the shadows. All those fanfics coming true, man.

I thought Futaba was sloth, not wrath? Why are her Will Seeds called Wrath?

Beat it in one day! It's so satisfying to watch all those achievements when I leave the palace.

You know, I'm thinking of wearing the Christmas outfits for the final battle. Just to be kinda funny.

Spending a relaxing day with Yusuke after going through Futaba's Palace... kinda want to take him to the bathhouse to check out that new scene, but I also REALLY wanna feed the boy... gonna feed the boy.

Apparently I can only make 'decent curry.' Which is fine. Because "I" can't make curry at all. Joker, you've done much better than I.

THE DATE CHANGE SCREEN HAD A RAINBOW AND RYUJI WAS COMING OVER ON THE SAME DAY FUCK YEAH MY BISEXUAL BABY

...Broooooo, the way you talk about your manga is how I talk right before I start shipping.

Took him to the bathhouse, 'cause I don't gotta worry about Mama Sakamoto feeding him.

...Can I take Ann to the bathhouse?

Asked Ryuji to move in. He was all up for the idea until he remembered that I live in an attic.

I'm Charismatic now!

...I was all hoping Ann would stop by but then Akechi asked me out. Laaaaaaaame.

Ryuji's smile is so fucking cute.

...I say we just be honest, and everyone's so fucking stupid about it until Makoto explains it. This pisses me off. They're not that dumb... At least, they weren't until Makoto showed up.

Futaba's hiding in the closet. ...I've spent too many weeks making jokes about closets to not have a joke about it.

Really, Yusuke? You see those books and think she can't understand?

...Wait, that sassy tone of voice... You were TRYING to pull a reaction of her. I knew I shipped those two for a reason. OTP and BroTP. Doesn't matter, they're both awesome.

I love you Ann, but I don't think your situations were the same at all. It's not like both are valid and bad, but... different.

Joker is SO fast compared to the others, especially when he's speeding.

What the...

Holy fuck...

JOKER IS TOO EFFING COOL

THAT MOVE TO GET FROM THE ENTRANCE TO TO TREASURE DOOR? Awesome!

Damn, Joker has my heart too.

I kinda wish we could see Futaba's costumes in her Persona. That would be pretty neat.

The moment right before Wakaba appears is so aesthetically pleasing.

...Futaba being happy is almost enough for me to accept Maruki's offer, and I haven't gotten there yet.

Ryuji and Ann keep smacking each other out of their ailments. Like, you guys just love each other so much! It's awesome.

Joker has lackluster responses to Wakaba... I'm hoping that isn't one of those "Answer these wrong and you break her!" things... Not that I think I was, but still.

I liked Futaba's new animation for when she defied her mother.

I wish the anime looked more the cutscenes. I'm trying to rewatch the anime so I can pinpoint specific moments for future editing purposes, but it's kinda painful.

1- This is the SECOND TIME you've landed on Yusuke while running from trouble.

2- YUSUKE LET GO OF MY GIRL

No Makoto, I don't want to go see Futaba with you! I can go see her myself.

So, I like Takemi's new voice with her lines during this scene.

Sure, she collapses every so often and sleeps for a while. Stays like that for a few days. Sorry that I put her into a coma for a month, Boss...

SHE LOOKS SO CUTE WITHOUT GLASSES

Guys, we have a month. Stop worrying.

THE TWINS ARE SO CUTE WHILE HANGING ONTO THE BENCH PRESS

Damn, Joker's dying to the amusement of two little girls.

I'm kinda disappointed I didn't get results for all that training. But I liked the scene.

Yusuke just casually be lugging bigass paintings around.

Taking the girls to the church may have been one of the funnier moments. These cement them as Joker's little sisters. With Futaba. Damn, Joker, you got no brothers.

Yusuke promises to come by every day and we can tell him to take his clothes off. ATLUS, you have some EXPLAINING to DO.

..And Yusuke took it and ran with it. My sweet summer child, I don't think I could handle you in as little as possible on the day to day.

"The heat induced delirium made me think outside the box." Same.

Guts takes sooooooooooooo long to level up.

"Punish me more" he says, as if Takemi won't do it.

"Good god. Well, none of my medicine can cure THAT." AT LEAST WE'RE ALL ON THE SAME PAGE

BATHHOUSE WITH YUSUKE

Awe, he had fun. :)

#Persona 5 #akira kusuru #shuann #pegoryu #pegoryuann #persona 5 royal #yusuke kitagawa #ann takamaki #Ryuji Sakamoto #Pretty Boy Ryuji

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philliamwrites · 3 years

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the fault in our stars

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Characters: Claude & OC

Tags: #multiple dimensions, #dimension travelling, #platonic love, #mentions of major character’s death

Words: 4.5k

Summary: Claude receives a letter that states someone is out there able to help him fulfill his goal of unifying Fodlan and Almyra. Signed, “The Witch.” Of course he doesn’t trust this, but curiosity killed the cat, and so he sets out to find her and see what kind of help she can offer. It turns out, this witch carries more secrets than anyone Claude knows can carry and he, gentleman that he is, gladly lands her a hand.

Notes: A commission for @iam-miscellaneous

the fault in our stars

A twig snapped somewhere behind him and Claude whirled, an arrow nocked and ready, but it was just a little squirrel staring at him with big, round eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and it scurried off into the forest and disappeared.

Claude relaxed. The forest was quiet again since most of its residents had fallen into a deep slumber from which they shouldn’t wake up until Lone Moon. But Claude had read about dangerous creatures that didn’t fear the harsh Syopyr Taiga of the Galatea region, and stalked through the snow to hunt their prey. He’d much prefer not ending up inside the stomach of a moonbear or red wolf, thank you very much.

He should have brought Ákos with him. His wyvern was big and he would surely draw attention—literally the wyvern in a porcelain shop, but Claude would be save from any beast trying to have him as a snack. Also, Ákos was warm. Warm and with his white skin perfectly blending in between the snow covered pine trees that stood vigil like the statues of the four Saints in the monastery. But it would be hard for Ákos to move freely, so Claude relished in the comfort to know he was but a whistle away and would barrel down and crash through the woods to save him.

Were it not for the letter, Claude wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the letter before him, its existence ever-present inside the pocket of his trousers as if it emitted heat, burning against his thigh.

I can aid you in your goal, wrote the mysterious person calling herself The Witch.

What goal specifically? Overthrowing Edgard? Unifying Fódlan and his mother land? Striking down the borders of discrimination and bigotry so people would finally stop slaughtering each other over the colour of their skin or what god they choose to worship? So many questions, and Claude hated any of them remaining unanswered. But for that, he had to find the witch’s cottage first and he’d been wandering through these woods for hours.

The Everglow stone certainly did keep his fingers from freezing in this relentless cold, but he knew he’d reach his limit soon and would have to return to base. He knew this time, Lorenz and Hilda would not allow him to leave so easily.

They’d been wary of it the moment the unknown owl had landed on Ákos’ head, carrying a letter addressed to “the Prince of a far away land.” Claude’s blood had run cold.

“Prince of a far away land?” Hilda had squinted at the paper spread out in front of them on the war table they kept outside under an open tent. “Who is that supposed to be?”

“And the things she offers, this ‘Witch,’” Lorenz had agreed sceptically, and thus luckily not noticed the quick glance Hilda stole Claude’s way. He’d always known Hilda knew more than she let people on, and Claude had given her one of his rare, tired smiles. She’d made a very serious, very un-Hilda like face, and turned back to the letter.

“I think I should check it out,” Claude had said, and their reaction was understandable, if a little too dramatic for his taste.

“If you die chasing this witch, could you die knowing you leave the Alliance in someone else’s hands?" Lorenz had said. That was very unusual for him. It had taken them five years to get there, and Claude wouldn’t just throw away that trust.

“What if she turns you into a frog?” Hilda had asked. That was very usual for her, and Claude was thankful for her effort to ease the mood after all the losses they’d suffered in the Battle at Gronder Field.

“Then you guys better start looking for a princess right about now,” he’d replied, his tone breezy when inside he’d been a storm. The only princess he knew had charged into the role of Emperor and would surely make frog leg soup out of him, and the only prince he’d known laid skewered without even a proper burial on a vast field that drank itself sick from all the blood spilt on it.

Things did not look good for the Alliance. As Claude had filed every advantage and disadvantage seeking out this mysterious person in alphabetical order, he looked at the owl that had delivered the message. Its black eyes were fixed on him expectantly, as though he should be well aware of what it sought as reward, but Claude didn’t know of course, and a second later, its sharp beak split open the skin at the back of his hand, drawing blood. It ruffled its feathers and took off to the sky, hooting in offence.

“Let’s hope you’ll start off better with this witch than her familiar,” Lorenz had commented, leaving Claude to tend to his wound. He’d hissed a curse, pressed his mouth against the wound and levelled a disbelieving look at his animal companion. Usually Àkos was no friend of man or animal. He barely tolerated Claude’s closest companions to saddle or care for him, but he’d allowed an unfamiliar owl to use his head as a seat, and peck at his friend and master.

Claude still pondered about that even after a week’s worth of travelling through the Alliance territory to reach the north of Faerghus. He didn’t like being short of options, but with the hand dealt to him by Fate, he could really use an ace up his sleeve.

The witch could have been more specific about her location though.

Come to the Okhotsk Forest and you will find me.

Well, that was a lie. He’d been out here for hours now, and still there is no sign of her, or her hut, or anyone living out here for that matter.

Claude would be mad furious if this turned out to be one of Hilda’s jokes. Though he doubted even she would go this far, especially during a time like this. War changed people. She wasn’t the giddy girl anymore, batting her eyelashes to let other people do her work. And yet he remembered this one time when his grandfather Oswald had celebrated the Leicester Alliance Founding Day and Hilda had written him a secret note to meet him, pretending to be his first crush. He’d been waiting in the cold until servants found him with a fever the next morning. But instead of getting angry, Claude was really impressed by Hilda’s lie and persuasion, and decided to have her as a friend rather than an enemy.

Claude shivered. Pegasus Moon was drawing its end. He could smell it in the crisp air—the time of new beginnings dawned. An opportunity for new plans, new schemes, and he wouldn’t be Claude von Riegan if he would pass up on them. That was, if he found his hopefully new ally. And just in that moment, he turned his head and caught sight of something dark in the corner of his eyes.

A hut.

Out of nowhere, a little hut stood in the middle of the clearing, looking as if it had been there since the beginning of dawn. It blinked into existence where seconds ago the forest ground stood empty. Claude blinked, thinking out of desperation he’d imagined it. But no matter which way he turned his head, what angle he leaned into, the hut didn’t magically disappear like the Fata Morgana he’d encountered during their trip around the Sreng Desert, where instead of finding one of the lost Saint’s weapons, they had stumbled upon an ancient, sentient beast.

Claude shook at the memory, feeling his mouth go dry just thinking about the scorching heat. Even days after their return to Derdriu, he’d found sand in places it wasn’t supposed to be.

Luckily, the forest was the complete opposite. It was eerily quiet. No birds heralded the spring, no foxes scurried through the underbrush in search for smaller prey. Among the blinding white of the freshly fallen snow that clung to everything, the black stoned hut with its small, red chimney looked like a picture out of a fairy book. Claude grimly remembered stories Dimitri had told him in front of the fireplace in one of the monastery’s big common rooms about a witch living in the deepest forests of Faerghus called baba yaga. Her house stood on chicken feet and she snatched away little children who went astray or lost their way through the forest.

But this was real. Claude had finally found her.

Approaching the hut carefully, his fingers danced across the hilt of the short sword attached to the belt around his hip. He wasn’t a fan, but since early days, Nader had taught him the way of the sword.

“You won’t always have the luck to find a bow,” he’d said after knocking little Claude to the ground for the fifth time in a single sparring session. Claude had endured without complaining, but he’d also made up his mind that day that the sharpest weapon on him would always be his mind.

Claude braced himself. Having finally reached what he’d been venturing to for the last weeks was wind in his sails, propelling him forward and lifting his hope. He knocked against the wood with his knuckles, once, twice. A third time.

Nothing.

Off to a good start.

“Hello?” he called through the door. His fingers itched to the letter as he wondered if he was supposed to say a secret code word. But he’d read the letter over a dozen times, analysed everything from the way she dotted her i's and crossed her t’s to how she constructed every sentence.

No secret password. No secret behavioural code. Nothing.

Claude decided to go for the doorknob. But when his hand hovered inches away from it, it turned by itself and the door creaked open. Claude shuddered. Inside, everything was dark. Heavy vermilion curtains didn’t allow any sunlight to stray inside. A minty scent lied in the air, not unpleasant, as if someone had recently taken a hot bath and thus steam still lingered in the air. He cautiously entered the hut, eyes straining to see any kind of movement. Everything was still.

Fabric rustled—no, not fabric. In one corner stood a perch, and on it sat the owl, regarding Claude with its black eyes. They stared each other down for a moment, in which Claude wondered if it had been the witch all along, playing with him. But the owl just regarded him sleepily, then turned around and chose to ignore his presence.

Claude allowed himself to relax a little. From outside, the hut looked small, barely the size of his bedroom at the monastery. But inside was enough space to hold multiple work stations and contain additional rooms to the east and west. One wall was completely lined with bookcases tall enough to reach the roof, neatly stacked with leather-bound books. When he looked closely, he could see gold letters shining off their spines. In front of if stood a large table that was buried under dozen maps, showing star constellations he’d never seen before. To his other side crinkled the fire place. A black kettle hung above it, and he could hear water boiling.

Claude approached the shelves standing beside the fireplace, filled with all kinds of different objects in containers and glass bottles. Glowing flowers, insects with rainbow coloured wings, sharp claws and large teeth swimming in murky liquid. He realised only then that he’d been expecting dead animals lying around with their abdomens wide open and jars filled with organs. But this place looked cosy. Like someone actually lived here instead of using it as a crazy laboratory.

“I see this place is to your liking?” sounded a voice from his right. Claude jerked back from the jar he was observing. He hadn’t even heard a door opening behind him.

She’d just appeared like a dream. Claude’s first thought was, She is very small, and for a moment he feared to meet with a child because he’d turned down the wrong path and missed his designated location completely. But then she opened the curtains with a flick of her wrist. Claude, blinded by the sudden light, flinched. He’d seen sorcerers and the like at the academy, had seen Marianne and Lysithea work their spells and yet he knew this girl in front of him was unlike any spellcaster he’d ever met.

Not girl, he realised as she stepped into the light, and he found her gaze linger on him. Those were no eyes of a young girl. For a brief second, Byleth’s face flashed in front of his eyes. Claude missed her. He did not look forward to face her once they’d reach the Imperial capital. If she didn’t come to him first.

“It is certainly … unique,” Claude said, moving back to the centre of the room with his back to the door. He didn’t like to be cornered, and though he guessed his chances weren’t bad facing an opponent a whole head smaller than him, he didn’t want to challenge Lady Luck. She didn’t appear to be very fond of him lately anyway.

“Shall we talk business then?” he quickly followed on, watching her move to the fire place. Taking the kettle, she poured steaming water in two prepared cups. He immediately recognised the smell, Almyran Pine Needles, his favourite tea. If there really was a spy among them, he’d have to find them quickly. Or she really was a witch and had insight in many things which meant he needed her on his side before Edelgard found her.

The Witch gestured to two heavy armchairs sitting in front of the fire and after a moment of hesitation, Claude crossed the room and sank in the cushions. Only then did he realise how exhausted he was from wading through knee-high snow. He took the cup from the witch’s small hands, but didn’t drink yet even though his body couldn’t wait to warm up quickly after the freezing temperatures outside. Besides, sometimes it was more about the company of a warm beverage. And he wanted to make sure she drank first to see if it was poisoned.

The witch took her first sip without hesitation, then looked at him daringly as if she knew exactly what he was waiting for. Claude didn’t trust her. But if she really would aid him, then he wouldn’t pass on that offer.

Bottoms up then. Tasting the nostalgic flavour, Claude immediately relaxed. There was the right amount of sweetness too, meaning she’d put in the right amount of sugar.

“Who are you?” Claude asked finally, the question burning on the tip of his month since he left Derdriu. The Witch took another sip. Her gaze roamed over his features, calculating yet at the same time somewhat caressing.

“A friend,” she answered, “who only wishes to see you win the war.”

Claude took that in for a second, allowing the tea to warm him from the inside. “I think I’d remember if I had someone peculiar like a witch as friend. And what exactly makes you think I need help?” he asked. “As far as I know, the Alliance is holding up pretty well.”

He had to test how much she knew. If there really was a spy, they had to find and eliminate them quickly.

The Witch placed her porcelain cup aside, and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, she looked like a mother about to scold her child.

“The Alliance is a powder keg about to explode,” she said calmly, yet with a voice that didn’t appreciate Claude trying to deceive her. “You can’t find a way to convince Lord Gloucester to join your forces and usually a nation divided does not win wars. Especially not against an opponent like the Emperor.”

Claude leaned back in his armchair, dragging his tongue over his lower lip, his mouth suddenly dry. Straight to the point, just how he liked it. “It doesn’t stop with getting old Gloucester to unite with House Riegan,” he said. “We need food, weapons. A new base of operation somewhere more central to send out our forces. Unfortunately, I doubt The Enlightened One will let us stay anywhere close to the Garreg Mach monastery.”

Something flashed in the Witch’s eyes when he mentioned Byleth. She pursed her lips, reminding him of Judith whenever she received a particularly unpleasant information.

“I see,” she said after a moment. “Your old teacher leads the Black Eagle Strike Force. That does make things more difficult.”

Claude leaned back in his armchair and stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Interesting how she knew about the Alliance’s status but not that his old professor was on the enemies’ side. “Difficult how?”

“Let me deal with that once the time comes,” the Witch said. Claude wasn’t happy. He knew trust was a little too much, too quick given they knew each other for about five minutes. But she could give him a little more to work with here.

“Pardon me, but so far you haven’t really convinced me to accept your help, little witch.” He had to test the waters, see how far he could go in before the current dragged him under. The witch didn’t even blink at this nickname.

She mirrored his movement and locked her fingers in her lap. “Let’s just say my knowledge about certain things would aid you greatly in winning this war.”

“What things, pray tell.”

“Your plan to fend off the Imperial forces stationed in Daphnel. You won’t be able to occupy it for a long time before the Imperial army takes it back. You wonder if those knights and soldiers are better off stationed in Goneril to guard your supply shipments coming from Almyra, but you can’t say if your people would prefer to see an assertive ruler adamant on fighting the Empire or a generous ruler who cares more about protecting and nourishing his people.”

Once she finished, only the crackling fire made conversation with the burning wood. Claude didn’t avert his eyes from her piercing gaze, and she didn’t shy away when he cocked his head to the side, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

“So you do know a few things about me,” he said, and now he was the one mirroring her movement, leaning in closely. “But if you know about what keeps me awake at night, what do you know about my enemies?”

“Enough to end this war,” the Witch said, her eyes blazing with resolve, “if you listen to me.”

Claude raised his hand and pressed his palm to his heart. “I promise, should there be method in this madness, I will lend you my ear and listen what you have to say, little witch.”

She exhaled softly. Relieved, and Claude wondered how much of that conviction she’d shown was act. But he couldn’t begin to doubt this early, for the doubt would eat away at him and just this time, he wanted to believe whoever was their benevolent maker, he’d finally nudged Claude on the right path. He’d been without hope for so long, he’d forgotten how it tasted.

Claude stood, antsy to get back to his city and scheme away and finally, finally turn this war around. “How long do you need before you can join me in Derdriu?” he asked, moving towards the door when he noticed a strange apparatus next to it, showing a circle painted in different colours and a little arrow pointing at the part that was coloured a dark purple. When he turned, the Witch had followed right behind him, and Claude took a step back in surprise, his back gently pressing against the door.

She was smaller than him, yes, but her presence filled the whole room.

“I will finish a few things here, and then I will meet you there,” she said. She stretched her hand and rested in on the doorknob. Claude stepped away, allowing her to open the door, and was surprised when he saw Àkos waiting for him at the door step, liking snowflakes off his snout. When Claude raised his hand to pat him, he sneezed in his face.

Claude pulled a grimace. “Good to see you too, my friend.”

The witch followed him outside, and for the first time since their meeting, a smile had strayed on her face. She offered Àkos her hand, and before Claude could tell her to be careful of Àkos’ sharp teeth, he sniffed her fingers and gave a little confused huff before leaning in and allowing the witch to caress his smooth, leathery skin.

Now that was unusual, and maybe just a tiny bit, Claude felt betrayed. He swung on Árkos’ saddle, immediately relaxing at the familiar feeling of his wyvern’s steady, warm body. Before he took off to the skies, Claude turned to the witch and said, “You have to tell me who spies for you inside the Alliance. I might hire them as my new spy-master.” But she didn't give him a name, she didn't even smile thinking it was a joke. Her gaze was fixed to the woods stretching before them, her jaw set, and Claude knew that look. It would stare back at him in a mirror whenever he tried really hard not to cry.

“Your name,” he demanded. “I still don’t know your name.”

The Witch straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “I will tell you once we win the war. Once we win, I will tell you everything.”

* * *

Claude tried to wipe the exhaustion away with his sleeve, but closing his eyes for even a second ran the risk of him dozing off. There was still so much to prepare for their defence of Derdriu. He had to block off the city, occupy the naval port and lead the reinforcements to each city gate leading to the heart of the capital. There was no moment to rest.

Fresh air. He needed cold, fresh air to clear his mind and wake him up.

Outside, knights and soldiers on night duty greeted him. They had nothing unusual to report, everything was calm. No movement from the enemy so far. Somehow, that didn’t reassure Claude at all, though he couldn’t say if he’d rather want the opposite.

His feet carried him to the outskirts of their camp, and there it was—standing out from all the other tents was The Witch's tent, its leather roof mirroring the constellations of the starry sky. Judging from the light inside, she was still awake, probably pondering about the upcoming battle just as he was. Claude crossed the clearing and opened the front flaps only enough for his voice to come through.

“It’s Claude. May I enter?” he asked. Something rustled. As if paper was quickly wiped away. A moment later, her voice called back to him, “Please come in.”

He ducked and entered her tent. Again, it was much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, yet just like her cottage, it was still simple. Instead of expensive, luxurious furniture, she decided to fill every nook and cranny with her magical apparatus’ and ingredients.

The Witch stood in front of a cherry wood table, wearing a simple, dark gown. From the way she tried to appear taller and held her hands behind her back, Claude knew immediately she was hiding something. He thought back to the sound of paper being quickly gathered and tried his shot.

“Writing to your lover?” he teased, settling in an armchair without waiting for an invitation.

The Witch blew back a black lock that stubbornly clung to her forehead. She crossed the room, and within a blink, the papers in her hands vanished. Claude gave an impressed whistle.

“He is more than that,” she said without any hesitation. “But are we lovers? No.”

“And how does one become become friends with a witch?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. She sat in the empty seat beside him, not bothering in the slightest about her posture. Claude liked seeing her relax around him. For the past few days, she’d been all over the camp, tending to the wounded or helping magic battalions with their spells.

He was surprised how easy it was to work with her. She effortlessly followed his train of thought and anticipated questions or knew exactly were to probe whenever he wasn’t certain about something and hoped no one else would notice. But she always noticed, as if she inherently knew his faults and weaknesses and therefore watched his back. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume this wasn’t their first time working together.

“I call everyone friend who offers me toffees,” the Witch said now, taking off her boots. Even though she’d been outside the whole day, there was no speck of mud on them, whereas Claude’s boots wore a mud crust he wasn’t proud of.

“Toffee.” Claude playfully stroked his chin. “I think I can supply some.”

“I would be so ever grateful.” She gave one of her rare smiles, growing slowly like the moon slipping slowly beneath the waves of a lake. Whenever Claude was capable of making her smile, pride bloomed in his chest.

He didn't know what it was about the Witch that made all the tight and careful knots inside his chest uncurl. Maybe that was what people meant when they said someone made them feel undone.

“How do you feel about our stand here?” he asked. “Do you think we’re prepared for Edelgard arrival?”

Immediately, she tensed, and Claude regretted bringing it up. They talked about tactics so much every day, they should be spared of it inside their tents, the only place of comfort and peace, but it seemed Claude had forgotten how to do small talk.

But the Witch just shifted her weight a little. “I don’t like lying to you, but the truth isn’t pretty.”

“I still want to hear it.” He needed to know their chances of winning. The truth might not be pretty, but more than that, he didn’t want to be lied to. He couldn’t say why, but especially from her, he didn’t want to hear a lie.

They held each other’s gazes, and Claude was impressed again by how black her eyes were. Darker than a starless night, he couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. Yet there was kindness in her eyes. Kindness and experience that told stories older than she appeared to be. But with no time to dwell on his theory, he tucked it away in a safe corner where he’d access it later. When this was all over and he’d have enough time to listen to her story.

After a moment, the Witch spoke, “I wish your success wasn’t depending on anybody else. I have prepared you to all my capabilities, but...”

“But we can’t say for sure what Edgard will do.” Of course they couldn’t. No one of them could read thoughts or look into the future. Claude was usually all for unpredictable variables to keep his mind reeling and working, but even facing Edelgard gave him more headaches then he asked for.

“No matter the outcome, I can promise that your city and its people will be save,” the Witch said. They’d been working together for a couple weeks now, but Claude had learnt early on that she kept her promises and it was nice to lean on someone for a change.

“That’s all that matters to me,” he confessed. “I don’t care what happens to me. But I cannot let down my people. The Alliance. Its future. It’s all that matters.” Because how else would he begin his peace-mongering without his Leicester Alliance unifying with his Kingdom of Almyra.

A dark shadow settled on the Witch’s face. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in his features as if she wanted to commemorate them. Claude had to fight the urge to fidget, to flee from her keen gaze.

“The nation will learn how to move on when you are no more,” she said quietly. “But what about those you leave behind. Do you not care about your friends and comrades?”

“I care about what becomes of them after the Emperor captures my city and they are no more masters of their own fate.” Claude didn’t want to think about such a future. It would make him turn mad if he did.

“I know you think everyone has the might to forge their own paths. That fate is not absolute. But there are some fates you cannot change. You can only bow to them. Believe me. I’ve seen it many times. Too many times.” The Witch immediately clamped her mouth shut and turned her head away as if that would undo the words she just spoke. Claude hesitated. He wasn’t equipped to handle her surprising honesty. Honesty meant being vulnerable, and he’d never seen her like this. Sometimes it was easier to handle battalions and war generals than raw emotions, and Claude was thankful for the distraction fluttering it.

The Witch’s owl, that had been sitting on its trusty perch, flew through the tent and settled on the Witch’s shoulder, nuzzling it’s soft head against her cheek. The Witch smiled and scratched its chin. In return, the owl hooted and then proceeded to give Claude an accusatory glare as if he’d been the very reason for its mistress’ distress.

“Your little friend doesn’t like me at all,” Claude observed a second time since making acquaintance with with her feathery companion. “It’s like I offended him in some way.”

“She,” the Witch said mildly, “is fond of you. In her own way.”

Claude doubted that. “An unusual way to show her fondness of people. Pecking at them. Must your secret friend also endure this bullying or is he spared of it?”

“She treats everyone equally,” the Witch answered, and now he could see amusement crinkle in her eyes like the flying sparks of a fire. “My friend is no exception.”

“And is he a wizard like you? Or like us common folk?”

“He is,” the Witch began tentatively, “a just, young boy who heard the sound of flowing water in a world of sand and thus began to believe in hope. And this belief is a strong weapon, but the strongest weapon on him is his sharp wit and gilded mind.”

“Sounds like you hold him in high esteem.”

“I would burn cities and dethrone kings just to see his greatest wish fulfilled,” the Witch said, her gaze burning holes in Claude’s eyes. Something hot whipped through him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jealousy. Hot-white jealousy burnt inside him to have a friend this dedicated to him. Maybe that was what books spoke of when they told stories about soulmates, and right now, his soul longed for a relationship like that. To be understood and accepted without having to give anything in return.

He took a deep breath, and banished those thoughts where they didn’t hurt. “Your friend sounds like someone I could become friends with.”

“Yes,” she said, turning her eyes away from his. “You two are quite similar.”

Claude wanted to know what it would take to meet him. To sit alone with him and have a chance at hearing all the Witch’s secrets, unravel them one by one and learn more about her. But she did tell him she’d explain everything after he won the war, and Claude held onto that promise like a drowning man.

After he wished her good night and left her tent, Claude remembered Nader had told him a story once. Claude, barely seven years old, had strayed into the desert bordering a small port city in Almyra where his mother loved to take him on vacation. After hours upon hours in the scorching heat, when he’d already made peace with the thought that the wide sea of sand would be his burial, he’d stumbled upon a small oasis. To this day, he remembered the sound of rushing water from the small waterfall and diving into the cool depths until he finally was found by Almyran soldiers looking for him. He’d never told this story anyone. Now he stopped, turned around and nearly ran back to the Witch’s tent only to be stopped when horns blared through the night’s quiet, waking up the whole city.

The Emperor had arrived.

* * *

Smoke rose to the grey sky that looked as if at any moment, the clouds would open to lament and cry. When she descend the cobblestone streets, her head a melody of pain and anguish, no one stopped her. No one could stop her because no one could see her as she hurried through tight alleys and corners, her spell making her invisible to the untrained eye.

The port stood abandoned. Now that it was occupied, there was no reason to guard it, and the Imperial troops had moved on to the centre of Derdriu where the important buildings stood. The embassy with its golden roofs, the Leicester mansion with its hundreds rooms and the famous Round Table.

But she didn’t care about silent stone monuments that would live to see another thousand years. She only cared for the one person who could have held it all together.

The Witch found Claude von Riegan lying on his stomach, his face drained in his own blood. The gaping wound in his chest still bled, a horrible hole left by none other than the nasty bone shards of Aymr. His eyes were still open but unfocused, staring ahead at the darkening sky.

Her stomach churned. No matter how often she saw him like this, it never got easier. The Witch sunk to her knees, and gently cradling Claude’s body into her arms, she whispered, “Forgive me, old friend. I was unable to save you yet again.”

There was no answer. As always, silence was her only companion, and grief her only caretaker. She teleported herself and Claude’s body outside the capital city where she looked for a secluded space outside the city, and using her own hands, she dug a grave deep into the earth. He deserved to be buried in his home land, the place he loved more than anything, but there was no time. There was never enough time.

She finished when the sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and pink. One moment, she stood in front of the mound, and one single blink later, she walked through the front door of her cottage. Exhaustion bled her dry when the door closed behind her, and with a slow twist of her wrist, she turned the doorknob. A click sounded next to her, and for a second, everything turned black.

When light returned, everything was the same, and yet everything had changed.

On her way to the bathroom, she put water to boil in a black kettle hanging above the fireplace, and laid out a nice porcelain set of cups and Almyran Pine Needle tea for her guest.

The bath was already ready for her. She shed her dirty, ragged robes, and lowered herself in the hot water, feeling it immediately sooth her hurting limbs. As always, it took some time to clean the blood and dirt under her fingernails from digging Claude’s grave. She scrubbed herself raw until nothing was left of the previous world, and stepped outside the bath like a new born child. When she dried herself, she heard three sharp knocks at the door, and a voice calling out. Willing her new, clean robes to come and dress unto her with a flick of her wrist, the Witch took a last, long look at herself in the mirror.

Thirty tries. None of them had succeeded, and she was becoming so very tired of it all. With every try to save her friend, she’s learnt new things about the worlds and dimensions, and yet none had been enough in the end. She knew that chances to succeed were higher whenever Byeth was leading the Alliance. In some rare cases, in little pocket dimensions that would immediately dissipate when she tried to set foot in, the remaining Kingdom forces had joined the Alliance and victory would lay at the tip of her fingers. So close, and still unreachable.

But she would never cease her fight against the world that wanted to see her dear friend suffer and fail. Even if that meant bending rules, and changing to something that wasn’t human. She would make death bow to her, and once he was her servant, she would put her dear friend free of his curse of never-accomplishing happiness.

The witch squared her shoulders, and swallowed these thoughts and her still-fresh grief deep down where they didn’t hurt anymore. When the door quietly swung open, and she saw Claude von Riegan inspecting her shelf of ingredients, she said, “I see this place is to your liking?”

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #claude von riegan #fe3h claude #fe3h claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses claude #fire emblem three houses claude von riegan #fe3h original character #platonic friendship #dimension travelling #sort of au

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lotusthekat · 3 years

Text

I keep my eyes on the door (but I remember)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Relationships: Platonic Lars & Steven, Minor Lars/Sadie

Characters: Steven Quartz Universe, Lars Barriga, Sadie Miller; other characters are only mentioned

Summary: Steven knows the good days and the bad. He’s felt the bad several times, but he always got through it. Steven never allowed it to get in the way for too long.

But the gray days are different. The gray comes out of warning and it’s never obvious.

Word count: 3.185

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: Wrote Steven with depression yet again to vent. I’ve been having a hard time lately. Please mind the trigger warnings below. Be safe. <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS - depression, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, character death in dream, panic attack and mentioned character death.

Everything is gray.

Nothing is wrong with the world itself if that makes sense. Beach City is the same plethora of colors, the warmth blessed by the soft breeze, the diversity of people, the laughing children, the sand in his feet and hands, the seagulls singing in the distance.

Even so, it all… feels gray.

The gray is much like the inside of White Diamond’s head. Automatic, forcing a smile. Empty. Deprived of essence.

As far as he’s concerned, however, he’s not being mind-controlled.

Steven knows the good days and the bad. He’s felt the bad several times, but he always got through it. Steven never allowed it to get in the way for too long.

But the gray days are different. The gray comes out of warning and it’s never obvious.

Steven smiles through it. He cracks jokes and laughs. He helps gems and spends time with his friends as usual. He’s far from looking miserable – no, he’s seemingly normal most of the time. Yet when the night comes, the gray confronts him. What fills his chest is not just the tiredness after a long day. It’s an endless, empty and yet crushing weight that has never actually faded away. Somehow, it’s trapping him and staring at him.

To avoid it, Steven usually reads, watches a dumb TV show or gazes at the sea from his home. Stargazing in particular tends to help him relax and sort out his thoughts.

Except the stars are no longer guiding him. Because they only guide him through the darkness. The stars are useless in the gray.

His bed suddenly doesn’t feel as comfortable as it should be.

He knows he’s drawing himself away. He knows the gray absorbs his all, little by little.

It’s slowing him down. He can’t do anything right. He starts messing up more often at the school, at everything he does. Yet Steven is still going because everyone needs him; he could never give them up.

Regardless, Steven finds no pleasure or patience. Nothing in the world can soothe the gray. At some point, the sixteen-year-old can no longer avoids it with the things he likes, with his classes at Little Homeschool or even with the lighthearted calls with his dad and Connie. Because they all become gray to him, too.

When he receives the text that the gems will be away for a couple days, Steven might feel the tiniest bit of despair.

He’s obviously gotten used with being alone at this point – because stars, he’s sixteen and rebuilt an entire galaxy away from his family –, but he almost, almost cries for them. He actually gets to call his guardians and maybe convince them to stay.

Until he realizes.

And then, he wishes them a nice fieldtrip.

“Bye-bye, Steven!” they say. “We love you!”

It takes everything out of him to say I love you back.

When they hang up, the gray has enveloped him whole.

This is perhaps his most powerful enemy. It’s unreachable, invisible and yet omnipresent.

Steven tries. Oh, does he try.

But nothing can be done.

Nothing, except…

He goes for it.

…

Yet he soon returns home, no one wondering where he might be.

In the next day, the gem students at Little Homeworld greet him the same way as every day. They smile at him and see nothing wrong.

They have no idea.

(Does he even want them to know?)

Later at night, Steven lets out silent tears for the first time in days (weeks? He has no idea).

Despite everything, his schedule doesn’t change. He refuses to change it, so everything goes normal for the rest of the week. Finally, on Thursday, he’s heading to Lars’ house for a baking session. Steven has agreed to help him with the stuff from his pastry shop. Unlike Little Homeschool, which can be quite a handful sometimes, his time with Lars tends to be the most carefree he has, because Steven only works on pastries – he gives them some of his personality, crafting beauties with Lars’ amazing skills.

He has no idea how he will do it now, but he will try.

When he arrives, he hates to admit that a wave of relief washes over him at the sight of only Lars and no one else. The Off Colors and sometimes Mrs. Barriga join in and help them, but that’s not the case today.

Somehow, the instant Steven gets in the kitchen, Lars already questions if he’s okay. To be fair, though, he’s had others ask the same thing lately, except he managed to escape through the circumstances. The thing about Lars, however, is that he’s possibly the most stubborn person Steven knows – maybe on the same league as Jasper, even if in different ways.

Consequently, Lars has seen through the younger boy’s bad days before. The ex-space pirate would immediately postpone their baking time to help Steven get some rest. The sixteen-year-old has vented, has turned pink and raged in front of his friend.

But what can Lars do with the gray? What can he do when he is gray like everything else?

In the very least, Lars can tell how exhausted Steven is, even if it’s not your common exhaustion. The bowls and ingredients are forgotten in the counter as the older boy guides Steven to his bedroom. Lars talks to him in a rather soft voice, but Steven can’t quite pay attention; all his words sound gray and static. Eventually, Steven acknowledges he’s lied down, and the door closes somewhere. Silence greets him once again and he has no idea whether it’s comforting or not.

The blanket does little to warm him. The skyscrapers above are not enough to catch his attention. It’s like Steven is floating in a pool that is neither cold nor hot. But it swallows him either way and can easily drown him without him noticing.

Thus, Steven sinks in and barely realizes when his eyes close.

The smell of strawberries is nice, but it’s no longer tasteful.

The sight of the Gem Battlefield is quite beautiful. Obviously, he could never admire the tragedy and brutality of war, yet nature has grown back in what was once a dead place.

Steven walks.

(He no longer runs to catch up with anyone. Nor does he guide them.)

Until he’s too close to the edge.

The ground below is hidden beneath the thousands of trees far away. Once upon a time, Steven almost fell there twice. The first time he was saved by Pearl and Amethyst. The second, he was expected to climb on his own. Both times, he didn’t want to fall.

Now, Steven notices it’s not as gray as everything else. It’s actually quite green down there.

He leans in.

A tiny part of his brain yells. Demands he walks back to safety. He shouldn’t do this, he can’t leave everyone behind. What would they think of him?

But the green, the green is so beautiful. It might solve everything. It might help and silence the gray for once and for all. He can’t stay in the gray anymore. He needs to catch the green.

He’s not scared of the height anymore.

The green sounds so peaceful. He can tell the birds are singing under his feet.

(A final song.)

The wind levitates his pink jacket. He looks up, knowing this will be the last time he stares at the gray.

(Will he miss it? Maybe. He’s stayed here for too long.)

The sunset is coming to an end, the light reaching the green down him.

Steven takes a breath.

He embraces him.

The falling wind is the only sound he hears. The gray no longer blinds or deafens him. It’s going away, and Steven knows he’s getting to the bottom soon.

He closes his eyes.

Crack.

His stomach bewilders him, as though he’s hit the ground.

It’s not hard, however. It’s surprisingly soft. There’s the scent of wood and clothes surrounding him, and he might recognize the vague smell of chocolate and butter.

Steven’s heart pounds in midst of the gray. He’s unsure if he should be relieved or disappointed that he’s sitting on a bed. Which is not his, he realizes. Right. He’s in Lars’ bedroom.

Despite how big it is, Steven can’t breathe. He can’t stay there.

He barely processes himself rushing downstairs, not as he somehow hears the wind and the birds singing. Is he seeking it? Is he running away from it? Why is he scared?

When the boy arrives, he finds no green in spite of the colorful home. Steven searches for something, anything. And then he’s staring inside the kitchen, where he recognizes laughter. Lars is talking to someone on the phone, while he prepares what appears to be pancakes and a mug of hot chocolate – which is also filled with marshmallows, Steven completes. It’s what Lars makes him when Steven stays a little longer, or when he has bad days.

He doesn’t know why, but Lars isn’t as gray as before. Steven can actually make it to what his friend is saying. Lars is talking to Sadie, laughing at something she’s telling him. At one point, she seems to ask something as Lars changes the subject.

“… ah no, sorry, I’m staying here tonight. Steven is… I dunno.” Lars’ smile fades in worry. “I’ve seen him have bad days before, but there’s something different this time. It seems… familiar, but somehow I have no idea either.”

There’s a brief pause before he sighs exaggeratedly and resumes, “Hopefully my masterful pancake might cheer him up a little?” He snorts at something Sadie said. “Oh, you know my pancakes make everything better! Steven loves them!” He pauses again and gasps, “Betrayal!”

Steven makes it to Sadie’s laughter on the speaker, even if it’s barely audible. Lars sighs again in defeat.

“Ugh, alright. I’ll call you back, okay?” he promises. The pink teen soon… blushes and protests, “Wha- I’m not the Mom Friend! Stop calling me that!” With his glare, Steven can assume that Sadie will definitely not quit it. “Bye, Sadie!” Lars jokes – until he softly adds, “Get some rest, okay? Yeah, I’ll tell Steven you said hi. Okay, love ya. Bye.”

The pink boy finally hangs up and it’s only when he turns around that he notices Steven.

“Woah, hey! Didn’t notice you there,” Lars clears his throat in embarrassment. He frowns a little when he actually pays attention to the other boy, who hasn’t moved or said a thing since. “Steven? Are you okay?” Lars asks.

The younger, for once, finds pink. Not the enraging pink that would blind his senses at times, but the welcoming pink that has accepted him before. That has comforted him before. And Steven—

Steven immediately launches himself forward, arms holding tight onto the pink. He loses air, his lungs are aching and his heart races his entire body. Lars is trying to talk to him, Steven notices, yet he can’t focus on it as he refuses to let go.

The moment Steven releases a loud sob, Lars wraps his arms around him back. They feel so solid that Steven cries harder. He hasn’t had this mess of feelings in such a long time that it overwhelms him, and Steven can’t help but crave it. He needs to run away from the gray and reach out for the pink.

Because he realizes, he could have lost it. He would never smell the pancakes and the hot chocolate, and he wouldn’t feel Lars’ arms ever again.

Steven hides in the hug, because he also knows Lars would never forgive him if he knew. How could Steven get so blinded by the gray?

The boy feels small as he sobs, weeps and clings to his friend. Lars is trying to calm him down by soothing his back up and down. As Steven focuses on that, his breath begins to return to its rhythm, and his heart no longer hammers his senses. For once, Lars tries to pull Steven away, even if just to look at him. The latter refuses; he knows Lars is going to ask. While the captain never pressures him to talk, Lars is definitely freaked out right now, which isn’t fair to him, Steven knows. But he can’t tell him.

“Steven,” Lars calls him, pleading, “can you look at me? Please?”

The younger shakes his head, sniffing in the other’s chest.

“Steven, you’re scaring me, what happened?” Lars insists more firmly while patiently. “Did you get hurt?”

The young boy keeps shaking his head, yet he ends up saying something for once. Hiccupping, he lets out, “I d-did”—he sobs—“I did something awful, Lars!”

“What?”

“Y-You’re…” Steven gulps, “you’re going to hate me…”

“Steven, I would never hate you. You know that, right?”

“Lars—”

“You can tell me, buddy, I won’t be mad—”

Steven fists his shirt. “I JUMPED, Lars!” he snaps, “I actually jumped from the Gem Battlefield and I fell all the way down, because- because everything is gray and empty, and I wanted it to STOP! I w-wanted!... I…”

Despite his uncontrollable sobbing, the kitchen has grown awfully silent. Lars’ hands still and the hug doesn’t feel as comforting anymore.

“F-For a moment, it felt good. I wanted to feel good. Nothing was making me happy anymore, and I thought that… that falling was gonna help. But I”—Steven shuts his eyes forcefully— “I got so scared that I floated until I landed. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”

Steven’s voice becomes smaller and smaller, that he sounds like a scared child. Like the same fourteen-year-old child that didn’t know how to get through the Crystal Gems missions.

“And even then, I…” he opens his mouth before realizing it, “I still feel like I’m there, like I’m falling and falling… there’s nothing ahead of me. Nothing but the end, the end to all this gray and”—he gasps—“a-and even though I can’t see it, I know I’m going to reach it. I’m getting so close to the bottom. T-The worst part is, I don’t know if I want to.”

Lars is so still. The fact he was once dead terrifies Steven. Lars is immobile, his heartbeat nowhere to be felt and his breaths, gone. It only breaks Steven more, to the point the younger boy slowly loses his grip around his friend and drops to his knees. He faces the floor, his falling tears and his own shame.

“I’m useless. I-I’m�� I don’t know anything. I can’t do any of this anymore, and I’m so scared,” Steven admits. At the long lack of response, he shoves his face in his hands and cries, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He cries in the silence again. His emotions are still surrounded by the gray and Steven can’t take it any longer. He doesn’t know how to get through this.

(Sickeningly, he might regret coming back home at all. He could have ended this.)

Steven expects an answer. He awaits the angry yelling, the disbelief – How could you do that?! –, or even nothing at all.

When Steven listens to another pair of legs reaching his level, he can’t control the flinch and the tiny sob that follows. Not too long after, he’s…

… he’s yanked back in Lars’ arms.

It’s the tightest Steven has ever been hugged.

Lars still says nothing.

But he holds Steven like it’s the end of the world, and he reassures without words that he’s not letting go.

His hugs are different from the gems’. They’re not engulfing, they’re not delicate or motherly. Lars is vulnerable – he's shaking and his breaths are deep, trying hard not to lose themselves to tears. He’s broken and he’s human. Although he's Lars of the Stars, he's not necessarily a star himself. By simply holding the other boy, Lars swears to be there, in the good, the bad and the gray – even if they might not find a solution now, or in a long time.

Steven lets out muffled screams, tears as wet and aching as Blue Diamond’s. He glows pink, brighter than ever.

(And he’s actually relieved for that.)

After that day, Lars offers Steven to sleep over at his house when the gems go on fieldtrips. While a little reluctant, the latter accepts the kind invitation. The Barrigas are the sweetest people he’s known.

The gray for once stops absorbing everything. It’s not gone. It might never be gone. But Steven can find the joy, even if small, in the things he likes again. People do notice the difference, but they don’t fully question it.

He also notices that Lars has begun hugging him more often. Which is kind of unlike him; but Lars is always willing to hug him, maybe a little longer and tighter.

… To be honest, Steven is not complaining. It’s good to remember. When they hug, Steven almost forgets completely about the gray.

Things are slowly going back to normal, though in a different, good way.

One night, Lars invites Steven over – much to his surprise, Sadie is joining them. Steven hasn’t seen Sadie in person for a long time. She looks so different and so happy; it’s always a little odd to realize she’s shorter than him.

Even so, the three of them together brings him a sense of nostalgia. Steven, Lars and Sadie had their own adventures. Their own ups and downs. It takes Steven back to the mornings and afternoons at the Big Donut.

This time, Lars and Sadie hold hands, sitting side by side. Lars has baked them the good old Ube they shared two years ago. Steven doesn’t actually talk that much but he’s comfortable with that. He likes listening to Sadie, and her teasing Lars – still on the “Mom Friend” dilemma. Lars merely argues it’s because of his pink powers, but Sadie exposes his “mother instincts” to debunk the excuse.

Steven is smiling. Lars’ face flushes and Sadie’s laughter sounds pure. She plants kisses on the pink boy’s cheek, which manages to get a flustered grin out of him.

Nothing about the situation is remotely gray. Everything is alive. Everyone is bright and themselves. And Steven is… himself, too.

…

“Oh, Steven, what happened?”

Sadie stares at him with concern and a little surprise. Lars isn’t particularly shocked but he’s sympathetic. When Steven feels water wetting his hand, he dries his face. Only for him to laugh wetly and make an even bigger tearful mess.

“S-Sorry, I’m okay,” Steven reassures them, truthfully, “I’m okay. I just…” He laughs again. “I-I love you guys so much.”

“Aw, Steven… we love you, too,” Sadie replies, heartfelt. Lars doesn’t mention it, but his smile means the same.

Once Steven sobs, both Lars and Sadie go to him and hug the boy. They ruffle his curly hair and squeeze him between them.

Steven has never been so thankful for his friends.

#steven universe #steven quartz universe #lars barriga #sadie miller #larsadie #fanfiction #suicide tw #depression tw #vent fic #panic attack tw

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silenthillmutual · 3 years

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2020 Creator Wrap

I was tagged by @stvlti to do the 2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works tag! Thank you, sm!! c:

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Tagging: @lawliyeeeet @soupcans @kunoiichi @milk-teeths @darkpaladin and anyone else who wants to!! Though there’s no pressure to do this if you don’t want<3

So... according to my AO3, I seem to have published or updated 63 works in 2020, which is just a whole hell of a lot more than I usually do! So I’ll pick the going from oldest to newest that I’m most happy with :)

CONTENT WARNING though, under 18 please do not read below the cut as two of the fics are M and one is E. Additional content warning: two deal with self harm and one with intrusive thoughts, and one with pregnancy.

01 || Communication (T)

I think this was when I really hit my stride with understanding how I wanted to characterize Daniil, specifically, and more generally when I worked out how I wanted to write his relationship with Artemy. I tend to focus on the ways in which they communicate differently, and I think I pulled off their voices relatively well.

Favorite moment, when I managed to slip some autism into my characterization:

This is a flaw of his - a messy, embarrassing secret, this inability to distinguish jokes and sarcasm from serious discussion. He masks his insufficiency with a flat-toned seriousness. People find it harder to separate the sarcasm and the jokes from his regular speech when he makes no vocal distinction, and he enjoys the discomfort it brings in others. He considers it, to a degree, payback. A taste of their own medicine. And when he wants to make it clear where his feelings lie, he’ll be picky with the words themselves. He is, if absolutely nothing else, exceptional in the area of verbal self-expression.

02 || sine sole sileo (M)

This is one of my older works and it is far from being my best, it’s terribly out of character and woobifying, but I’m fond of it as my first really long and more emotional work for the fandom. I had fun writing the first chapter out as a Twitter thread, and then expanding on it. It’s multi-chaptered and actually finished, which is something I have a hard time with!

Favorite moment, which I still actually kind of like, despite everything:

He knows the silence behind the doors, too. It’s a stillness that makes the tips of his fingers buzz. How many days has it been now? Three, four? Artemy though he’d changed the sheets, added new notations. Welcomed in the vocals, the strings, the what-ever-else accompanied performances like this in the Capital. His verses hadn’t been well-sung, but the band had started to play with him. He’d come to anticipate the thrumming percussion. A heart with its own rhythm. Footsteps that rose and fell. Words that lilted, that lead, that brought the symphony to a heightened frenzy.

But silence is a kind of noise too. Where the heart doesn’t beat. Where the voices don’t speak. Even when there is nothing, there is noise.

Artemy has to take a breath before he opens the door. He knows he won’t like what he sees, but he’s seeing so much more in his mind than will be there to greet him. His eyes shake and jostle him to great many things: a gun, a hook, a rope, stained bedsheets and curtains ripped from windows. He sees death even before his eyes adjust because he can smell it, and because he can hear it.

Twelve, he thinks.

03 || o tempora, o mores (M)

This fic was my baby! I wanted so badly to write a character struggling with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder the way I do, and while it’s not my best-performing fic for the fandom (I haven’t kept track of which one is, actually) it’s probably my favorite. I worked so hard on this one, trying to replicate what it’s like to struggle with OCD, and it felt so gratifying to do. I’m currently working on a follow-up to this one, and I’m very excited for it as well!

Favorite moment is really the whole thing, but I do like this in particular, because I feel it really resonated with how intrusive thoughts and compulsions work for me:

The self-talk gives him enough of a boost to get him through the doors of the hospital. It feels safer here, where there’s only the ill and the dead instead of the thousand living eyes trying to touch him. No one comes to bother him here, just him and Artemy and sometimes Clara and Rubin until a few days ago –

YOUR FAULT. HE IS SICK BECAUSE OF YOU. HE IS IN TROUBLE BECAUSE OF YOU. IF RUBIN DIES, IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Daniil mutters. THE EYES KNOW THE VACCINE DIDN’T WORK. THEY ARE WAITING FOR YOU TO ADMIT IT, ADMIT THAT THERE IS NOT ENOUGH TO PROTECT THEM SO THEY CAN HAND YOU TO THE DOGS. THEY WANT TO RIP YOUR BODY OPEN AND DEVOUR YOU. CANNIBALS, ALL OF THEM. AND YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER. “Stop it,” he repeats, and tries to dig a jagged nail into his wrist.

It won’t go. Too slippery from the ointment Victor applied. He has something in his bag to help, another jagged edge, a rusted pair of scissors lost to their original purpose. The Morae were busy here, he’d thought the first time he saw them, and had laughed at his own clever joke. But now he feels the red string is his skin.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. (it is starting to hurt these could be infected they are dirty they are rusted,) Eight. (but it has to be ten he has to get to ten it has to be even) Nine. (has to be a multiple of five but even always even, no odd numbers in sight)

04 || vita in motu (E)

Heheh I’m in danger (chuckles).

I’ve only managed to get one piece of hate for this fic which I figured would draw way more ire and make me orphan it, and I’m glad I haven’t had to because I’m stupidly attached to the concept. I was trying not to go for E rated fics for this, but this fic meant so much to me to write and for something marked explicit I put a lot of thought into how I wanted to characterize Daniil for it.

So. Yeah. Publishing it was scary as hell but I’m glad I did. I also got some really nice feedback on it, and more than I expected to. I’m very happy with how it turned out.

Favorite moment was actually much longer at the start of it, though kind of like with o tempora, o mores I actually really like how the whole fic turned out. But I really liked this part because I view Artemy as someone who would be very grounding for Daniil to be with:

“Stay in the moment,” Artemy tells him, and kisses him again, kisses him slowly. “Stay here with me. I love you.”

It should be utter nonsense, to give in so quickly to this, but Artemy makes it easy. Daniil would never have seen this in his future, would not have even made this as a joke. Something had to beat down his resistance to the emotional, a pro to outweigh the cons he associated with vulnerability. Keeping tightly bound was the safest bet, the easy one. He could say he lacked emotion, and anyone would buy it. Nothing short of a miracle could drag him back to the land of the living – but then again, nothing short of a miracle could have saved this town. Artemy Burakh is a man who manufactures miracles.

05 || it’s sacrilege, you say (T)

This is the last fic that I wrote out that I took a lot of time planning instead of going “hey, I think this idea would be neat” and slapping it onto paper. And I think it turned out really well!! I almost wanted to do something darker with it, more akin to Silent Hill, but I have other ideas in mind for that kind of AU that I’ll play with later, one of which will be a sort of crossover with TMA.

Favorite moment is when I actually implied the twist, though I’m not sure you can call it a twist at all when I used proper tags:

Her eyes drift from Daniil to the wall, pivoting to look through the window. “No,” she says. “I don’t know why he made you.”

The center of Daniil’s chest feels like a flower, budded but unopened. Smooth, perhaps, but heavy to move, and his petals are made of something sharp. Crystal, maybe. And he can feel the petals start to part with her words, though they make so little sense to him. He steps forward, closer, half expecting Aspity to recoil from him, but she stays unnaturally still as he approaches. He reaches out to wet his lips, dry as sand, before he speaks. “Made me?” There’s no tone in his voice. “What do you mean, made me? And who are you talking about?”

She doesn’t turn to face him. She blinks, and lashes fall on sunken cheeks. “Do you remember how you got here, doctor?” He opens his mouth, but she’s faster. “Not to my home. To Town. Think: Can you remember how it is you came to be here?” Daniil grinds his teeth on the side of his tongue, sharp edges digging into the flesh. The flesh. The flesh . “Take your time,” she says, but it sounds like a joke. “The last train that arrived brought the menkhu, and no one else aboard it. There are no other ways into our Town.”

#icarus.txt

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bearly-writing · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, implied Roman Sionis/Jason Todd - Relationship, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, Jason Todd, Roman Sionis, Black Mask Additional Tags: Child Abuse, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Slade Wilson, Protective Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Parent-Child Relationship, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Except Jason isn't a baby, Good Parent Slade Wilson, Good Parent Dick Grayson, Minor Character Death, Blood and Injury Series: Part 3 of SladeRobin Weekend 2020 Summary:

"Most of Black Mask’s recruits are adults - or at least teenagers. They’ve never been asked to train someone so young before.

Because the boy Black Mask has brought with him this time can’t be much older than ten."

In a world where Robin doesn't exist, Deathstroke and Renegade are asked to train Black Mask's latest recruit.

A super late entry for the @sladerobinweek Weekend prompt Accidental Co-Parenting.

It isn’t the first time Deathstroke and Renegade have been asked to train one of Black Mask’s new lackeys. As good as Sionis is at what he does, he isn’t a fighter, and he certainly isn’t anywhere near the level of the two highly-trained mercenaries. The man can handle a gun decently and even Deathstroke can’t deny that he has a talent for inflicting pain, but actual fighting skills? Well, he wouldn’t last long against anyone that Deathstroke has trained - even those without any natural aptitude.

But one of Sionis’ better skills is knowing when to delegate and Deathstroke, no matter what, is a mercenary at heart. Black Mask pays good money for them to turn whichever new passion project he deems worthy into something worth keeping around. Not that Black Mask tends to actually keep them for long. It’s a dangerous job, being one of Black Mask’s soldiers and even being trained by the best can’t keep them safe from Sionis’ boredom.

So there’s usually a new one every other year or so. Both Deathstroke and Renegade are used to it by now, and the money is good, even if it usually means having to take a few weeks - or months, depending upon how much instruction is necessary - out of the rest of their work. Dick kind of looks forward to it. Sometimes it’s nice to spend time with new people. Even Slade can get boring after a while.

Still, most of Black Mask’s recruits are adults - or at least teenagers. They’ve never been asked to train someone so young before.

Because the boy Black Mask has brought with him this time can’t be much older than ten.

“Little small for a fighter, isn’t he?” Slade asks, mirroring Dick’s thoughts exactly. There’s none of the judgement Dick feels in his tone though. Deathstroke’s own moral line in the sand can be a little blurry at times but it doesn’t pay to be judgemental in this line of work.

Despite that, Dick can feel his own disapproval rising in the back of his throat. With Black Mask looming behind him, one hand clasped on a thin shoulder, the kid looks tiny. Even the expensive suit Roman has wrangled him into can’t disguise the fact that the boy is way too skinny. When he lifts his head to glare at Deathstroke - brave, Slade will like that - Dick can see a dark, wine-stain bruise purpling his eye, the yellow edge of another peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

“I can fight,” the kid snarls, all bravado, even though his hands are trembling where they’re fisted against his thighs.

“Yeah?” Slade steps close enough to reach out and catch the kid’s chin between long fingers. The kid flinches and Roman’s hand moves possessively to the back of his neck, but Deathstroke has never been afraid of Black Mask, Dick knows. If Slade wants to touch, Roman won’t stop him. “That how you get that bruise?”

The kid jerks his head again but Slade’s doesn’t let him go. There’s a flash of fear in the boy’s eyes that makes Dick’s stomach turn uncomfortably. Renegade is used to fear, but not like this. Not from a child.

“Little Jay fell down the stairs,” Roman says, before the kid - Jay - can answer. His tone is full and indulgent. When he looks up from Jay’s scowling face, his smirk is an invitation, an offer to share in his little inside joke. It sparks something sour across Dick’s tongue. He’s never liked Roman.

“Didn’t you, pumpkin?”

“Yeah,” Jay mumbles. Dick thinks he would drop his gaze if Slade wasn’t still holding onto him. Instead he settles for glaring at the mercenary with impressive heat. “I’m clumsy like that.”

Slade just hums. He tilts Jay’s head from side to side like someone examining a horse. Dick half expects him to lift Jay’s lip up and look at his teeth.

“We don’t train kids,” Dick says, eventually, because it doesn’t look as though Slade is about to put a stop to this. And there’s a lot of things Dick will do for Slade but not this. Training a kid to become a killer - a killer for Black Mask - isn’t something even Renegade is comfortable with.

If Black Mask’s expression changes, it’s hard to tell. But Dick thinks he stiffens a little. Thinks his fingers might tighten where they’re pressed over the back of the kid’s neck. The kid grunts, caught between Deathstroke and Black Mask, but doesn’t try to pull away. Dick can’t tell if it’s because he’s too afraid or if it’s because he isn’t afraid enough.

“You train who I pay you to train,” Roman says, pleasantly enough, but with an edge of warning.

That finally makes Slade drop the boy’s chin. The kid immediately drops his gaze, then seems to think better of it, lifting his eyes to watch Slade warily. It’s obvious that he considers Dick a lesser threat.

“You haven’t paid us yet, Mask,” Slade says in equal warning. “How old is he?”

“Old enough.”

“We’ll decide what’s old enough,” Dick snaps. “How old is he?”

It’s probably not a good idea to lose his temper with the man who pays a substantial amount of their paycheck, but Dick is tired of Black Mask thinking he owns them. Thinking he can snap his fingers and they’ll come to heel. He’s tired of working with Black Mask’s men - of having to deal with all of the useless, arrogant assholes that a man like Roman Sionis employs. Or worse, having to watch the ones he actually likes be utterly destroyed by the man in front of him, for greed or power or sometimes just for fun.

Dick doesn’t want to help him destroy this child.

“I’m twelve,” the kid says, before Roman can answer.

Dick almost does a double take. With the kid’s size, he had expected younger than that. But then, this wouldn’t be the first child stunted by a lifetime in Gotham.

There’s a considering silence then. Dick wants to refuse again but he knows he’s already spoken out of turn and Deathstroke might not be Roman Sionis, but he doesn’t appreciate being shown up by his subordinates any more than Black Mask does. Still, Dick wishes there was a way they could speak in private, so Dick can let him know exactly how much he hates this idea.

“It’ll be double the usual amount,” is what Slade finally says and Dick feels his heart sink in his chest. That means the man’s mind is made up - if Black Mask pays up, they’ll have to train the kid no matter Dick’s objections.

“Double?” Mask scoffs. His grip on the kid hasn’t loosened. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Take it or leave it. You know no one else will train him the way we will. But if the price is too steep feel free to take him elsewhere.”

“He’d better be the best Goddamn fighter in the business,” Mask growls.

Slade only smirks, even as Dick’s stomach twists itself into a painful little knot. That’s settled then - Dick never really had a chance if Slade had made up his mind, but Dick honestly hadn’t expected him to agree to it. It’s not as though Slade has ever shown any real interest in kids before - even his own. It’s not as though they need the money.

“Be a good boy then, sweetheart,” Roman says, finally relinquishing his grip on Jay’s neck.

He strokes a hand through the boy’s curls in a surprisingly tender gesture before his fingers tighten hard enough to have the kid whimpering, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. There are more bruises there. Dick can see black stripes that look like finger-marks, purple and green smudges that could be anything but that make his stomach roll.

“When we’re reunited, you’re gonna be something special, baby. So don’t fuck this up. You don’t want to disappoint daddy, do you?”

“No sir,” the kid grits out, voice small and strained.

Roman hums, then he leans down and presses a mocking kiss - or as much of a kiss as he can give without any real lips - to the kid’s forehead. Jay goes rigid but doesn’t try to pull away. Dick can see him shaking.

Finally, Black Mask lets go of him. For a moment, the kid just stands there, clearly unsure what’s expected of him. Then Sionis gives him a harsh shove that has the kid stumbling.

“Go on sweetheart,” he says. The kid doesn’t look back at him, but Dick can see the tension in his shoulders. “Be good.”

⁂

Slade gives the kid the same speech he gives everyone they take in to train. No special treatment here. The whole time, the kid is quiet and sullen, but he’s clearly listening attentively to Slade’s little speech. Dick follows behind them whilst Slade leads Jay on a brief tour of the compound. There’s not much to show: a communal kitchen, a shower block, and a bare guest bedroom. The only area of any importance is the dojo and training room. It’s where Jay will be spending most of his time with them.

“We start training at 8am,” Slade explains. He sounds bored, apathetic. But Dick knows he’s watching the kid carefully. “Breakfast is from six. Evenings are your own free time. Do with it what you will.”

“Anything?” The kid asks.

“Within reason,” Slade clarifies, obviously catching the look in his eyes. “And you can’t leave the compound.”

It’s not a rule they’ve ever had before. Dick is a little surprised by the concession to the kid’s age, even if it is as minimal as not letting him run off on his own, Slade hadn’t seemed like he cared.

The kid scowls, obviously unhappy with the ruling. Is he just annoyed at having Slade exert his control? Or had this been a chance for the kid to slip Sionis’ leash? Something cold tightens Dick’s stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of holding the kid here against his will. Likes the idea of keeping him prisoner for Roman Sionis even less.

“So I can’t do anything then?” The kid grumbles.

Slade’s eyes narrow. It’s a look that Dick’s had directed at him countless times but the kid seems to quail under it in a way Dick never has. Not that that’s a surprise exactly, very few people can stand up to even a mild look from Slade.

“You can train. Let’s start now. Take off your shirt and jacket, Renegade will show you the ropes.”

Dick shoots Slade his own narrow look. None of this is unusual - they almost always do the introductory spar with Dick as a way to test their current abilities. And Dick usually enjoys it. He likes to show off, likes to get a feel for the people he’s going to be training with for the next few weeks. Likes the excuse to beat on the arrogant assholes that Sionis usually employs. But he doesn’t like the idea of fighting a twelve year old - especially not one as small and scrawny-looking as the kid. Slade must know that.

Still, with Slade it’s best not to voice your displeasure too openly. The man can be surprisingly petty. So Dick doesn’t put up any more of a complaint.

The kid shucks his suit jacket immediately, following the command as if he hasn’t even thought about it. But he hesitates when he gets to the buttons of his shirt. Undoes the button at his throat, then does it back up again, biting his lip and throwing Slade a nervous look. His fingers are trembling.

“You can leave the shirt on if you prefer,” Slade says, eventually, when it’s obvious that the boy is just going to stand there. It’s another uncharacteristic move on Slade’s part - usually, if he gives an order, he expects you to follow it. Somehow, Dick hadn’t expected him to be soft. Slade doesn’t hurt kids, but he had agreed to this - Dick has so rarely seen him make concessions before.

The kid lets out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief, some of the tension softening out of his shoulders, before he turns his focus on Dick.

“This is just to get a feel for how you move,” Dick tells him. He circles the kid as he says it, taking in his form, his size, the way he’s holding himself, trying to figure out how best to start. “We don’t expect you to know how to fight right now, but it’s good to get an idea of how you move. What your instincts are.”

Jay follows Dick with his eyes, twisting to keep him in vision, but otherwise doesn’t move. He’s so stiff that he’s trembling. Dick doesn’t have to be an expert in body language to read the anxiety in it.

He strikes.

All in all, Jay isn’t a bad fighter. There’s no strategy to it, no real thought, and definitely no expertise, but his instincts are good. It’s painfully obvious that the kid has no training, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his way around a fight. He can take a hit. Can deal them out too, when Dick leaves himself purposefully exposed. And he isn’t afraid to fight dirty.

It makes sense with what Dick knows about the kid - even more sense with what he can guess. Most likely, Jay had to look out for himself on the streets before Black Mask took him in; he fights like a street rat, all dirty tricks and mindless desperation. Dick’s seen it before.

It’s something they can work with.

By the time the fight ends, Jay is drenched with sweat. The expensive shirt he’s still wearing is so damp that it’s sticking to him, moulded against too-skinny ribs. The wet strands of his curls are practically dripping. His movements, already wild and unpredictable, turn frantic. It allows Dick to catch the kid’s arm when he makes a poorly-timed attack that leaves him open, gripping his wrist and using the leverage to force Jay to the floor.

For the first time in the fight, Jay flinches. A sharp, wounded sound bursts out of him even before his knees hit the floor. If it weren’t for his own training, that might have had Dick letting go. Instead, he tightens his grip, losing himself to instinct and muscle memory as he follows Jay to the ground, twisting his arm behind him in a loose pin and pressing a knee into the small of his back to keep him there. Jay goes stiff beneath him. The only movement is the heave of his ribs as the kid pants for air, otherwise surrendering himself to Dick’s hold.

Then, tight and panicked: “Get off me.”

Dick lets the hold drop immediately, sitting back on his heels and lifting his hands in surrender. He’s won the fight. There’s no need to lord it over the kid. Jay had done well, even, all things considering. And Dick remembers that sharp little noise of pain the kid had made when Dick had grabbed him. The way Jay had flinched at the grip of Dick’s fingers when he’d taken all the previous blows with barely a twitch. It makes Dick’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, as the kid pushes himself upright.

Jay scowls. “No,” he snaps. But Dick can see the way he’s cradling his wrist in one hand, his face tense with pain.

“Let me see.”

Dick reaches out but the kid draws away from him. There’s such naked fear on his face that it takes Dick’s breath away. It’s gone almost as soon as it comes but Dick pulls away anyway.

“Don’t lie.” Slade is suddenly looming over them. He snatches the kid’s wrist in one huge fist, pulling him half off the floor, ignoring Jay’s pained squeak. “Hiding injuries gets you killed out in the field.”

Jay struggles, but if he’d lost the fight to Renegade, there’s no chance he’ll overpower Deathstroke. Slade just drags the kid’s sleeve down his skinny arm, ignoring the weak protests. The skin revealed is pale and smattered with bruises. A dark ring of them circles the kid’s wrist, some of them an angry purple, others faded to sickly yellows and greens. Dick’s stomach clenches. There’s no way his hold caused an injury like that - this is something the kid has had for a while. Something inflicted on him again and again if the variation in colour is anything to go by. Some of those bruises are at least a week old. Some of them are clearly fresh.

Slade doesn’t let go of Jay’s wrist, but there’s a sudden tension to his face as he eyes the marks on the kid’s skin. It’s difficult to tell with Slade, but Dick can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same hollow disgust in his gut as Dick is. Someone has clearly hurt the kid and not in the controlled way Dick was just moments ago. Those marks aren’t from any training Dick has ever been a part of.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Dick knows exactly what Black Mask is like. Knows exactly the sort of thing that man is willing to do. It’s hardly a shock that Roman is a child abuser, along with every other terrible thing the man has done. He’d asked them to turn Jay into a killer, after all. And they had agreed to it.

“Any other injuries?” Slade asks, and his voice is softer than before, although Dick thinks he can only tell because of the years they’ve known each other.

“No,” the kids lies. He tugs against Slade’s grip, his face twisting when there’s no give. “Are we done here?”

For a moment, Dick thinks Slade might call him on it. There’s little doubt in Dick’s mind that there are more bruises under the sweat-drenched cotton of Jay’s shirt. He remembers the kid’s hesitance to remove it - thinks now that it was probably more than just self-consciousness. Slade doesn’t like to be lied to. Likes being disobeyed even less.

But, for whatever reason, Slade doesn’t. He releases his grip on the kid with a grunt, letting him slide back to the floor. Jay stays there, a crumpled little heap, watching Slade from under furrowed brows.

“Go clean up,” Slade growls. “You’re done for tonight.”

Jay scrambles to his feet with the air of someone who’s been pushed out the path of a speeding truck and disappears before Slade can change his mind.

⁂

“Why did you agree to it?” Dick asks, later, once they’ve turned in for the night.

Slade hums as he pulls his shirt over his head. From his position on the bed, Dick gets to watch the muscles of his back slide and flex as he does so, scarred skin bared to the dim light of their room. Normally, the sight would have heat fluttering low in Dick’s belly. Tonight, he’s too angry to really appreciate it.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Slade throws back, as he slides into his side of the bed. The mattress dips heavily with his weight. Cool air brushes against Dick’s skin as Slade disturbs the blanket, settling it over his own legs. “The money’s good. You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“They’ve never been twelve before,” Dick snaps, icily. In the privacy of their own bedroom, Dick isn’t afraid to let his opinion known. Slade might not like to be shown up in public, but he’s never begrudged Dick an argument when they’re alone. Sometimes, Dick thinks his temper is one of the reasons they work so well together. Slade wouldn’t want to lose that.

“It’s no different from any of the others we’ve trained.”

“Yes it is, Slade, and you know it.” Dick crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling like a child himself, angry and petulant under Slade’s heavy gaze. “He’s a little kid and now we’re training him to be a killer. It’s not right.”

Slade is silent for a moment, as if he’s actually considering that. Then, “You were a kid when you started.”

Dick’s shoulders tighten. “Yeah, and look how I turned out.”

Slade hums again. Then he shifts, leaning across the space between them to press warm lips against Dick’s jaw. Despite everything, Dick still melts at the touch, eyelashes fluttering, some of the tension sliding out of his muscles.

“You turned out perfect,” Slade murmurs. Those hot lips ghost across Dick’s skin, leaving little tingles of desire in their wake, until they’re moulded over his mouth. Dick sighs into the kiss. Lifts a hand to Slade’s throat and rests his fingers there, feeling his pulse beating against Dick’s palm. Then he uses his grip to gently push Slade away.

“Says you.” But he can’t help the little smile he can feel tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, it’s different. You gave me a home, a life. Black Mask is going to destroy that kid and we’re helping him do it.”

Slade is still close enough that Dick can feel the huff of his breath against his cheek. His single eye gleams in the dim light as it flickers over Dick’s face, taking in whatever it is the man sees when he looks at Dick. Then he sighs, a hot gust across Dick’s skin, and pulls back a little further, breaking Dick’s grip. Immediately, Dick misses the heat of him so close.

“What do you think would happen if we didn’t agree to train him?” Slade asks. “What do you think Black Mask would do to a kid who he doesn’t see as worth keeping around? Do you genuinely think we would help the kid by refusing?”

Dick grinds his teeth hard enough that his jaw aches, because Slade is right - he knows Slade is right - but it doesn’t make the situation any easier. Knowing that this is the best of a bad bunch doesn’t exactly ease Dick’s conscience.

Strong fingers stroke over Dick’s jaw, loosening some of the tension there. Then they slide around to cup the back of his neck, massaging at the muscle before gently tugging Dick forward, against Slade’s chest. Dick lets himself relax, tilting his head up to nuzzle against the older man’s throat.

“I hate this.”

“I know,” Slade murmurs.

Dick can feel the vibration of it through Slade’s broad chest and it stirs something in his gut. When Slade presses a kiss against Dick’s temple, Dick turns his face into it, slipping his tongue out almost immediately to run it over the seam of Slade’s mouth. The older man opens himself up to Dick with a groan. Warm hands slide up Dick’s side as he twists to straddle Slade’s lap, tunneling his own hands through Slade’s white hair. The solid weight of Slade between his thighs always does something to him. It’s why they almost always end up fucking after sparring.

“Dickie,” Slade breathes, dropping a wet kiss to the curve of Dick’s collarbone.

Dick shivers, tilting his head back to allow Slade’s mouth access to the span of his throat. Lets out a soft little moan as Slade nips at the skin beneath his jaw and-

The door opens.

It’s quiet, but neither Slade nor Dick got where they are without developing an obsessive awareness of their surroundings. The soft sound of the door gliding across the thick cream carpet might as well be a shout. Beneath Dick, Slade stiffens. Dick is already sliding off of his lap, twisting to face the intruder. He isn’t concerned, particularly, because he knows who’s going to be standing in the doorway before he even turns around. If they were dangerous, they wouldn’t have just waltzed through the door.

Still, he is a little annoyed at being interrupted. Jay hadn’t even knocked. If he’d walked in just a little bit later, he might have got an eyeful.

“What do you want?” Slade grunts, low and dangerous.

It’s difficult to see the kid’s face in just the dim light of the bedside lamp, but Dick sees him stiffen. Can see that he’s trembling even though half of him is still hidden behind the door. It’s obvious that the kid is frightened. Dick frowns. Did he have a nightmare? It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was unsettled, but Dick finds it hard to believe that the kid would come to Deathstroke and Renegade - practical strangers beyond the knowledge that they're going to train him to fight - with this sort of vulnerability. Is twelve too old to be crawling into someone else’s bed? Dick stopped being able to seek comfort like that when his parents died - long before that age - and he hadn’t been able to again until Slade had first taken him to bed, well after he’d reached adulthood.

Jay doesn’t answer but he does step into the room, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He hesitates for a moment, shuffling his feet, his hands twisting in the material of his shirt, until Slade growls and he startles, covering the rest of the distance to the bed in a few quick steps.

“Jay,” Dick tries, bemused. “What are you doing?”

Because the kid is pulling his pyjama top up over his head, discarding it carelessly on the floor as he clambers up onto the bed. Dick gets a brief look at the determined set of the kid’s jaw before he’s crawling into Dick’s lap. One hand settles on Dick’s blanket-covered thigh. The other clutches at his shoulder as Jay leans up to press his lips against Dick’s throat.

Dick pushes the kid away automatically, instinctively. One moment, Jay is a warm, uncomfortable weight in Dick’s lap, the next he’s lying on his back at the foot of the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. Shock tingles like electricity through Dick’s veins. For a long moment, all he can do is sit there in stunned silence.

Jay doesn’t move either. Not until Slade shifts, looming up over the bed, dragging the kid upright by the arm and shaking him lightly.

“What the hell was that?”

The expression on Jay’s face as Slade pulls him to his knees is pure fear. Slade looks huge in the darkness, kneeling on the bed in only his boxers, Jay tiny in his grip. Despite knowing that Slade wouldn’t hurt him, Dick can’t stop the clutch of fear in his own chest. The kid looks so small. So easily hurt.

“What?” Jay gasps, cringing away from Slade, although he doesn’t try to pull free from his grip. “I thought…”

Slade growls. “You thought what?”

“Slade,” Dick interrupts. He can’t sit here and look at the terror on the kid’s little face any longer. Whatever Jay had been trying to accomplish - and Dick’s mind keeps stalling over that because the idea makes Dick feel sick to his stomach - manhandling him like this is not the way to respond to it. “Let him go.”

There’s another perilous moment where Slade’s grip doesn’t loosen. Where the kid stares up at him with huge, wet eyes and Dick’s heart throbs on his throat. Then Slade drops the skinny arm in his fist and the kid sinks back against the bedsheets with a scowl.

“You said you wanted double,” Jay says and his voice is tight. There’s a hint of a whine to the words, as if Dick and Slade are being unfair. “You said...I thought…”

He crosses those skinny arms over his chest. The movement draws Dick’s eyes to all the pale skin on show - the hint of ribs visible even in the semi-darkness, the jut of his collarbones, the dark bloom of bruises. If it hadn’t already been clear that the kid was lying earlier, this is all the proof they need to know he is injured.

Because the bruises are everywhere. Littered up and down his arms - and Dick swallows thickly at the knowledge that Slade has probably contributed his own there - splashed across his ribs, dotted over his throat. There are more braceleting the kid’s wrist - a matching cuff to the ones they had found earlier. Still more staining the crest of his hips, sneaking under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Dick feels suddenly, violently ill. Has to tighten his throat against the horror surging through his chest. The sheer volume of bruises is bad enough but it’s everything else they imply that has Dick’s stomach clenching painfully.

Jesus, Dick had known Roman was bad but this...this is something else.

“You thought we wanted you as payment,” he manages, squeezing the words through the tightness of his throat. They sound....odd, even to his own ears, strangely distorted.

Jay shrugs, a sharp, jerky movement, scowling so hard that moisture leaks out of the corner of his eyes - not proper tears, but on the edge of them.

Slade leans away from him and the kid flinches at the movement before going still, stiff and trembling like a rabbit under the jaws of a fox. Dick can’t even blame him - the fury on Slade’s face is frightening.

“I don’t rape children,” Slade growls. “Or anyone.”

Jay’s head jerks, his expression transforming with surprise. “It’s not -” And even in the darkness, Dick can see the kid’s face flush, red blooming across his cheeks and chest. “It’s not - “

“What isn’t it?” Dick asks, gently. Nausea claws at the base of his throat, but he manages to flatten most of it out of his voice. This is not a conversation he ever wanted to have. This is not a situation he wants to be in.

Jay’s face scrunches up again. “It’s not rape!” he shouts. Then he starts to cry.

Dick’s heart breaks. He wants to reach out so badly. Wants to pull this poor little kid into his arms and soothe away his distress, his pain. But he knows that his touch won’t be welcome. Not right now. Not considering the kid had, just moments ago, believed that Dick and Slade were going to hurt him.

Slade sits back fully on the bed, making himself smaller and less intimidating in a way that Dick remembers from his early years with the man, putting more space between them. “Why not?” he asks and it’s as gentle as Dick has ever heard him.

At first, the kid is crying too hard to answer. It hurts to listen to - huge, gasping sobs that sound as if they’re being wrenched from his chest, little whimpering cries that he muffles with his fist. Tears stream over his red cheeks, streaking all the way down his neck, over all those terrible bruises.

Then, in a small, hiccupy voice: “I owe you, for - for the -” a wet swallow “- the training. I owe you.”

“Oh Jay,” Dick whispers, at the same time as Slade growls, “You don’t owe us anything.”

The kid sniffles, scrubbing a boney, bruised wrist against his eyes. The tears don’t stop, still leaking steadily down his face.

“Is that what Roman told you?” Dick asks, swallowing against his revulsion. “That you owe him for taking you in? That it makes it OK for him to touch you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me.” Jay’s voice is still small and wet, but there’s an edge to it too. Dick cant tell who he’s angry at - Dick, Roman, himself, the world. “Nobody does shit for free and I ain’t got anything else to give him. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to go with him. I’d be - I’d be doing worse on the street.”

Somehow that doesn’t make Dick feel much better. Somehow, knowing that a twelve-year-old had been forced to make the decision between Roman Sionis and starving to death on the street, only makes Dick feel sicker.

“Get that shit out of your head,” Slade says, gruffly. Dick can tell he’s as disturbed as he is, despite all the shit Deathstroke has seen as part of the job. “You don’t owe anyone anything, OK kid. Not us and especially not Roman. Your pedo boss owes me a lot of money and I owe him a bullet in the head.”

Jay flinches at that but he falls silent, barely even sniffling. He scrubs at his face again. Stares at the blanket with wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dick tells him. Then, taking a risk, he brushes the back of his hand across the kid’s wet cheek. Jay doesn’t pull away - in fact, he leans into the contact, his eyelashes fluttering, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Go back to bed kid,” Slade says. “Forget this happened.”

Jay bites his lip, looks between the two of them quickly, like he’s looking for something, before sliding off the bed. He hesitates at the door. “It’s Jason,” he says, softly. “My name’s Jason.”

Dick’s heart hurts.

⁂

Jason stays with them for longer than anyone has before. It’s not that the kid is a slow learner or a bad fighter or anything like that. Jason is actually good at the training. He’s smart and eager to please, young enough to absorb correction but with a solid enough foundation that they aren’t starting entirely from scratch. Usually he would have been out of there in a few weeks - a month at most - but Jason has been with Deathstroke for over two months now and it’s getting harder to justify why.

The thing is, Dick doesn’t want to give him back. Not to Roman. Not to the life he knows is waiting for the poor kid. Dick couldn’t justify allowing that to happen to any child, but Jason - he’s grown on Dick in the time he’s been with them. Dick likes him. Yeah, he can be a brat, annoying and mouthy and rude. Yeah, he can throw tantrums, kick and scream and yell (although only with Dick, never with Slade, he notices). But the kid can also be painfully sweet. In his spare time, he likes to read. So ferociously that he’s gotten through a good portion of Slade’s library. He likes to cook too. Likes, most of all, to follow Dick around like a little puppy or an imprinted duckling. Slade too, sometimes, when he’s feeling brave enough.

It’s clear that the kid still doesn’t trust them. Not fully. He never initiates contact with them unless it’s required for training. He still flinches at sudden movements, cringes and cowers if he thinks they’re angry at him or he’s done something wrong. Dick can’t imagine him ever asking for a hug or wanting to hold their hands. But he’s still a kid. A sweet, sad, traumatised little kid. And Dick can’t stop the slow, creeping knowledge that he’s starting to think of Jason as his.

“Will you read to me?” Jason asks, one night, crawling up onto the sofa Dick had been lounging across. When Dick sits up a little, the kid slots himself against Dick’s side, offering up the book for him to take and Dick is frozen for a moment by the shock of the contact.

“Sure,” he says, taking the book with one arm, letting the other one rest across the back of the sofa, not confident enough to actually put it around Jason’s shoulders like he really wants.

Jason falls asleep like that, curled against Dick’s side, Dick’s voice slow and steady as he reads.

After that, Jason seems noticeably less frightened. As if it was some sort of test that Dick managed to pass. It’s not as though he’s suddenly touchy-feely with them, but there’s a tangible easing of tension, a shifting in the atmosphere between them. Dick thinks, sometimes, that he could get away with a hug, if he caught Jason in just the right mood for one.

Only, it’s Slade who actually gets to hug him, in the end.

They’re working through pins and how to escape them - something that they’ve already gone over with Jason plenty of times - when it happens. During training, Jason never begrudges them the physical contact they need. He never flinches from the blows they throw at him either, even though sometimes he can be startled just by a sharp movement of Dick’s hand when they’re outside of the dojo. It’s the control, Dick thinks, even as it makes his chest throb a little, that makes the difference. If Jason knows it’s coming, he can prepare for it.

But this time when Slade pins him down, Jason goes stiff and silent. Slade sustains the hold for a minute, waiting for Jason to make his move, to pull himself out of whatever panic he’s suddenly sunk into, but the kid doesn’t surface. Even from across the dojo, Dick can hear his rough, panting breaths. The edge of fear in them.

“You alright, kid?” Slade asks, pulling away from Jason with careful movements. Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. With Slade no longer on top of him, DIck can see the kid’s face, the slackness of his expression, the way he’s staring blankly up at the ceiling without really seeing it. Dick’s stomach drops.

“Kid?” Slade reaches forward, as if he wants to grab Jason - to shake him maybe. Jason twitches at the movement, blinking rapidly as he seems to come back to himself. Dick watches his eyes flicker. Then his whole face crumples out of that scary blankness into something agonised. He looks terribly, awfully young,

“I don’t want to go back,” Jason whispers. The words hitch, like he’s trying not to cry, breathed out on a shaky exhale.

Dick watches Slade’s face soften. Feels his own crumple to match Jason’s as devastation blooms, hot, behind his ribs. Then Slade is reaching out with one muscular arm, pulling Jason up against his chest. Surprisingly, Jason lets him, limp and pliant in Slade’s grip.

“I know, kid,” Slade growls. He lifts one hand to tuck Jason’s face against his neck, settling himself cross-legged on the floor and shifting Jason around until he’s held more firmly in his lap. Jason sniffles, one little hand reaching up to fist in the material of Slade’s shirt. It’s a surprisingly paternal gesture from Slade. Dick isn’t sure if he can remember the last time Slade was so soft with someone beyond the confines of their bedroom. Isn’t sure if he can even remember Slade hugging him back when he was a kid and the man had been everything to Dick. He must have done, at some point. Dick has always been clingy.

Either way, it touches something deep in Dick’s chest to see the man he loves embracing the kid so gently. Slade’s soft side is something rarely seen, but treasured. And seeing Jason accept comfort like this is a rarity too. One that Dick wants more of.

“Do you think we’re going to let you?” Slade asks, rubbing his bristly chin over the top of Jason’s head. “Knowing what that bastard’s done? Do you think we’ll let you go back to him?”

Jason shrugs jerkily, sharp little shoulders shifting in Slade’s grip. He’s started to fill out in the time he’s been here - building up muscle where before there was just skin and bones - but the kid is still too skinny.

“Where else would I go?” he asks, voice small and wet. “I- I’m Roman’s.”

Slade growls. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself kid.”

“And you’ve got us,” Dick adds, moving across the room to crouch beside them, not content to be left out of the moment any longer. Jason twists to blink up at him with wet eyes, peering out from where he’s pressed against Slade’s neck. “You can stay here as long as you need to, Jason.”

Dick lifts his chin to meet Slade’s gaze as he says that, daring him to disagree. It’s not that Dick expects him to hand the kid off to Roman, but offering him a permanent place here is something they haven’t discussed. Dick is stepping wildly out of bounds with that declaration. But Slade doesn’t seem annoyed. The skin around his eye crinkles with something that might be affection as he steadily meets Dick’s gaze, as if Dick has done something particularly cute.

“I can’t,” Jason whispers, dropping his eyes down to where Slade’s thick arm is curled around him. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Dick says, just as softly. “I won’t let Black Mask take you back, Jason.”

It will be the end of this lucrative little agreement between them, but they’ve never really needed the money. And Dick has never liked Roman. This is no loss to him. If the alternative is sending Jason back to the man who raped and abused him, well….

Dick isn’t going to let that happen.

⁂

“You can’t be serious?”

Slade shifts, looming menacingly over Roman, despite being several feet away from him. In his full armour, Slade always looks enormous. In his fancy little suit, Roman looks a little like a child playing dress-up beside him.

“Deadly.”

“What?” Roman sneers, clearly wrong-footed but trying to claw back control, “You train him up and now you want your own little assassin?” His eyes slide to Dick, cold and cruel. “The old model isn’t good enough for you, anymore?”

“My motivations are none of your concern, Roman,” Slade growls. “I’ll waive payment.”

It’s hard to read Roman’s expressions behind that eponymous mask, but Dick can see the tension in his body. The way his muscles bunch, as if he’s considering actually attacking Slade - as if the mobster could go against Deathstroke and Renegade on their own turf and actually have a chance of winning. Roman has his body guard, of course, and probably a good number of guns on his person, but he’s never going to beat Slade. Especially not with Dick as backup. Not that Slade would need it.

“That kid is mine,” Roman snarls. “I dragged the little slut off the street and gave him everything. If you want your own little whore because the old one got too big for you, fine. But you’re not getting this one.”

Slade moves almost before Roman has finished speaking, drawing his katana in one fluid movement to press it threateningly against Roman’s unprotected throat. The mobster’s arms jerk, as if he means to grab for his gun, or maybe push Slade away from him, but Deathstroke is a solid mass on top of him, immovable.

“Don’t try my patience Mask. I should take your head off for what you did to that kid. Whatever our dealings in the past, I don’t take kindly to rapists.” The blade of his sword presses a little harder into Roman’s throat. Hard enough to draw a little trickle of blood when Roman swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously under the threat. “Even less kindly to pedophiles.”

Roman sneers again - or maybe that’s just the only expression he can pull, with a face like that. “That’s rich coming from you. Everyone knows you’ve been fucking that one since you took him in.”

Slade snarls like an angry dog. The muscles of his arm tense and Dick sees exactly what’s about to happen a moment before it does.

Roman’s head hits the ground with a dull thud before anyone can react - not Dick or the useless body guard. Blood sprays up into the air in a thick wet swathe. It soaks Slade, his hair, his beard, drenching the front of the armour. The bodyguard takes one look at him and turns tail. Slade doesn’t bother chasing him. Neither does Dick.

“Did you have to?” Dick asks. But he can’t find it in himself to be too disapproving. Just thinking about the bruises Jason had quells almost all of his ire. It’ll be a pain to clean this up - both the physical mess and the political one that’s going to follow this move. Still, Dick can’t find it in himself to care.

Slade shrugs, an effortless movement of his muscled shoulders. “Now he’ll never touch another kid again. Don’t tell me you’re not happy about that.”

Dick shrugs too. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips that he can’t stop. The knowledge that Roman will never touch another kid - never touch Jason - again makes him so happy he’s almost dizzy with it.

“You’d best clean up before we tell Jason what happened.”

“Why?” And Dick kind of wants to kiss the smirk right off Slade’s face. “He’s going to have to get used to a bit of blood. He’s part of the family now.”

Family. Dick can’t stop grinning. He likes the sound of that.

#sladerobinweekend2020 #sladerobinweek #Day 2: Accidental Co-Parenting #DC #Batman #Slade Wilson #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #sladedick #sladerobin #my writing #fanfiction #violence tw #child abuse tw #rape tw #blood tw #Please check the warnings guys

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years

Text

5K Contest 1st Prize

For @c-taylor-wanna-be-a-glader (sorry for the wait, but thanks for being so patient! :D):

Fandoms: Teen Wolf & Star Wars

Gender to be shipped with: Male

Name: Taylor

Description: Tan skin, hazel eyes. Very long, dark brown, curly hair. I dress pretty casually, t-shirts, flannel shirts, sweaters, jeans. I'm a total geek, and proud of it! I'm fiercely protective of those I love. I'm a very deep person with a good sense of humor. Generally quiet and soft-spoken, but I also have this Chris Evans kind of laugh, and I do it all the time! I'm told I'm extremely happy and optimistic, but in reality I'm a worrier. And I'm a people-pleaser, which constantly gets me in over my head. I love being outdoors, sports, cooking, music and singing, photography, animals, fandoms, drawing, and graphic design.

TEEN WOLF

Lover: Stiles (you’re also a lot like Catori, Taylor!). You and Stiles are so alike that you agree in almost everything. You personalities click together perfectly, you have similar senses of humor (even if yours is a bit more pure and his is straight up sarcastic) and he’s so in love with you. He’s always there for you when you overthink and he’s up to do anything with you, he doesn’t care as long as you’re together.

Best friend: Scott. While Stiles is closer to you, it’s Scott who has the same view of the world, the one that believes in kindness and in people and the one who prefers to see the silver linings and the good things in life, the small things. That’s why you’re best friends, there’s a different connection than the one you have with Stiles.

Enemy: Derek. Not that you really hate each other, but he’s the one you clash with the most. Maybe because of your bubbly personality and his kind of pesimistic view of the world. But you can still tell he cares about you anyway.

Other characters: You and Lydia have your moments, most times you get along but you tend to disagree in many things. Liam gets along with you really well, and so does Mason and Kira, even if you’re not extremely close with any of them. Allison is your second best friend after Scott, and you do girly things together but also talking about serious things and help each other out.

Drabbles

Stiles

Waiting in the hall was the worst, you wished you didn’t have a free period to fill. Honestly, it made you want to go home and forget about the rest of the day’s classes.

A guy was looking you from time to time, standing in front of you and leaning his back against the lockers just like you were. You stared back, wondering where his interest came from.

“Cool shirt” He mumbled, a friendly compliment.

“Thanks!” You looked down to it in an instinct. “I love my Batman t-shirt”

The boy grinned to himself and walked a few steps closer to you, crossing his arms over his chest just to uncross them again and fidget around.

“He probably likes bananas, right?” He showed you a goofy face. “Na na na na Batman?”

You let out a genuine guffaw of laughter, definitely not expecting such a silly and absurd joke. Growing self-conscious of your loud laughter, however, you covered your mouth with your hands to suffocate the noise. But he was just smiling.

“Sorry, bad joke” He awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “I just like your shirt, that’s all, forget about the rest”

“No, it was funny!” You encouraged him, smiling widely. A smile of its own appeared on his lips.

“I don’t think we’ve met” The grin never left his lips even as he spoke. “I’m Stiles”

“I’m Taylor” You realized he was offering you a hand, so you shook it.

“You have a terrible sense of humor, Taylor” He winked at you. “As bad as mine”

Scott

You took too long drawing to pass the time, and now you had to rush for class. In your hurry, you completely missed the boy standing in the middle of the hallway. He was facing his back to you and even if he turned around when he heard you, it was too late. None of you were fast enough to avoid the collision.

Both of you fell to the ground, papers flying by in the air as you stopped clutching the folder in your arms.

“Sorry!” You picked yourself up and gathered your notes back. “I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry” He smiled at you and helped you pick up your papers. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah” You heaved a sigh. “I’m just late, can you tell me the time?”

The boy took a quick glance at his wristwatch and grimaced in anticipation to your response.

“It’s... twenty past”

“Damn it... It’s so late, I might as well skip it...”

“At least it’s the last class, right?” He showed you a friendly smile that made you feel a little better.

You nodded, clumsily fixing your hair, giving up on arriving to class. When you heard the boy chuckle, though, you looked up at him.

“We can hang out for a while, at least until you catch your breath”

“Sure” You grinned too, realizing you were almost gasping for air. “I’m Taylor”

“I’m Scott” His kind smile lingered on his lips. “I think we’ve seen each other around in class”

Derek

The situation was tense, and didn’t look too bright. Looking at your friends, you could see the concern and anguish in their faces. Except for Derek’s, you should have known by how people spoke of him. It was the first time you were around each other, but you could tell he was keeping calm.

“We’re screwed” Stiles muttered in annoyance.

“There must be a way to defend ourselves from the other pack...” Scott said, apparently thinking aloud.

“L-Let’s think positive” You bashfully noted, feeling a bit out of place since you weren’t used to any of that yet. “There’s got to be a good side to this”

“No offence, kid” Derek glanced at you for the first time. “But you’re not helping, there’s no good side about this”

“But...” You pouted, looking at your boyfriend Stiles, who in turn stared at Derek.

“Another pack of werewolves declared war on us, how is that good?”

Immediately, you could tell he didn’t like you. Maybe you were too energetic and optimistic for his like and you were far too different to get along, at least for now.

STAR WARS

Lover: Luke. There’s something special about you two, maybe because you grew up together and you knew each other so well that it was inevitable. But you understand each other like no one else does, you relate to one another and can almost see in each other’s souls and minds. There’s just a unique bond between you and him and you care deeply about one another.

Best friend: Rey. At first you didn’t quite get along because she was a bit distant, but in time you grew closer. You realized you were a bit similar and she saw how kind and cheerful you are and you were suddenly making jokes here and there and you both saw that you trusted each other.

Enemy: Han. It’s not that you’re actually enemies? But you just don’t get along, that’s all. Maybe it’s because your personalities are incompatible and even if you get along a bit better you’re just not friends yet. You notice Han makes an effort for you to like him and makes jokes and all, but you can’t quite bring yourself to be friends with him even if you grew to like him and even if you actually trust him.

Other characters: Poe likes you a lot! You’re kind, funny, smart and bubbly and he loves your energy, so he’s pretty nice and playful to you. Finn is a close friend to you, and you’re always chatting and also trust each other a lot, going to the other for advice when you need it. You and Leia aren’t extremely close, but you have lots of fun whenever you’re together and understand the other really really well. Chewie is your friend also, because even though you don’t speak Wookie you feel like you almost do, like you can understand him even when he isn’t speaking.

Drabbles

Luke

You smiled as you saw Luke making his way to you, holding something in his hand. Maybe it was the part you had been wanting for weeks, the one missing to finish your droid! He found it!

“I can’t believe it!” You jumped up and down as he approached you. “Really?”

Luke reciprocated your smile and handed something to you. The missing part.

“Here you go, Tay”

“You’re the best, Luke!” You took it from him and observed it, feeling him staring fondly.

Both living in Tatooine, you two grew up together. To the point that it was so long ago that you barely even remembered how you became friends. And when certain... feelings arised. Truth was, you thought differently about him now.

You often wondered if he did too, seeing as he bothered to look for something you really wanted and spent so long until he finally found it. Just to make you happy.

“Thank you so much!” You threw yourself to hug him, making him chuckle happily as he hugged you too.

Too excited to contain yourself, you kissed him in the cheek as you broke away. You worried that you went too far, but Luke was smiling. Even if he was blushing too.

Rey

You thought it was just another monotonous and hopeless day at Jakku, but you saw something that lightened you up in your apathetic mood. Being stuck there wasn’t fun, and you only ever saw how selfish and cruel people could be. So when you saw that girl refusing to sell that droid even for the food she obviously needed, it made your heart sing with hope.

You stood up from your shade, brushing the sand off yourself, and approached her. The girl seemed a bit moody as her orange and white droid friend followed her, yet not regretful.

“Hey, I would have done the same thing” You told her, admiring her kindness and selflessness.

“What?” She was surelly surprised that a complete stranger was talking to her, and confused as to what you were talking about.

“You can maybe get food another way” You said, letting her know you saw everything. “But people, and especially friends, are irreplaceble”

The girl looked down to her droid friend, which beeped in response, and then back to you as her brown eyes locked with yours.

“Funny, I think everyone else would call me crazy for doing that” She frowned, seizing you as she stared.

“Not me, that’s for sure” You extended a hand to her, dedicating her a bright smile. “I’m Taylor”

“Rey” She shook your hand and nodded her head to the droid. “That’s BB8″

That smile lingering in your lips, you nodded at your new friends.

“Pleased to meet you both”

Han

You were finally going to meet the famous Han Solo. After hearing so many stories from Luke and once you convinced him to take him with you in his adventures, you met Leia. And now you were about to be introduced to Han, someone you were extremely curious about.

Honestly, you didn’t know what to think of him. Judging by what your friends told you about him, he was cheeky and arrogant and cunning. The only reason you were okayish with him was because your friends trusted him and apparently he had their backs. Not that you were convinced about him still.

As soon as you walked into the ship, a confident looking man wearing a vest approached you, bearing a self-satisfied smirk.

“Hi there” He offered you a hand. “I’m Han, you must be Taylor”

“Yeah” Warily, you shook his hand, not wanting to be rude.

“Luke never mentioned how beautiful you are” The smirk never left his face as he nonchalantly shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “Guess he wants to keep you all for himself”

“Excuse me?” You frowned, wondering what he was on about and why he was flirting with you even though he had just met you. He was giving you a terrible first impression.

“It’s a joke” He said, holding his hands up. “To break the ice?”

“Aha...” You awkwardly said, navigating the ship to reunite with your boyfriend Luke.

“Well, that happened” You heard Han saying behind you, realizing he made you slightly uncomfortable.

#contest prize #5k contest #teen wolf #tw #star wars #sw

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divine-daenerys · 6 years

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GoT viewers double standards when it comes to Daenerys Targaryen

So I’ve been watching a whole lot of Game of Thrones reaction videos and reading the comments on them and whatnot, and all this Daenerys is cruel/turning into the Mad Queen/unfit ruler bullshit that I find wherever I look is really getting on my nerves.

So, to get this irritation off my chest and to point out just how hypocritical this fandom can be, let’s draw some comparisons between Daenerys’ actions that bring her scorn and similar actions by other characters that are either rewarded or ignored. Do keep in mind this is not meant to bash any other characters, simply to point out the hypocrisy of some of the people who watch this show.

On using fire in battle-

Tyrion uses wildfire in the battle of Blackwater bay to attack Stannis’ fleet, said wildfire kills the majority of people on those ships including Ser Davos’ son(s), yet he’s praised by the fandom for his great thinking and strategizing.

Daenerys uses Drogon in battle against the Lannisters in season seven, doesn’t use Drogon to burn the entire line the Lannister soldiers formed to avoid killing more people than necessary although she could have done that and cut her Dothraki losses by more than half, yet the response is overwhelmingly negative, calling her a mad queen for utilizing a weapon available to her.

On poetic justice-

Cersei kills Elleria Sand’s daughter the same way she killed her own daughter, keeping them in the dungeons together so Elleria can watch her daughter rot for the rest of her life. Everyone views this as justice and cheers on Cersei for her actions (including me, I liked the sand snakes but that was a great scene).

Daenerys crucifies the Masters in Mereen, just as they crucified 163 slave children, to show them their cruelty would not be tolerated under her rule. She then grants their families permission to take them down and bury them properly, a courtesy those children did not have.

On taking responsibility for children’s actions-

Joffrey was a terrible cunt, he tortured animals, whores, Sansa, and anyone else who bothered him. He was cruel and entitled and an all around terrible human being, tormenting all those around him, yet his actions were never punished or even reprimanded by Cersei.

For lack of better comparison (even though Drogon is my precious baby), Daenerys compensated all farmers who lost animals to Drogon’s fire three times their losses, and the moment a child’s corpse was laid at her feet she locked the dragons away in fear that they would harm another innocent, regardless of the pain it caused her and the rift it put in their relationship.

On using fire as an execution method-

Stannis burned people alive both as a method of execution (e.g: Mance Rayder) and as a sacrifice to R’hllor (e.g: his own daughter!!), yet until Shireen nobody truly gave a fuck that many died at the stake by his and Milessandre’s hands. Also a friendly reminder that being burned at the stake is one of the most painful ways to die, considering the fire slowly works its way up a person’s body, making them feel the prolonged torture, rather than engulf them completely the way dragon fire does, which as the dragons got bigger killed people in seconds.

Daenerys uses fire on the Tarlys and on a Master in Mereen, and she’s immediately compared to the mad king and given shit by the viewers. Do keep in mind the Mad King burned people for entertainment and laughed as they burned, while anyone with eyes and ears can see that Daenerys doesn’t enjoy doing it.

On betrayal-

While we’re on the topic of the Tarlys, remember Roose Bolton? Remember how much people raged when he betrayed Robb? When the lord of a house swears his vows, his vow is first to their Liege lord/house, then to the crown. The Boltons were sworn to House Stark, they betrayed House Stark, they took Winterfell, and they participated in the death of their liege/king in the north. People raged and hated the Boltons for their betrayal, and frankly, nobody really gave a fuck when Roose Bolton was killed by Ramsay, or they were happy he finally died.

Now, House Tarly was sworn to House Tyrell, they betrayed House Tyrell, they took Highgarden, and they participated in the death of the last of that house, Olenna, sound familiar? They were then executed for treason by Daenerys, and the fandom went batshit crazy calling Daenerys mad and impulsive.

On allegiances-

While we’re on the topic of that damn execution, people gave Daenerys shit because the people who bent the knee after the battle were doing so out of fear, thus she must be a bad queen. This is of course completely forgetting the slaves she freed, the unsullied, and the Dothraki, who all follow her out of respect and love.

Cersei is followed purely because she is feared. Everybody hates her, yet with the propaganda she spread about Daenerys, the people somehow see her as the lesser of two evils (yeah, right). There’s no need to wake the old debate of whether it is best for a ruler to be feared or loved.

On demanding Jon to bend the knee-

Daenerys has worked since Khal Drogo’s death towards taking the seven kingdoms, she took cities and freed slaves and tried to do good on her way while also practicing to eventually rule from the Iron Throne. She finally gets to Westeros, and a man she doesn’t know comes in claiming that monsters that were thought to be fairy tales up until this point are real, telling her he needs the armies she worked hard to gain, the dragons she loves more than life itself, and needs her to turn away from her lifelong goal, while providing no proof of the threat’s existence and refusing to pledge allegiance to her. We all knew Jon was telling the truth, but she didn’t, and she had no reason to believe him either. Now, with all that in mind, is it really so hard to understand why she refused him? And considering he was asking for her life’s work, isn’t it common sense that she would demand his loyalty? She would be sending her people to die in a war for him, it’s not unreasonable for her to ask him to bend the knee in return. She did what she could with what he was giving her, she allowed him to mine the Dragonglass and provided the supplies and men he needed to do so, even though she didn’t have to do that.

On attacking King’s Landing-

Daenerys refused to attack king’s landing once she arrived in Westeros because she didn’t want unnecessary death, because she didn’t want to harm the small folk who have already suffered through enough wars. Yes, she lost her temper at Tyrion and almost attacked KL, but she listened to council and attacked the enemy army instead.

Meanwhile, Cersei blew up a sept full of people with wildfire, the damage to the sept likely killing thousands around it as well, and smiled as she watched it burn. Who also tended to smile while watching wildfire burn things? Oh yeah, the mad king.

Honestly, I could go on forever with those comparisons but my fingers are cramping. So, Daenerys is not a mad queen. She is not cruel, she is not emotionless, and she’s the best chance Westeros has. She does not torture and kill people for entertainment (her initial refusal to reopen the fighting pits and clear disgust when she did), she always attempts to motivate and inspire people to join her willingly before resorting to violence, she cares deeply for those around her (her anger when Ser Barristan was killed, her immediate switch in attitude when that Second Sons leader threatened Missandei, her tears when she found out Ser Jorah had greyscale, despite his initial treachery).

Yes, she’s had disagreements with her council, but what ruler hasn’t? That happens because she made an effort to surround herself with people who would tell her if they thought she wasn’t doing the right thing, instead of surrounding herself with people who listen to her every whim regardless of the harm it may cause. That alone makes her better than most of the kings and queens Westeros has had.

Thank you for coming to my very frustrated TED talk🤷🏻‍♀️

#daenerys targaryen #game of thrones #rant #pro daenerys #my queen #jon snow #tyrion lannister #cersei lannister

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solivar · 6 years

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First Lessons

Originally posted June 19, 2006

Title: First Lessons Fandom: Kingdom Hearts Warnings: Rated PG14 for the vague implication of prior kinks. Particularly if you're allergic to the mere concept of Axel/Larxene. Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts and all characters related thereto are the product of SquareEnixDisneyBuenaPixar. If you think I'm making money off this, you need your med levels checked. Author's Notes: Third in a series of ficlets about firsts.

Roxas possessed a perfectly sane and rational distrust of the Organization and the freaks that populated it. Axel couldn’t blame him and, in fact, shared the Key of Destiny’s general attitude toward the majority of their colleagues. He’d had longer to know them, after all. Unfortunately, Roxas tended to lump him into the not-to-be-trusted pile except under very specific circumstances. In a fight, he was trustworthy. Roxas, once he learned that lesson, never questioned it again. The Key of Destiny gave him his back without hesitation when violence needed to be done, when destruction needed to be wrought, when a small army or two of Heartless seemed too big a bite to take on his own. Otherwise? Not so much. No, Axel couldn’t really blame him. But he also discovered, inside himself, the need, the persistent, damnable need, to not be looked at that way. To be trusted completely and to be worthy of that trust. It was the damnedest thing he’d ever experienced to that hour, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a form of…not satisfaction, exactly, but something very like it, that depended entirely on someone else’s acceptance, something he couldn’t control only effect. And it was making him crazy. Crazier, even. Roxas legitimately didn’t have a lot of free time on his hands. The Superior kept him busy, running here, killing that, as though he were afraid the Key of Destiny might suddenly evaporate and take his irreplaceable talents with him. (Or at least Axel assumed them to be largely irreplaceable. Keyblade-wielding teenagers weren’t exactly crawling out of the faintly luminous paneling, after all.) On the rare occasions that he wasn’t feeding the Heart, Roxas tended to haunt the halls of Castle Oblivion, particularly wherever the library happened to be at any given time. He seemed to navigate Oblivion’s constantly shifting internal landscape with greater ease than most, or at least better than anyone who didn’t enjoy Marluxia’s particular favor. Unless it was to receive orders or possibly to rest, he didn’t usually loiter in the World That Never Was, which made attempting to ambush him someplace he returned to regularly a pain in the ass. Axel didn’t enjoy Marluxia’s favor in any way, shape, or form and occasionally went out of his way to avoid obtaining it. Consequently, the halls of Castle Oblivion rendered him no assistance whatsoever and frequently went out of their way to thwart him in his self-assigned mission. If Marluxia hadn’t already been on Axel’s ‘kill sometime in the nearish future’ list, that little fact would have landed him there, if for no other reason than the fact that it forced him to swallow his pride and go to Larxene for help. “Oh, dear.” Larxene smiled, the expression Axel imagined gracing an immediately post-coital female praying mantis. “You’re so going to pay for this, you realize?” He’d actually caught her outside Castle Oblivion, coming from the Castle That Never Was, and executed a flawless pounce and grab at the entrance to a suitably dark alley. She put up a token struggle that involved a lot of indignant squeaking and two painful but nonlethal stab wounds. “What, I haven’t paid enough already?” “Consider that money down.” She licked her knives clean and flicked them away, extracting the object of his request from her sleeve as she did so. “I really shouldn’t give this to you, you know. It’d be so much more entertaining to make you go crawling to Marluxia…” Axel stripped off his gloves and ran his fingertips through the blood she’d drawn; her eyes followed their progress. “You know that would never happen, no matter how desperate I am.” He curled his fingers in, painted his palm in his own blood, watched a little shiver run through her. “Do you really want me to beg, my maiden of pain?” She wet her lips with a tongue still stained faintly crimson. “I’ll settle for asking nicely.” He pressed her against the alley wall and the last of the space from between their bodies, bent and murmured against her ear, “May I please have my library card back?” Larxene flushed from somewhere below the neck of her robe to the roots of her fine blonde hair and handed it over; he made sure to trace his fingers over hers as she did so. “One day, you’ll have to tell me what he did to make you hate him so much.” “I don’t hate him, Larxene.” He stepped back, opened a Door. “I couldn’t if wanted to. I just don’t care if he lives or dies.” Not entirely true, but close enough to satisfy Larxene. Axel took to haunting the library when he wasn’t otherwise engaged and, eventually, his patience was rewarded. “Dare I ask what you’re looking for?” Roxas didn’t even have the common decency to look surprised when Axel manifested out of thin air at his side, though he did get a sidelong Glare of Death for his troubles. After a moment, he also got a grudging answer. “Something familiar.” “You won’t find that here.” That earned a full-on Icy Look of Extremely Imminent Pain. “Trust me on this one.” “You don’t ask for much, do you.” Even when the Key of Destiny was asking a question, he sounded as though he were delivering a statement, almost as though he didn’t recall the manifold uses of tone and inflection. He might not. “In this case? No.” Axel dug around for a moment inside his robe, and came up with what he was looking for. “Catch.” Roxas’ swordsman reflexes snatched the object out of mid-air and he examined it with an actual expression. Confusion. It was a bottle, blue glass full of air bubbles, half-full of sand and tiny pebbles and bits of seashell, sealed with a cork. He opened it, and a salty tang filled the air between them. He looked up, blue-blue eyes full of questions. “You won’t find what you’re looking for here,” Axel informed him quietly, “because this place, in its own way, is even less real than we are. Books, walls, corridors, furniture – everything here – might be physical, might feel and look and smell real enough, but that’s because Marluxia lets you feel it. His will permits you to find what you’re expecting to find, or what you might happen to be looking for or not, as he sees fit. And if he doesn’t see fit, all you’ll find are lies.” Those eyes narrowed as the implications stole over him. “I suppose I should thank you.” Axel shrugged, and found the unpleasantly cold and sharp edge of that dark Keyblade resting against his neck, flat against his should, before he finished the gesture. Faster than he could blink. A smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Why?” A real question, at last. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you even – “ He stopped, a flicker of something crossed his face, and held what he’d been about to say. An honest question deserved an honest answer, or at least the facsimile of one. “At first? I was ordered to find you, the unspoken implication being that I should keep you out of trouble. Now?” He let the smile stretch into a real grin, one that reached up into his eyes. “It’s more fun getting into trouble with you than trying to get in your way.” The normally rock-steady hand holding that blade wavered, just enough to trace a razor-thin line across the skin it rested on. “Trust you, hm?” “You have to trust a body, even a Nobody, some time.” He let the grin slide away, rested the back of one gloved hand against the flat of the Keyblade, pushed once, gently. “Roxas. If you won’t trust me, at least pretend to believe me a little.” A sigh. The Key of Destiny’s hand fell back to his side, empty, and Axel took the opportunity to work some warmth back into his cold-numbed shoulder. “I…” Roxas began. Stopped. Began again, more quietly, so Axel had to step closer to hear him. “It…doesn’t feel right. To be alone.” He looked up, a quick searching glance, and then back at the bottle in his hand. “I don’t know why.” “’Why’ we can work on.” Axel replied, in the same low tone. “If you want.” “I think I’d…like that.” A smile came and went, so fast Axel almost thought he’d imagined it, until Roxas looked up with the brilliance of it still lingering in his eyes. “What’s this for?” Axel caught his breath and covered it with a flash-grin of his own. “Something to remember our first real time together. A memento.” “Oh, like I’d forget that.” The bottle disappeared inside his robe, nonetheless. “Ten thousand Heartless and you.” “You might be surprised. Come on – any minute now I’ll overstay my welcome, Marluxia will yank my library card again, and we’ll spend the rest of the night on a scenic tour of Castle Oblivion’s many fine broom closets. Middens. Abattoirs. I’m sure he’s got an oubliette in here, somewhere, that’s just the sort of thing he’d go for.” He rested a hand in the small of Roxas’ back and steered him in the direction of the nearest Door. Roxas glanced over his shoulder as the Door, not leading to a broom closet, blossomed around them. “One day, you’ll have to tell my why you hate him so much.” “One day, I might.”

#vintage nagaina fic #khfic

3 notes · View notes

rinusagitora · 6 years

Text

Her hands in ours.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Shouto Todoroki, Momo Yaoyorozu, Kyouka Jirou, All Might, Class 1-A

Pairings: TodoMomoJirou, mentioned Izuchaco

Words: 4,500+

Summary: WARNINGS-- mentioned familial abuse. Momo is the definition of perfect. Everything is a mess without her. Thus, when Momo finally confesses her love to Kyouka Jirou, Shouto's entire day is screwed over.

AO3 | FFN

The uppermost echelon of heroes was nothing impressive. Maybe All Might aside, as he seemed genuinely concerned for the good of people and to Izuku. But throughout his life he was in proximity to the top five heroes with some frequency, and all he learned was that they were first and foremost human, and secondly had private lives like his father revolving around self-serving agendas.

By extension, his classmates were equally unimpressive until he met Izuku.

Izuku Midoriya, and then Momo Yaoyorozu.

He never really noticed Momo until their practical exam. She was bouncy and well-liked, if not somehow timid at the same time, but her brilliance caught his eye.

They gravitated the moment they started talking. So much so they spent their afternoons in the campus library studying together. Not necessarily as an exchange, like those study groups Momo held with the classroom-challenged, but in each other’s presence. He never really had trouble concentrating but Momo’s presence somehow exorcised the pressure Endeavor forced on him over the years. She smelled the books. The ambience of her highlighter squeaking across yet another molecular textbook was meditative, like rainfall on tin.

That was a fancy way of saying he was crushing on Momo like they were back in primary school, but he liked to keep things kind of classy.

He apparently wasn’t the only one soothed by Momo. He briefly glanced to them, Kyouka’s head laid in Momo’s lap as they read. Momo was popular and affectionate, Kyouka didn’t leave him with the same impression. He wasn’t exactly fluent in the subtle exchanges of teenage girls, but he wasn’t blind either.

But, he reasoned, he could also be jealous of their proximity. There were times flashes like film reel of Momo’s hand in his, Momo’s fingers in his hair as their noses brushed together, interrupted his focus. He found himself by Momo’s desk in the morning just to say hi. When his phone buzzed, he whipped it out with record-breaking speed and had to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling in the cases it was Momo messaging him with a cool-looking molecule or her pet gerbil.

But, again, he wasn’t fluent in girl. It could be just a friend thing. Gals being pals. That kind of thing.

His reverie was interrupted again by Kyouka stretching. “Thanks for keeping me, but I gotta go. I’ll see you later Yaomomo. Bye, Todoroki-kun.”

“Bye, Kyou-chan. See you tomorrow.” Momo’s arms slipped around Kyouka’s shoulders and they squeezed each other. “It’s icy out there. Don’t break something.”

Momo sighed as she turned back to her books. She was pretty, her dark eyes hooded as she diligently read. Her eyelashes were long, her hair was sleek and shiny in the glow cast by the LED lights above their heads. Her smile was even prettier. Momo disassociated talent from fame. She made learning pure and fun again.

“So,” Momo began, “how do you feel about Kyou-chan?”

“... she seems capable.” He frowned pensively. “Why are you asking me this out of the blue?”

Momo dropped her highlighter and cradled her face with upturned brows. “I-I’m in love with her. I want to tell her…. B-but you know me. I overthink things.”

Oh.

He appreciated Momo’s forthrightness, especially with something generally regarded as taboo such as homosexuality, but he couldn’t claim he saw it coming either.

“D-does it bother you that I like girls?” Momo asked. She almost sounded desperate, like he hadn’t come to the point where he could turn her away with ease.

“Of course not. I’m glad you found someone you like. But do you know if Jirou-san is gay?” he asked.

“She is. W-we got talking about it a couple of weeks ago. But like… just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re into every girl you see, you know. Wh-what if she’s not into me? What if I end up making the entire class feel awkward because our friendship ends on a bad note?”

“You’re kidding yourself,” he told Momo. “She was just laying in your lap. You’re a catch, and everyone knows it. If Jirou isn’t into you now, I doubt she’d be foolish enough to turn you away.”

Momo’s smiled was sweet enough it could melt glaciers. “You think so?”

He nodded earnestly.

“Todo-kun… could you come with me when I tell her then? Tomorrow morning before class? Just knowing you’ll be there will help me work up the nerve to tell Kyou-chan I’m in love with her.”

“If you’d like.”

“Todo-kun, thank you so much. I-I’ll whip up an outline when I get home and text it to you to review s-so I know I won’t come across as awkward or overzealous o-or something!”

He stuck a highlighter cap between his teeth and pulled. He was happy for his friend. Momo was talented enough to balance a love life and their busy schedule. As her friend, wasn’t he supposed to assist in her happiness?

It didn’t stop his chest from aching.

Eventually, they collected their things so they may leave. Momo hugged him like she hugged all her friends. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I appreciate what you do for me.”

His arms hesitantly wrapped around her waist, like sin. He liked her but Momo was gay. It felt a lot like goodbye. “Of course,” he croaked.

She slipped out of his arms, like sand, he watched her back disappear. He dragged his heavy feet to his mother’s hospital. That was his routine-- school, study (with Momo most recently), visit his mother, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was different that day though. He was accustomed to his father’s fists and even the hot water his mother poured on his face once upon a time. That was a hurt deeper than that, though. Rooted in his pleuris. Like abandonment.

He’d crawl into his mother’s lap like he did as a child, but she was hospitalized. Away from his father she was much better, but psychiatric wards were sterile environments. She was still very sensitive and sheltered from the outside world.

His mother smiled as he entered, leaving behind the starry-eyed folks beyond the metal door. It felt a lot like a prison in there, only with a softer bed and a tiny plant his mother tended to.

“Shouto-kun,” she cooed. “Look at you, you’re covered in snow. You must be freezing.”

“No. It’s been colder. It’s only my left side that really gets cold, anyways.” He shed his bag and speckled scarf onto the table. “How’re you feeling today, Mom?”

“Splendid. These bags are only from age, you know. It’s pretty out today. I like it when it snows.”

“I do too. I can’t stand summer,” he said.

“Neither can I! That ball of fire always pounding down from the sky, I almost say it’s pretentious,” she snort as she crossed her legs. “How’s school, darling?”

“Keeping my grades up. I’m still in the top five of my class.”

“Making friends?”

“Slowly.” It was easier tolerating people after Izuku’s reality check during the sports festival. “It’s fun watching them at least. Iida is still totally oblivious to Midoriya’s and Uraraka’s crushes on each other, but they’re oblivious to it too. Bakugou is still a pain in everyone’s ass. I’m not sure when anyone could find likable about him…. I’m functioning, though. He’s easy enough to avoid. Predictable.”

“And… and your father?”

He frowned. “... that’s the first time you’ve asked about Endeavor,” he said. “He harasses me at public gatherings, like the sports festival, but he hasn’t touched me in years. I’m fine, I swear.”

“That’s good….”

“Y-Yaoyorozu has found someone nice.” He knew where those conversations concerning his father led, he’d rather exchange more pleasant topics.

“Like a boyfriend?”

He wished.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned Momo. It made his chest hurt. “No, a girlfriend,” he replied. “Please… if you don’t like gays for whatever reason, don’t go off on a tirade. Yaoyorozu is my friend and I’d hate for things to be tense between us so early into our reunion.”

His mother smiled. “I don’t mind. Sweetheart, I glad you have friends. So long as she’s good to you I don’t mind.”

He returned her smile, though melancholic. “I-I’m supposed to be happy for but it… it hurts Mom. I wanted her to be mine.” He wiped his face. “I’m so selfish.”

His mother’s hand clasped his shoulder. “Shouto, maybe you two shouldn’t talk anymore. I can tell you care about her deeply, but when loving someone just hurts, it’s not worth it. I learned that with your father.”

Her tone juxtaposed against what he knew Momo to be, like his friend was anything comparable to his father, sounded like a load of bull. His hands balled on his knees. Momo was sweet. He couldn’t give up on her so easily, however much it hurt in the moment. Even if he couldn’t have her as a girlfriend, he couldn’t bear to be without her as a friend.

“R-right,” he said. Cue another change of topic. “A-anyways. Iida’s doing a lot good. He and his brother are coping with his brother’s paralysis. Midoriya and Uraraka are extraordinarily superb support pillars for him.”

“It’s good to know he’s doing well. It’s such a tragedy what happened to Ingenium. He was good, know you. A moral gentleman if ever met one. How’s your homework, darling?”

“I’m keeping on top of it.” Momo’s company made it easier to unwind. He hoped that was the case after that day, at least. “It’s still pretty basic stuff as of now. I know next semester will be more challenging, though. UA has a steep learning curve according to the senior students.”

“You’ll do just fine, Shouto-kun.”

He nodded. Of course. All thanks to Endeavor. Perhaps his intellectualism was his own, but his power? All thanks to his father. He was working on separating himself but it would take time. “I won’t disappoint you, Mom,” he said. “I have to go home though. It’s getting dark and I still have a lot to do. I’ll come by again tomorrow.”

“I love you.” His mother stood and collected him in a hug. He was taller than her by that point, his nose touched her hair.

“I love you too.” Even more than he loved Momo. His mother filled a hole in life, real family, despite the mistakes made. “Bye, Mom.”

Out the hospital’s front door, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A lengthy text from Momo, certainly her scripted confession to Kyouka. He wondered how Kyouka would react. Part of him hoped favorably to Momo, he couldn’t bear to see his friend heartbroken, but he also hoped Momo would change her mind. The dynamics in their class were already good. Why ruin what they had?

He wait until he got home to read Momo’s text. He locked himself in his room, his siblings cultivated without a sense of privacy apparently, and laid on his back in the dark. Momo’s script was beautiful. Not only could she create elaborate and beautiful objects, but also moving and poetic writing.

It hurt how much he envied Kyouka, like the piece shoved knives in his intercostals. He bled inside. No, he could feel each blade, driven deeper with each breath. They plugged the wounds and kept him from bleeding out. He lived his life as a punching bag but to be a pincushion was a different feeling entirely. One wrong move and those knives would slip out and he would surely gush until he was but a dry sack.

“Stupid,” he scolded himself. So stupid, so selfish, awfulawfulawful little boy! Who the hell did he fool that was enough for anyone, let alone sweet Momo? Only himself.

He complimented her nonetheless. He couldn’t ignore Momo. But he turned into his pillow, mouth agape in a soundless, agonized wail, and turned into his pillow so he may weep without his misery passing through the thin walls.

Vibration woke him. His phone buzzed madly on his sheets. As he sat up, he grimaced. Fuyumi would scold him for falling asleep in his clothes and his crusty pillowcase. But Momo was begging him to hurry to school. He replied he would be there soon. It didn’t hurt like last night-- the ceaseless throb. He was just numb that morning. It was a blur dressing and brushing his teeth and combing his hair.

But he ran that morning. He supposed Momo didn’t care if his stupid hair was smooth or not when Kyouka’s was always immaculate.

Momo was out front. She rubbed her gloved hands together with her eyebrows knit worriedly. She practically tackled him as he approached. By that time, it was like reflex to wrap himself around her.

“Thank you so much for coming, Todoroki-kun. I-I know it’s weird but just having you here helps. Can you just… w-wait behind the gate? Please?”

“Of course. I’ll be rooting you on.” And simultaneously dying inside.

Momo squeezed him. “Thank you again, Todoroki-kun.” He hummed as she slid out of his arms. “Okay, now hide! Kyou-chan will be here soon!” Momo pushed him behind the gate and he obediently let her, like a dog told to heel. And loyally he wait, leaned against the cement walls of the entrance.

“Yaomomo!” Kyouka exclaimed, followed by the weird smell of tobacco. “What the hell are you doing out here? Aren’t you freezing your fuckin’ ass off?”

“Oh my god, put that away before someone sees!” Momo hissed, followed by the sound of crunching ice as she stamped out Kyouka’s cigarette. “B-but I am cold, so I’d like to make this quick if we can.”

“Oh… kay,” Kyouka said hesitantly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m in love with you.”

What ever happened to Momo’s script?

“Oh.” Kyouka shuffled. “Well, this is embarrassing. I was kinda hoping I’d get the balls to tell you that I liked you, but this works.” Kyouka laughed abashedly. “Does… this make us an item then?”

“Yes!” Momo squealed. “Yes it does! Yesyesyes!” The pair laughed, Momo’s bubbling like a rolling boil.

He was crouched, staring at the slush and swollen salt scattered in the courtyard, his hands clasped over his mouth. Was he supposed to ache as he did? Like the knives slid out from between his ribs and blood gushed down his front? Ethically, no. Momo was his friend. His friend had a girlfriend, and he could only hurt.

He was such a selfish little boy.

Kyouka and Momo passed him hand-in-hand. Momo couldn’t see his watery eyes as she craned her head to wave at him and wave him over to them. It hurt, but he stood like she summoned, wiped his eyes, and jogged to flank the happy couple.

They still held hands when they entered the classroom. Eijirou and Denki were first to congratulate them, and Fumikage slapped Mineru to the ground before he made any particularly vulgar statement. It was almost like a celebration, seeing all of Momo and Kyouka’s friends surround them with big grins. It was like fingers gouged his open wounds.

Izuku nudged him. “H-hey, Todoroki, are you okay?” He and Ochaco loomed over him like a pair of mother hens. “You’re looking a little sick.”

“I was up late studying.” It was only half a lie. He cried for something like three hours before he managed to fall asleep. Emotionally, he was drained and marveled he had anymore to still drain out of him.

Ochaco pouted at him. “You need to sleep, Todo-kun! You won’t keep your title if you’re sleep deprived, you know! Do you need me to tuck you in?”

“Gee, thanks Mom.”

“Heya,” Kyouka waved as she and Momo approached his desk.

“Good morning, Todoroki-kun.” He wished Momo would just call him Shouto. “I-I wanted to thank you for your support. You’re basically the reason we’re together now….”

“Whoa, wait, Todoroki played matchmaker!?” Denki shrieked.

He watched in horror as his classmates devolved into renewed hysteria as if encouraging his friend to pursue her happiness was bizarre. Perhaps if they knew it was at the cost of his own chance to be with Momo, but otherwise, he was sure it was the normal thing to do.

Shouta Aizawa entered their classroom and within the blink of an eye, his classmates were in their seats and perfectly silent.

It was all a blur. His notes were messier, he could barely process a word of their lecture, his English was jumbled. Momo glanced back, brow furrowed and her thin lips dipped in a frown. He sat, hot with same, until training rolled around.

They were before the urban training ground, All Might glorious as always with his broad smile and silver-screen costume.

“Today we will be conducting another capture mission!” He presented the striped lottery boxes. “You will be sorted into teams of two and be assigned as heroes or villains. Heroes, you will be capturing a biological agent from the villains. Your goal is to both escape the compound with the agent and have apprehended both villains before your fifteen minute time limit expires. Villains, you just have to apprehend both heroes or keep them from obtaining the biological agent for fifteen minutes. Heroes, if the agent is broken, you lose. Heroes and villains will be penalized for acting on their own or causing property damage. Good luck, kids! Let’s get started!”

He and Tsuyu were the first hero team, pitted against none other than Kyouka Jirou and Eijirou.

It made him itch. It made him taste copper, like anger.

“Todoroki-san,” Tsuyu began, “we should take this time to plan our attack, kero.”

He turned from the floor plan and nodded. “Do you have anything in mind?” He made sure to ask that before he went off on his own since the practical exams. Two brains were better than one after all. It wasn’t like UA was comprised of imbeciles after all. Tsuyu was even among the exceptionally talented.

“I do, kero. This place is riddled with windows. I doubt they’ll have an agent in a room by one especially since I can climb up walls, but once we secure the agent I can just crawl out a window.”

“I can occupy and apprehend Jirou and Kirishima while you make your getaway.”

“Maybe you can secure Kirishima, but Jirou’s soundwaves can break your ice easily given the time. There’s a security system I’m sure they’re watching too. You’ll have to rush them.”

“I should apprehend Jirou first since her soundwaves will prove the greatest threat. Kirishima will be hard to get close to if I’m not careful, but I think after Jirou can’t use her soundwaves to shatter my ice, I’ll be able to apprehend him most easily.”

Tsuyu nodded. “I’ll be following behind you. Try not to freeze the walls or the ceiling so I have something to climb on without having to worry about freezing off my skin.”

He nodded, they clapped on it, and he tucked his map in his pocket.

He rushed inside, skating over the icy floor. The villain team was smartly located in one of the rooms in the center of the building, away from any windows. Eijirou rushed him. It was a brilliant strategy for Kyouka to sit back. Eijirou’s metamorphic Quirk better suited him for combat, and in case he just froze over Eijirou, Kyouka was still free to destroy his ice and put Eijirou back in the game.

He ducked under Eijirou’s elbow and skid across his ice towards Kyouka.

The plan was to apprehend her, but it hit him like a freight train. Jealousy, like copper on his tongue.

Kyouka swung at him with her sword he caught it in his frozen palm. She swore as he swiped her feet out from under her. His fiery hand caught her jacket. Kyouka cursed again and ripped off her jacket. With a stomp, he froze her, flipped over Eijirou’s charge, and landing with his left, the cool room erupted in steam with the burst of heat.

Tsuyu’s tongue rocketed from the hallway and fished the three of them out in one go, Kirishima unconscious and himself squashed face-to-face with Kyouka.

They landed on solid ground and Kyouka swung at him with a punch. “You jackass, you coulda fuckin’ killed us!” she howled. “You realize you coulda toned that the fuck down right!?”

He hopped over Kyouka’s kick and wrapped his legs around her shoulders. He fell onto his arms and threw her in the building side. Tsuyu’s tongue caught Kyouka before she collided with the brick, and suddenly he was plucked off his feet by All Might.

“Todoroki-kun,” All Might’s grave tone somehow made his smile more fearsome. “Visit me in my office after class. We have much to review!”

He grimaced. Nonetheless, he obeyed. He passed Momo on his walk back to campus, with the same worried look she had during their English class. He was in for more than just an earful from All Might. Momo wouldn’t let him get away with being an asshole to her girlfriend.

The wall clock in All Might’s office ticked away. The queasy ball in his gut churned like curdling milk as it ticked away. That was the first time he was in trouble beyond a warning.

All Might finally entered, clad in his striped suit. They sat across from each other and he feared All Might could see him sweat bullets.

“Todoroki-kun, you and I both know you are an exceptional young man and hero in the making. However, you realize people could have died,” All Might said. “We are heroes. We apprehend, we turn villains in to the authorities. We do not murder people however heinous they may be. Now, I am gladdened that you are beginning to embrace the other half of your powers. But you cannot continue to conduct yourself in such a reckless fashion in or out of the classroom.

“I-I understand,” he said.

“Do you? Kirishima-kun is with recovery girl for the burns he received. Tsu-chan and Jirou-chan are receiving care for first and second degree burns. You realize you can’t do something like that in anything less than extringent, life-threatening circumstances, correct?”

He nodded. It felt a lot like his father’s criticism. However kind All Might may be, he always took scoldings personally. He wondered when he could take them as a gesture of love like his rational side understood All Might.

“Good.” All Might moved into the seat beside his and rest an enormous arm over the back. “Will you tell me what’s on your mind now? You’re so level-headed. I know when you lash out.”

He paused, recalling his mother’s advice the day before. He ached to see Momo with anyone but him, but he would be left hollow without her. He couldn’t hear how happy he would be without Momo again.

“I just got ahead of myself,” he answered, his fists balled on his knees.

“And why is that, Todoroki-kun?”

His eyes watered and he knew the gig was up. It just hurt so badly, it was so hard to hide. “I-I got jealous,” he said. “Jirou a-and Yaoyorozu are girlfriends a-as of today but… but I like Yaoyorozu too. I promise I-I’m trying to be happy for Yaoyorozu since she’s my friend b-but it’s so hard when it feels like I’m being stabbed again and again. It’s fucking unfair, and I’m so stupid and I’m a terrible friend to them.” He dug his palms in his eyes. “It sucks so much.”

“Oh, son,” All Might collected him in a hug, and he felt foolish how congested and tearful he was, like a child curled in his mother’s lap again. “Heartbreak is part of growing up, Todoroki-kun. I can’t tell you otherwise, and I can’t tell you that Yaoyorozu-chan will change her mind. But you won’t hurt like this forever. You’ll go back to feeling okay, and you’ll go back to being their good friend. Give yourself time to heal.”

He wiped his face on his sleeve. It didn’t feel like he’d ever recover, but All Might hadn’t lied to him yet.

“Alright, kiddo, go apologize now! You’ll feel a lot better once you get that off your chest.”

He would, of course, if nothing more than to preserve his friendship with Momo.

It was lunch hour by that time. Outside of All Might’s office, he sent Momo a text to meet him in their classroom so he could apologize.

Kyouka and Momo were in their classroom as he requested, sat side-by-side on one of the desks. He approached them and bowed before they could utter a word.

“I-I would like to apologize for my conduct earlier, Jirou-san,” he said. “I was jealous of you and Yaoyorozu’s relationship a-and I let it get to me. I am happy for you two and I promise to behave myself as your friend in the future.”

There were seconds of silence between them, his heart rose and rose into his throat. Momo finally wrapped her fingers around his chin and lifted his face. Her dark eyes were soft and again, finally, she was smiling. It eased his nausea.

“I want to apologize too, Todo-- Shouto-kun. I haven’t been completely forward with you. I-I’m in love with you like I’m in love with Kyouka. But I wasn’t sure how you’d respond to my relationship to Kyouka. Favorably enough if you’ve come to apologize.” She collected him in a hug. His heart pound with life anew, her heart and his both thundering. “If you’re okay with it… I want to be with you and Kyouka.”

It took him three, long seconds to put together what Momo meant, as if too good to be true. “Yes,” he said, breathless.

Momo’s fingers slipped through his hair and she pulled him down for a kiss. There were no fireworks, nothing of the sort. But he melt in Momo’s arms. He was complete, searing with glee.

They fell away, smiling like a couple of bashful fools, and Kyouka jostled him. “Asshole,” she griped with that cheeky grin of her’s.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sorry. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Ooh, I’m coming! Momo’s lap is the softest seat, you know.”

He and Momo stuttered bashfully. Nonetheless, her hands caught his and Kyouka’s like nets, calloused and strong, and they walked three-wide like a bunch of assholes, catching stares from returning students and instructors alike. Nonetheless, he was happy.

“B-both of them!?”

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Iida,” he scolded Tenya. Izuku laughed nervously as they sat.

“W-we’re just surprised. It’s not exactly everyday people come out as gay o-or multiam---”

“Polyamorous,” Momo corrected Izuku, “it’s called polyamory. But I’m bisexual and polyamorous, and that’s a fact that won’t be changing in the near future.”

“I’m surprised no one noticed,” Ochaco chimed in. “Yaomomo gets this gooey look with people she’s got a crush on. It’s not hard to catch on to.”

He, Izuku, and Tenya clammed up. That was true, he thought, looking back to Kyouka and Momo’s interactions. How could he not have noticed Momo looked at him the same way? What kind of idiot was he?

“I think it’s a dude thing. I mean, he got jealous! They’re fuckin’ ignorant.” Kyouka sighed. “I need a cigarette….”

Momo combed her fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple. His face would hurt that night with all the smiling he did.

That was fine by him. Hero life was pretty good.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki #momo yaoyorozu #kyouka jirou #todomomojirou

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