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changeling-rin · 3 years

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Hey there, I have a friend I've been getting into DL but I don't really know how to explain the links so I was woundering what would be the best way to explain each of the links (and sequels if possible please) - Friday (Please and Thank you!)

(cracks knuckles)

ALRIGHT PEOPLE HERE WE GO, LONG POST AHEAD

THE CHAIN LINKS

Gen: The Link from Skyward Sword. Short for Genesis, which he will never ever let anyone call him by ever because he doesn't actually like it. He's generally level-headed and appreciates common sense, and gets a bit miffed when things decide to divert from said common sense. He's the group medic, not necessarily by any skill on his part, but more because the group needed a medic and he couldn't believe there wasn't one yet, so the only logical decision was to do it himself. He gets very particular about the group taking the proper amount of healing items as a result. He functions as one-third of the Leader Trio and is the effective 'super-ego', if you will

Speck: The Link from Minish Cap. He's quiet, by far the most quiet, and will really only speak up if he's a) confident in what he has to say, and b) confident that it will add something worthwhile to the discussion. He has the ability to shrink via his magic hat (Ezlo) and a magical conduit shaped like a Jar that he carries around with him. Due to the bit where he's usually in the background, the fact that he has a surprisingly violent streak catches just about all his enemies off guard - for example, his favorite method of attack is shrinking down and using his size to stab his sword directly into his opponent's eardrum. Ironically, outside of a fight, he's one of the Links most likely to apologize to a flower for stepping on it

The Four: The Link(s) from Four Swords. They're the split-in-four version of the Link who drew the Sword, but due to a hive mind effect, everything they do is in unison. They're pretty quiet most of the time, due to most people finding said unison relatively unsettling, but since the Chain couldn't care less about that they're more willing to speak up every now and then. They specialize in group attacks and such, but they're terrible at being individual. The nature of their hive mind means that it's both incredibly uncomfortable and incredibly difficult to break their unison, and so most of the time they won't even bother trying. They have a little snarky side that comes out when they're stressed, and they hang out with Speck most often due to having similar introverted dispositions

Ocarina: The Link from Ocarina of Time, and one-half of the Hero(es) of Time with Mask due to time being broken and the continuum being shot. He's the younger half, even though he's in his sixteen-year-old body, and since he has the mind of a nine-year-old it makes a very odd combination. He has occasional confidence issues and a few self-worth/doubt beliefs as the result of hanging out with his older self and worrying about how he's going to successfully grow into someone so competent. He can usually be found next to his older self, or at the very least in the general vicinity of his older self, and he has a profound distaste for the necessity for secrets. Most specifically, his future, because it's literally standing right next to him and he'd really like to know if he beats Ganondorf, thanks

Mask: The Link from Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask, and one-half of the Hero(es) of Time with Ocarina. He's the older half despite being in the body of a twelve-year-old, and since he's technically got the mind of an eighteen-year-old at the very least it looks very strange from the outside. He's snarky, sarcastic, and takes great joy in messing with other people, most specifically his younger self by refusing to give away future hints and claiming ~Spoilers~ every time it comes up. He carries his transformation masks and uses then whenever the situation calls for it. He can usually be found next to his younger self because he's secretly worried about shattering his own personal timeline, and he puts a lot of effort into making sure Ocarina survives whatever mess they've gotten into this time. He also puts an equal amount of effort into making sure Ocarina doesn't notice this

Dusk: The Link from Twilight Princess. He functions as one-third of the Leader Trio and is the quote-unquote 'ego' - or, in othher words, he's usually the mediating force. If it's pointed out to him though, he will steadfastly deny that he's in any suited for a leadership position - which is in blatant contradiction to the fact that he's probably the most effective member of the Leader Trio. He carries the Curse Stone from Zant around his neck in a pouch and usles it to transform whenever the situation calls for it. He's also the regular soul-host for Midna, Shadow, or both, depending on the day. He's by far the most level-headed Link, taking almost everything in stride, and it takes a lot to make him lose his cool. The one surefire way to do it is to threaten someone he cares about, at which point he will waste no time completely destroying whoever was stupid enough to make said threat

RGBV: Red, Green, Blue, and Vio are the Link(s) from Four Swords Adventures, and like the Four they're the result of one Link being split into four bodies. Unlike the Four, they've retained their individuality and have four very different personalities as a result. Green is the established leader of their quad-cell, and is the most level-headed one. He's not the most patient one, but he is the one who's not afraid to do what needs to be done. Red is the most emotional one, easily excitable and absolutely willing to give hugs to anyone who asks (and a few who don't). Blue is the most aggressive one, although he mostly directs it towards his enemies. He does have a on-again-off-again rivalry of sorts with Vio, but it's never gotten beyond particularly invested sibling bickering. Vio meanwhile is the book-smarts one, or at least the one with the most strategic intelligence. He's also the best ranged fighter they have

Lore: The Link from A Link to the Past, Oracle of Ages, Oracle of Seasons, and Link's Awakening. He functions as one-third of the Leader Trio, finishing off the dynamic as the 'id'. He's by far the most unique personality, being a hyperactive chaos entity who delights in confusing people and making them question reality. He's also a polyglot, knows at least ten languages, and is constantly hunting for new ones to learn. He's easily the most experienced Link and as a result has Seen Some Stuff, but instead of being traumatized by the weirdness he decided to go in the other direction and embrace it instead. He's an absolutely terrible shot in spite of his numerous adventures, but the sheer amount of stuff he has tends to make up for it. He hasn't met a situation yet that he doesn't have an item for and he's not about to start now - although this is mostly due to his conviction that bombs are the answer to every situation

Realm: The Link from the original Legend of Zelda. He is constantly, hopelessly, chronically lost, and has absolutely no concept of where he is in relation to where everything else is. He also has a somewhat tenuous relationship with the concept of physical space, which tends to result in him getting lost in places he really should not have been able to get lost in (for example, a volcano). Regrettably this also extends to his items, which he frequently loses. In spite of this, he's one of the most cheerful and optimistic Links in the group. It takes a lot to get him into a bad mood, and given what he already goes through while maintaining a good mood, the entire Chain has yet to see him in a bad one. A side effect of getting lost so much is that his stamina is absolutely ridiculous, which makes him very good at drawing out a fight - in fact, that's more or less his specialty

Sketch: The Link from A Link Between Worlds. He has the ability to turn his body into paint and move along the walls like a living hieroglyph. Unfortunately, due to being made of watercolors when he does this, he also has a severe phobia of water as a result of the fact that he might actually die a horrifically painful death if his paint runs too much. Outside of that, he's relatively level-headed and very crafty, in the literal sense that he likes to make things. He used to be a blacksmith's apprentice before this whole Hero business got started (his specialty is metalwork). He likes things to make sense and gets a bit snarky when the universe decides to spite him by making no sense at all. He's one of the best Links at stealth, because for some reason very few people will notice the artwork on the wall and as long as he has a surface to fuse with, he can get just about anywhere

Wind: The Link from Wind Waker. He carries said Wind Waker as part of his inventory, and it lets him control the weather. He's a certified Weather Master in everything but the official certification, because he hasn't had the chance to go back and take the test yet, but the ability to throw literal tornadoes at his enemies makes him arguably one of the most dangerous Links in the group. He does prefer to hang back in a fight and hit from a distance as opposed to getting up close and personal, but that's very typical for a mage. He has an overabundance of patience, stored up from sailing for days back on his home ocean, and he'll take just about anything in stride - unless you're threatening his family, then all bets are off. He's one of the quieter Links, being more content to wait and see the results of something rather than actively participating, but this in no way means that he's not paying attention. He knows what he's capable of, is fully willing and ready to do it if necessary, and makes no excuses to the contrary

Steam: The Link from Spirit Tracks. He has the ability to see hidden things, which extends beyond his own disembodied Princess Zelda and into things like mask spirits or just plain invisible opponents. He also has a summons in the form of the Spirit Train, which he takes great pleasure in slamming into whichever villain has annoyed him. He's got a dry sort of sarcasm and he's definitely not afraid to say what he thinks. As a result of spending most of his adventure on a Train, he's easily the least physically fit of the Links and therefore tends to hang back in a fight, relying more on his summons for heavy hits or his sight ability to provide support. His previous career choice was a locomotive engineer, and as a result he and Sketch get along very well. They have regularly scheduled brainstorm sessions about what sort of gadget they should try and make this time, usually with Steam providing the math and schematics and Sketch providing the real-world experience to make it real

Shadow: The Link from a variety of games, since whenever a Shadow or Dark Link appears, that was him. He's bitingly sarcastic, could not possibly care less about the opinions of other people, and takes great joy in finding the best way to insult someone as possible. Being formed from the darker emotions of other Links, he's understandably in a poor-to-terrible mood almost all the time, although he can usually be convinced to take it out on other people. A side effect of being made of dark magic is that he can't be out in the sunlight too long - it'll start to burn him in the same way a match burns paper. As a perk though, he can manipulate his body into any shape he wants, mostly ignoring physics as he does. This makes him easily one of the most powerful Links in the group, since he doesn't take battle damage the way a physically-bodied person would and is all but immune to being stabbed. He makes for an excellent aggro target, partly because he can take anything the opponent could give, but also because he'll give it all back and then some

Oni: The Link from before Skyward Sword. Also known as the Fierce Deity. Saying that he's overpowered is a bit of an understatement, as he can take out the likes of Majora in three hits or less, but he's very unlikely to actually use his power like that. As a result of being put into a mask, he has no actual autonomy unless someone is wearing him, at which point he takes control of the body of the wearer to manifest in the real world. This lasts with no repercussions until his mask is removed, at which point Oni returns to his bindings. He has not deigned to explain how he ended up in a mask or who managed to put him there, but the loose implication points to the aftermath of the Demon War as the cause. Further information is pending. He's stoic and composed, and has yet to be truly riled up by anything that's happened. He also refuses, as a rule, to get involved with the rest of the Chain's adventures unless his presence is truly required. As the First Link Ever, and the one from whom the entire rest of the lineage has descended, Oni feels somewhat responsible for guiding the rest of the Links through their journeys - but guiding and coddling are two different things and as far as Oni is concerned, his legacies need to be able to fight their own battles

THE SEQUEL LINKS

Rune: The Link from Breath of the Wild. He has the Champion Abilities, as well as his own Quicktime specialty, and is of course concerningly amnesiac. He's quiet to the point of almost being forgettable, which is a side effect of a) spending nearly all his time in the wilderness alone with nobody to talk to, and b) having to constantly be on the alert for Guardians because nothing alerts a Guardian like a loud hylian. His inventory is nearly bottomless, and he therefore immediately becomes the group pack mule. He's also hands-down the best chef (something which makes Gen only slightly jealous)

Lux: The Link from Hyrule Warriors. He is the quietest Link, but not because of his personality - it's because he can't talk. The most vocalization he's ever going to manage is incoherent yells of effort, because anything beyond that is locked behind a psychosomatic speech block. He has not deigned to share why he has a psychosomatic speech block and at the moment it's highly doubtful he ever will. He's second only to Shadow in his sarcasm and general displeasure with the world, and the rest of the group is lucky that hylian sign only has loosely defined curse words, otherwise he'd be going off

RSE: Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald are the Link(s) from Triforce Heroes. Emerald is the leader of the trio, more or less, while Ruby handles anything that might need a good smacking and Sapphire embodies the emotional core. They have a strange dynamic where they bicker with each other to hide the fact that they care, which is a direct result of them still settling into their own dynamics. They have their Totem formation, of course, and share an incredibly specific set of opinions about fashion. The fact that they also have their entire wardrobe on hand is complete coincidence, yep

Lyric: The Link from Cadence of Hyrule. He can hear the Universe Music better than any other Link (with the possible exception of Wind) and he will do whatever he can to follow its lead. He's constantly moving to the beat in almost everything he does, and it makes him unexpectedly deadly in a fight. It turns out that following the Universe Music gives very good buffs and Lyric is a master at following the music. Ironically enough for all his sense of rhythm, he cannot sing to save his life and is in fact instrumentally challenged, which annoys him to no end

THE OC LINKS

Codex: The Link from the Evil Overlord List, a story I write that somehow developed its own protagonist. He's snarky, sarcastic, runs on caffeine and spite, and will probably take over the world someday if he ever gets around to it. He's currently just a college student writing his thesis paper (The List), but once he graduates the world had better brace itself

Wraith: The Link that was made as a result of a random conversation one day, in which someone asked me what would happen if Demise won permanently. Five minutes with my angst-stunted brain later, I had a cheerful sunshine child who had the ability to see spirits and was getting mentored by all eighteen dead Heroes as the backup plan to deal with Demise. He's way too pure for the world and probably shouldn't be as big an optimist as he is for someone surrounded by dead people

#Changeling Answers #DL Questions #All the DL Links #literally every single one of them #Anonymous Replies #DL Master Character List #Or at least the Master Hero List #Oof

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absolutebisaster · 3 years

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Star Trek fanfic, I have no excuses. I'm hyperfixated

Laughter bubbled up from your throat as you watched the cadets running through the third deck halls. The USS Enterprise was always bustling with activity. With life. After beaming aboard you were on your way to the bridge. It was the first day of your transfer from the USS Arcadia and you needed to check in with the captain.

The bridge was just as busy as the rest of the ship. You could barely hide your excitement when you finally came face to face with the captain. James T. Kirk. "Its an honor to finally meet you, sir." You introduced yourself and informed the captain that you would be the replacement mechanical engineer while your predecessor was on family leave.

"Welcome aboard, ensign. We look forward to having you on board." Kirk waved you off and as you were boarding the elevator, you made eye contact with the Vulcan science officer. The quirk of his brow made your heart skip a beat and the doors slid shut, taking you down to the main engine room.

Your first day was suddenly your 79th and before you knew it, you had friends. No one on the ship was a stranger except the bridge crew. There was never time to meet them, they were always far too busy with 'Bridge Stuff' as some of the others called it.

There was no one else awake as you walked the hallways of the Enterprise. It was late, you couldn't sleep and you certainly hadn't expected to see anyone, so walking into the cafeteria and seeing a figure sitting in the dimmed lights startled you.

Pushing the feeling down, you went to the replicator for a cup of tea. You glanced over at the man and quickly looked away again when you made eye contact. Unmistakably Vulcan. Mr. Spock.

"May I join you, sir?" You asked as you sat down with your tea, not waiting for an answer. "We met on my first day." But you reintroduced yourself because technically you were strangers.

He didn't talk much, but you enjoyed the conversation you were having. He was a scientist first and a starfleet officer second, that much was obvious. It made you smile when he talked about his work.

"Oh man, I wish I could be part of a landing party some day. I can only imagine how amazing it is to make First Contact. That's why I agreed to take this assignment. The Enterprise is famous for First Contact." Vulcans didn't experience emotions the way your people did so you tried to hide your minor disappointment. "But grease monkeys aren't on the list of people required for First Contact."

He quirked a brow, that same look from before. "Grease monkey?"

"I'm a mechanical engineer, sir. I build and repair Starfleet engines. Not nearly as interesting as being a scientist."

Then Spock said something that surprised you. "You are an invaluable member of this team, without you and your department, the Enterprise would not fly." Your bottom lip quivered and you looked down into your empty cup.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I… that really means a lot to hear." Especially coming from a bridge officer. "I just wish I could be… I don't know… more involved? I'm only stationed here for the year, so I know there's no point in getting too attached to the Enterprise, but this is the most famous ship in the fleet, to be sitting here tonight is what so many crewmen only dream of."

"You talk a lot." He said simply as he got up and headed for the door.. "Sleep well, ensign."

-----

Time was different in space. There were no days or nights to help show the passage of time. If it weren’t for the computer, you wouldn’t know if today was six days ago. Working down in the engine room especially made it complicated. All you knew was work. Since your late night tea with Spock, you had been thinking about him a lot. He was the only Vulcan you had ever actually met. The few in the academy with you were more concerned with their own lives to make friends and while you understood it, you found yourself researching Vulcan in your free time.

After a rough mission on Melia left the Enterprise in desperate need of repairs, you put your personal life on hold. 38 hours into repairs, you couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t see straight and your head was spinning. When was the last time you had anything to eat? Drink? You were just about to climb down off the ladder when your foot slipped.

Your head was pounding when you opened your eyes. The lights were too bright and you whined, bringing your hand up to shield the light. “Oh good, you’re awake. That was a nasty fall you had, ensign. Your ankle is almost done being reconstructed so take it easy, okay?” It was a medical officer? You were in sickbay.

“What happened?” you asked as you pulled yourself into a sitting position.

The doctor scanned your head. “Your crewmen said you blacked out and fell off the ladder you were on. Your foot slipped between the bars and broke your ankle but you should make a full recovery in the next hour so when you’re able to walk again, I want you on bed rest until your next scheduled shift, do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I understand.” you gave a weak thumbs-up and a smile. He walked off to deal with his next patient and that left you to look around sickbay. The Enterprise was going to recover. They always did, you had learned.

Since you had your tablet on you when engineering beamed you to sickbay, you were able to log in and check the progress of the repairs. In the two hours you’d been unconscious, the chief engineer had gone down to finish your repairs. All the work you had put into the Enterprise had been finished by him and as far as you knew, he was taking all the credit for the repairs you’d done.

“Good, you’re awake.” When the captain walked into the room, you tried to scramble to make yourself more presentable but he held up a hand to stop you so you stilled. Kirk sat in the chair next to you and patted your hand “Scotty said that your work on the warp core saved our lives, ensign.” Pride was swelling up in your chest. Captain Kirk himself was talking to you! Your work hadn’t gone unnoticed! “So I wanted to come down here and thank you personally.”

“Captain, I love this ship, I was just doing what anyone else would do.” You were blushing and looking down at your hands as you picked at a callous.

“Ensign, I want you to go ahead and take the rest of the week off to recover and relax. You’ve earned it.” pulling your top lip between your teeth, you didn’t respond. “I’m sure you don’t want to feel useless.” Kirk was speaking to you like you were friends and he reached out again to get you to stop picking at the skin on your hands. “So why don’t you take this week to study up on your Vulcan?”

Your head shot up and you finally looked at the famous captain. “Sir?” Kirk just patted your hand and left with a smile.

-----

Your week off was leaving you with a disgusting amount of free time. You had been chased out of engineering just about every day. Apparently the team was under direct orders from the captain to make sure you took the time off. Fucker.

So you spent most of your time tinkering with the toys you collected. Remote control things designed to keep children entertained. The sphere following you now was one of your own design. You had taken the working components from the toys that broke and cobbled them together to make something entirely new.

A few of the other crewmen stopped as they watched you and your toy walk by. You controlled it with your starfleet tablet. Was it appropriate use of the technology? Not by a long shot. But no one was actually going to say anything to you about it because they really didn’t care. As the sphere rolled along, it bumped off the walls and swerved to avoid tripping anyone. A couple people told you it was cool, but no one was really interested in it so you decided to go show your commanding officer. Maybe the lieutenant commander would find it charming.

The trip to the bridge was interrupted by the sphere going off on it’s own. The program you’d used to control your toys was missing some key components and this wasn’t your area of expertise so you decided to just follow along and see where the data took you.

The sphere rolled along until it bumped into a door. “Come.” the voice called from the other side of the door. This was someone’s private quarters and as you stooped to pick up the sphere to get it to leave, the door opened. There stood Mr. Spock with the same quizzical expression on his face he always seemed to have when he looked at you.

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion, sir. My robot came this way on it’s own.” you explained as the sphere tried to roll back out of your arms. “Where are you going? You’re embarrassing me.” you whispered as it slipped out of your grasp. It rolled into his room and you had to stop yourself from following it. “Oh! I get it, now. The cat must be yours! My sphere only reacts like this when the cat is around.” you explained and tried to get it to come back to you but it was already under his bed.

“Yes, I have a feline companion. Tell me what your sphere does.” His tone was always so serious, it sounded like an order and since he did outrank you, you nodded and handed him the tablet with the control mapping pulled up.

“The sphere is just a toy I built from other scrap.” you explained. “It may look polished and nice on the outside, but deep down, it’s just a fu--” his brow rose. “It’s just a mess, sir. Something to keep me preoccupied during my quote-unquote ‘on-station vacation’ the captain gave me after passing out in the engine room when we left Melia.” You explained the controls to him and soon enough, he had it rolling out from under the bed. “It’s programming has it obsessed with cats for some reason I can’t figure out.”

“What programming software did you use?” the sphere rolled around his quarters as the two of you stood in the entryway together.

“I uh… It’s actually something of my own design. I’ve been working on it for like… ten years now. All my RC toys are controlled through that program because even though I can fix a warp engine, I’m not… actually all that computer savvy. I needed something simple that I could control multiple bots with.” You and Mr. Spock hadn’t spoken since that night you had tea together, this was a nice moment they were sharing.

He controlled the sphere so it rolled out of his room and took a step out the door to follow it. “Let us find somewhere else to take this toy, shall we? I do not want it to put unnecessary strain on my cat.”

“I’m not distracting you from anything important, am I? I didn’t interrupt sleep or meditation?” You followed him as the sphere rolled down the hallway. Spock had turned off the automated balancing system and he was having a much easier time controlling it than you did.

“No, I’ve found myself with free time today. You’re not interrupting anything.” Truth be told, he had been trying to meditate but was having trouble keeping himself focused. “What others have you built?”

“Do you want to see them? They’re all in my quarters on the next deck down.” You were already leading him to the lift. “I’ve been working on this little guy because the project I was working on I just… Can’t get it right. There’s some sort of scientific aspect I’m missing? Hey! You’re a science officer, do you think you might want to take a look at it?”

“I will help you if I can.”

#star trek #star trek fanfiction #s'chn t'gai spock #spock #spock/reader #spock/you

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s-oulpunk · 4 years

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Where Dreams Dwell, The Heart Calls Home (2/3)

Summary:

Stan never expected to see the Losers again, so when he runs into Eddie at his university's required omega course he is shocked and hurt. Everything he has worked so hard to bury comes flooding back. Most of all his jealousy. Unfortunately he is forced to hide his feelings from his new pack as Henry Bowers, his alpha, wouldn't be pleased to find out that Stan is longing for the past. In fact Stan's newly found feelings could bring about a lot more than just punishment if Henry were ever to discover them. Stan's only hope is escape, but can he turn to the pack that betrayed him so long ago? Can he face Bill?

Co-Written with @theweaverofworlds-official

TW: Physical abuse, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, graphic depictions of rape, graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, a/b/o dynamics

Read on AO3

Part Two:

Despite Richie’s accusation, Bill did care. Maybe he cared too much. He cared enough to spend the better part of an hour shuffling around his work schedule, taking the most inconvenient shifts just so he could be here, standing under the blazing sun as he waited for Eddie’s stupid fucking Omega 101 class to let out. Doctor Keene had already gone five minutes over, and Bill knew Eddie had a class in fifteen minutes.

Eddie was the type of person to lay out his schedule perfectly, the type to make sure he had exactly enough time to get from one class to the next without having to worry. Bill was sure if this class went over any longer he would be able to smell Eddie’s stress from here.

Not that Eddie was the only one dealing with stress at the moment. Bill was positively miserable. Not only was it hot as hell, but Stan was in there. All Bill would have to do is open the door and he would be face to face with his old friend again. Not that friend ever seemed to be the right word to describe whatever had been going on between Stan and himself. But that was over now, he supposed. The choice had been made for them. They weren’t even supposed to be friends, much less anything more.

It was all too strange for Bill. Seeing Stan wasn’t supposed to make him miserable. And yet here he was, with sweaty palms and a stomach twisted up with nerves. In Bill’s opinion, sweaty palms were just about the worst thing that could happen to a person. They could only add on to the misery, making an already terrible situation even more terrible. And Bill sure would like it if he would be able to keep the misery to a minimum.

Bill hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Eddie anything more about Stan since the topic was first brought up. Or maybe he had just been too frightened to take the risk. Either way, he couldn’t stop his mind from running wild with possibilities. He had imagined what it would be like to see Stan again ever since he had lost him. Every day different variations of the event had plagued his mind, but now that he was here - now that it was happening - he felt ill prepared. Almost scared. Which was ridiculous, because Stan was his friend. Or, at least, he was supposed to be his friend. Sometimes people who were supposed to be your friends end up becoming someone else entirely. Though Bill hated to think about a world where Stan didn’t think of him as a friend, or at the very least as someone he could look back on fondly.

The smell caught Bill’s attention as soon as the door opened. It was quickly followed by a sea of collared omegas, each one as timid and docile as the next. Bill couldn’t help but feel more than a little sorry for each of them. How had turning omegas into submissive breeding machines taken priority over forming a bond - taken priority over love - for so many alphas?

Eddie’s scent was stronger than the others, and Bill’s eyes were drawn to him as soon as he exited the classroom. The sight of each other brought a smile to both of their faces and it wasn’t long before Bill had an armful of Eddie. The hug only lasted a second but it was enough to make more than one omega stop and stare, curious to see the alpha that had been dealt the misfortune of taming Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “They just don’t understand how an omega and an alpha can be friends. They probably all think I want your dick.”

“You don’t want my dick?” Bill said in mock offense. “I’m hurt, Edward.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot that all my dumb omega brain can think about is your fat alpha cock,” Eddie deadpanned. “Oh, please, William, please strip me of my entire future and all my freedoms just so I can have your dick inside me.” He scoffed. “It’s completely ridiculous - Why are you laughing?”

Bill let out the burst of laughter he had been trying to stifle. The sound rang out through the hallway, making the students around them turn their heads. The omegas that had been watching already shared curious looks with each other. Eddie Kaspbrak was a strange specimen, one they were desperate to learn more about.

“Why did you call it a fat alpha cock?” Bill snorted.

“I was making a joke!” Eddie insisted, eyes narrowing at Bill.

Bill just laughed harder. “Never say anything like that again-”

“No, now I’m gonna do it more to piss you off.” But Eddie’s threat was derailed by the laughter building in his chest, bubbling up his throat and past his lips. The burst of laughter didn’t last long, but in its place was a soft smile dancing along Eddie’s lips. “You’re here to see Stan, aren’t you?”

Bill didn’t bother denying it. “He didn’t leave already, did he?”

“I don’t think so,” Eddie said. “He might be hiding from you.” Bill arched an eyebrow. “We could smell you inside the classroom, I think Stan recognized your scent.”

Bill’s eyes lit up. “That’s a good sign, right? It has to be.”

“Why would him hiding from you be a good thing?”

“No, no, not that part,” Bill said. “I meant - Him recognizing my scent. That means he still thinks about us, right? About me?”

“Bill, we were friends for years,” Eddie countered, trying to keep his voice gentle. “It might mean nothing.”

In fact, neither of them were right. It was not a good sign, someone hiding from someone else was rarely ever a good sign. But it didn’t mean nothing either. It meant something, but what that something was, neither Bill nor Eddie would have been able to guess, because Stan wasn’t entirely sure what that something was either.

He was hiding in the classroom, stalling time by asking Doctor Keene questions he already knew the answers to. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Bill, more that he couldn’t see Bill. He wanted more than anything to be able to fall back into the routine they had in high school. To be able to joke around with him, to talk to him, to touch him. God, even just being near him would be a relief.

But it was entirely out of the question.

Stan had spent years building up the walls inside his head. Those walls protected him, they were the only things that kept him sane. And as of right now, they were completely bulletproof. Nothing would be able to hurt him as long as they were up.

Except for Bill. Bill would be able to make them crumble, Stan was sure of it. He had always been able to read Stan like an open book. Even when the others bought the smiles Stan faked, Bill had been able to see the light dimming behind Stan’s eyes. He had been the one to convince Stan to admit what was wrong, and he had been the one to help nurse him back to health.

But he couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let Bill get under his skin, couldn’t let him crawl inside his heart and nestle there like it was where he belonged. Not again.

Not that it mattered, Bill was only here to pick up Eddie.

Then why is he still here? A tiny voice in the back of his head asked. A surge of hope soared inside him, and he hurried to squash it back down. Hope did nothing for him. Hope wouldn’t save him. Hope only made the crushing disappointment that much more crushing and disappointing.

But he was running out of questions to ask Doctor Keene, and the professor was starting to look like he was ready to do just about anything if it meant he could finally, finally escape this conversation.

“That’s all,” Stan murmured, half terrified that if he kept Doctor Keene any longer he would send Henry a quote unquote, concerned email. “I - um - Thank you.”

Doctor Keene plastered a smile onto his face. “Have a good day Mister Uris.”

Stan forced himself to smile, swallowing down the panic building in his chest. Bill was still outside. “You too.”

Before leaving, Stan pulled aside the curtains swaying gently in front of the classroom windows. Doctor Keene always kept them drawn. He insisted that omegas were easily distracted, their brains weren’t meant to take in so much information, and they would better retain their classwork if the blinds were drawn. Usually Stan hated it. The constant pressure of fluorescent light made his eyes strain, and the plain, gray walls were so bland that sometimes he considered driving his pencil through his cornea just so he wouldn’t have to look at them. But today he couldn’t be more grateful for them.

He could see Bill and Eddie in the distance, laughing silently. The sight made his heart ache. He could still remember a time when he had been a part of that, when it would have been nothing to open the door and join them. But that time was long passed.

There were a few other students lingering around outside as well. Enough that if he kept quiet, he might be able to slip by unnoticed.

He had hoped that the other omegas in the hallway would help mask his scent. But he had barely gotten the door open before he had caught Bill’s attention. The alpha’s head snapped up and immediately Stan knew he had been caught. Bill’s nose was wiggling the littlest bit, trying to pick up more of Stan’s scent in the crowded hallway. Stan could pretend it was something else all he wanted, pretend Bill had coincidentally picked up some other familiar scent, but at the bottom of his heart he knew it was him Bill was looking for.

“Ss-Stan!”

But he supposed the confirmation was nice.

“Stan, wait up!”

Stan had no intentions of waiting up. He had to get home and start dinner, and he didn’t need old friends distracting him for the rest of the evening just because they had some guilt they couldn’t get over. Well, Stan had gotten over it. And, quite frankly, they should have as well.

“Hey!”

Stan walked faster.At some point he would lose them. At some point they would give up.

“Stan!”

At some point-

Fingertips brushed past Stan’s wrist. He jerked backwards, spinning around fast enough to nearly send him toppling to the floor. He cradled his wrist against his chest as if he had been burnt. In some ways, it almost felt like he had been. He could still feel the phantom touch of Bill’s fingers against his wrist. It had almost felt nice, a spark of warmth in his usually cold life. But it was overpowered by the crushing fear that overtook his body. Henry would know. He always knew. No matter how big or how small, if Stan fucked up, Henry knew.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bill looked stung by the words. Stung enough that he took a step backwards, his hands slowly coming up in a mock surrender.

Stan was sure he could smell the fear rolling off of him in waves, but no matter what he tried he couldn't seem to get his emotions in check. Not this time.

“You can’t just grab me,” he spat out, not bothering to allow Bill time to gather his thoughts. “That’s - That’s so fucking-” He bit his tongue. He had to be good. That was the whole reason he was here. To be good. To learn how to please his alpha. To make himself forget his own selfish wants. Yelling at an alpha was surely not good behavior. With lowered eyes he continued, quieter, “Sorry. Please don’t grab me.”

“I ww-wuh-won’t,” Bill said quickly, hands still held up, awkward and limp, by his head. With some amusement, Stan couldn’t help but think it almost looked like he was being held hostage. “I’m sss-sorry about before, I just - I’m sorry.”

Stan shuffled his feet awkwardly. “It’s okay.”

Stan turned without waiting for a reply, stalking towards the doors. They were so close. He could almost feel the handle in his palm. The sunlight on his face. The wind in his hair.

“Wait,” Bill said again. And, against his better judgement, Stan froze. “Can we - Can we tt-tuh-talk?”

Stan turned again. Bill had finally dropped his hands, and he looked like he was fighting the urge not to close the distance between them. Good. Let Bill be the one to miss him for once.

“No,” he said firmly. Bill’s shoulders deflated, and immediately Stan wanted to change his answer. Wanted to hear Bill out. Wanted to finally open himself up to the possibility of change. But he wasn’t supposed to get what he wanted, was he? “Henry doesn’t want me talking to other alphas.”

Bill’s expression darkened. “Since when do you care what Henry wants?”

“Since you-” Stan snapped his mouth shut. He had to be good. He had to submit.

Bill took a step forward. Stan took a step back.

“Since I what?” he asked. His tone wasn’t threatening. It was exactly as Stan remembered, soft and sweet as honey. The first taste was enough to leave you craving more, but too much and you would end up drowning in it. And Stan had. He had gotten too comfortable and fallen off the deep end, letting the candylike sweetness trick him into devouring it until it had filled up his lungs. Until it had settled into every little crevice, filled every crack, and Stan couldn’t breathe without remembering how it had tasted.

Now all that was left was the bitter aftertaste.

“You know what,” Stan said. Then, before Bill could reply, “I have to go. Belch will be mad if I’m late. Don’t bother following me, and don’t come back here again.”

Stan knew the demands wouldn’t stick. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Bill waiting after class the next day. Or the next. Or the next. Or any of the days after that. What did surprise him was how Bill didn’t try to approach him. Instead he waved from a distance, offering Stan a smile that made him feel like, even after all these years, he was still a part of their little family.

As much as Stan hated to admit it, the thought warmed his heart.

He never returned the gestures, even looking Bill’s direction was too much of a risk, but he appreciated them nonetheless.

Despite all these precautions, it still seemed he wasn’t being careful enough. It was getting harder and harder to avoid Eddie. The class had fallen into their natural pattern of claiming the same seats everyday, so no matter how hard Stan tried, he couldn’t avoid sitting next to Eddie. And sitting next to Eddie only led to not-so-gentle prying from the other boy as he tried, almost desperately, to get Stan to open up. But the walls Stan had built were tough. He wouldn’t let Eddie tear them down with just a few simple words.

But it didn’t matter. He had bigger things to worry about.

“You’re talking to Denbrough again, aren’t you?”

Henry’s voice made Stan freeze, hand halfway to the stove. “What - What do you mean?”

“Vic said he saw him,” Henry said, voice flat. “Walking towards your class.”

“He was probably picking up Eddie,” Stan said quickly. “He’s in that class too-” Stan swallowed down anything else he was going to say, but it was too late. He could see the cogs turning in Henry’s head, could see the lightbulb turn on, could see the moment he finally understood everything.

“That’s who I’ve been smelling on you!” Henry roared. Stan flinched but otherwise held his ground, squaring his shoulders as he stared up at the alpha. “What has he been telling you?”

“Nothing,” Stan lied. “We barely talk.”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s not bullshit!” Stan shouted. “I’m doing everything you want! I went to the stupid class, I wore the fucking collar, I made your god awful dinner every single night! I couldn’t control which class Eddie got into! It’s not fucking bullshit!”

For a moment Henry looked startled. So startled that Stan could imagine a universe where he gathered his remaining courage and walked right out the front door. Maybe he could go to the Losers’ house after all. Even if Bill didn’t want him, he was sure Eddie would be able to convince the others to find room for him. He could still be part of the group again. He could be safe-

Pain blared through his arm. It was red and hot and, distantly, he realized it burned. But in the moment that realization used too much cognitive function, and all he could think was about how much it hurt. Like Henry had set his skin ablaze with a freshly lit match.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, with his arm against the stove and Henry’s fingers in his hair, but it felt like he was trapped there for hours. Henry’s hold was tight around his wrist, tight enough that there would be bruises in the morning. But bruises were the least of Stan’s problems at the moment.

He was starting to smell the flesh burning from his arm. It was not unlike the sausages Henry sometimes forced him to make. The pre-packaged ones that could be cooked up on a frying pan, the ones Patrick liked with eggs on the side. And suddenly his screaming - had he been screaming the whole time? - was cut short by a series of gags, loud and retching and, for a moment, Stan worried he would vomit all over the sparkling clean floors he had spent all weekend mopping.

Henry must have thought the same thing because he lept backwards, his mouth hanging open in a sort of silent shout.

Stan yanked his arm back from the stove as fast as he could, cradling it carefully against his chest. He sniffled quietly as he watched Henry. He didn’t remember when the tears started, and he had no desire to relive anything that just happened in order to find out. All that mattered now was getting the tears to stop. Letting Henry hurt him was one thing. Letting Henry know just how much the pain broke him was something else entirely.

“What have you been telling him?” The fury in Henry’s voice ripped Stan out of his thoughts. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, and his glare was enough to make Stan want to beg and cower until Henry forgave him for all his past mistakes. But he held his ground.

“Nothing,” Stan insisted. “I barely talk to him.”

He had barely gotten the words out before Henry was closing in on him again, throwing him up against the kitchen counter.

“You’re a liar,” Henry sneered. His breath was hot and rancid against Stan’s face, making him gag all over again. But this time Henry didn’t back away. “I know you are, I know you’re lying to me!”

“I’m not! I’m not lying to you!”

“You’re fucking pathetic. All I wanted was to help you become a proper omega, and you couldn’t even do that. You fucked it all up!” Henry was shouting now, spittle flying from his lips and spraying Stan across the face.

Stan tried to retort, tried to protect himself, but the simple motion of opening his mouth was enough to anger Henry all over again. All he could get out was a spluttering jumble of letters before Henry’s knuckles were imprinted across his face. The only thing that managed to escape Stan’s lips was a soft whimper. That, and the thick droplets of blood that trailed from the corners of his mouth all the way down to the bottom of his chin.

“I want you to drop out,” Henry said. “Mkay?”

“It’s past the dropout date,” Stan said softly, the words coming out muffled and awkward through the steadily increasing stream of blood. “I can’t - I’ll get a failing grade.”

“I don’t want you in that class anymore!” Henry shouted. The mix of their close proximity and the sudden raise in Henry’s voice made Stan jump. His back jammed uncomfortably against the counter and, with some distant surprise, Stan realized he was trying to escape. Trying to find somewhere safe to hide. Trying to find a way to protect himself. But it was no use, Henry had him trapped.

“I can’t!”

“You will!” Henry’s hand was now around Stan’s throat, squeezing just tight enough that wasting breath on speaking would be a, frankly, dumbass move on Stan’s part. “You’ll take the class next semester. Understand?” Stan shook his head. Henry’s grip tightened. “Understand?”

“I can’t,” Stan repeated, the words coming out choked and forced. The simple phrase was enough to send him spiraling into a coughing fit, which only got worse as Henry continued to tighten his grip. Stan clawed at Henry’s hand, but it was no use. He seemed to be immune to the way Stan’s nails dragged over the skin. No matter how hard Stan dug his nails into the soft flesh, Henry didn’t lighten up. He didn’t even flinch. It was terrifying, but not anything worse than what Stan had endured in the past. So he forced himself to continue, “I would have to drop out for the semester. Our pack would be the only one with an omega that couldn’t pass a single semester. Everyone would think you had failed as my alpha.”

Henry growled, a deep rumbling sound in the back of his throat. It made Stan shiver, but Henry didn’t seem to notice. He was too caught up in weighing the options: the likelihood Stan would run off with Eddie one day vs. having the entire town question his leadership.

“Fine,” Henry said. “But you are not to talk to Kaspbrak anymore.” His voice was firm and commanding, the kind that made Stan’s head go cloudy. Stan found himself nodding. He wasn’t to talk to Eddie anymore. Why would he want to? “That’s not your pack. You have no business talking to them.”

Stan was already unsteady on his feet, and he should have been prepared for the fall once Henry released him. But the pain in his knees came as a shock, reverberating all the way up his legs and into his chest. It seemed to make his entire body ache. All he wanted to do was slump down to the floor, curl up in a ball and sleep until all of this had long passed.

But none of that would be possible. Henry’s hand was in his hair not a moment too late, fingers twisting around the strands and yanking Stan’s head up. It made his eyes sting, and halfheartedly he told himself that’s why there were tears in his eyes.

He wasn’t crying because Henry had stripped him of his free will. Why would he need something as silly as the ability to make decisions for himself anyway?

“Poor omega,” Henry cooed. His free hand went to cup Stan’s face, and despite how much the touch disgusted Stan, he found himself leaning into it. “You know why I needed to punish you, don’t you?” Stan nodded, slowly as to not dislodge Henry’s hand. “Good boy.” Henry thumbed the blood - still so fresh each droplet was hot against Stan’s skin - back into Stan’s mouth. As if on auto-pilot, Stan swallowed it all back down. Henry’s thumb lingered over Stan’s lower lip, brushing against the plump flesh and, with little fight on Stan’s part, eventually pushing inside. “You look so pretty down there. Did you know you could be pretty sometimes?”

Stan shook his head. Despite himself, he preened at the praise, and he could feel his face starting to flush. Aside from the pain and humiliation, it felt good to be called pretty. It felt good to be touched tenderly, like he was something that could shatter from one simple touch.

Henry hummed. “Well, you are. Sometimes. Now why don’t you thank me for your punishment?”

Stan would like to say he struggled. That he fought back. That Henry had to force his cock down Stan’s throat.

But Stan opened his mouth willingly.

The only bruise Stan bothered to cover up the next morning was the one on his face. The rest would be hidden by his clothes and collar. Still, he couldn’t help but hope someone would notice. That someone would care enough to intervene, and that maybe this someone could find a loophole in the system. Something to get him away from Henry. He wouldn’t even care what his imaginary new pack would be like, just as long as they weren’t Henry and his goons.

But that would be too good to be true. No one spared him more than a glance in Omega 101. Aside from the occasional whisper from the omegas around him, it was like nothing had happened at all. He was sure they were hitting the nail right on the head. Due to Stan’s slouched posture and empty eyes, of course their first guess would be Stan got in a fight with his alpha and lost. Though he’s sure they had no idea what the extent of the fight was.

Stan suspected Doctor Keene saw. Suspected he could recognize the powdery makeup over the still tender bruise. But the closest Stan got to sympathy from the man was a half-interested glance over his face before he returned to the stack of papers gripped between his hands. That and the ghost of a smirk that crossed his lips.

The only one who seemed to care was-

“Jesus, what the fuck happened to you?”

-Eddie.

“Mister Kaspbrak!” Doctor Keene snapped. “Sit down!”

Eddie opened his mouth to retort, but Stan beat him to it. “Sit down, Eddie.” When Eddie still looked unsure he added, “Please. I’ll tell you after class.”

The shock was evident on Eddie’s face, and for a moment he didn’t move. It made every muscle in Stan’s body tense up. Maybe he had misread the situation. Maybe Eddie didn’t want to know at all.

Then, finally, Eddie nodded. “I’m holding you to that.”

Stan had been sure that would give him enough time to prepare. With an hour and a half buffer, he was sure he would be able to gather his wits and come up with a half coherent explanation. Because what the hell was he supposed to tell Eddie? “Hey, Eds, I know we haven’t connected in forever but my alpha beat the shit out of me for talking to you and then I gave him a blowjob to thank him.” He doubted that would go over well.

Still, the end of class came and Stan had nothing. But he couldn’t back out, not while Eddie was looking at him like that. For the first time in a long time, Stan felt - no, he knew - someone cared about him.

So he silently followed Eddie out of the classroom, being sure to keep his distance as Eddie led him down the hall and out of the building. He didn’t need to give Henry any more reasons to punish him again.

For a moment Stan feared Eddie would make him spill all his secrets right then and there, in the middle of campus. There were so many people around. And it’s not like an abused omega was unheard of, but Stan knew Henry would still be less than happy if word got around.

Luckily, Eddie did not expect Stan to tell him anything at the moment. He kept walking, glancing behind him every few seconds like he feared Stan would run off. After how he had treated him, Stan supposed he couldn’t blame him.

Eventually Eddie stopped. They were behind the cafeteria building, hidden behind the dumpsters of half eaten food. It smelled atrocious, but Stan didn’t dare ask for them to move somewhere else. He didn’t have a lot of time.

“Okay, spill it,” Eddie said. “What the fuck did he do to your face?”

Stan sighed, slumping back against the wall. “He was just mad.”

“Just mad,” Eddie parroted blankly. “That doesn’t mean he gets to hit you. Bill gets mad sometimes, he’s never hit me.”

The mention of Bill speared Stan through the heart, but he forced himself to keep going. That’s not why he was here.

“It’s different,” Stan mumbled.

“Well it shouldn’t be!” Eddie said, his words coming out in a huff. Even after all these years, it was still so familiar. It almost made Stan crack a smile. Almost. “It’s - It’s fucked up.”

Stan shrugged. “Not all of us win the lottery, Eds.”

Eddie’s face fell. “You know Bill would let you back in the pack if you asked.”

“Henry would never let me go. His pack needs an omega.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what he was thinking. Why does it have to be you?

“Well, think about it,” he whispered.

Stan nodded. Then, just because he needed a way to escape Eddie’s offer, “Henry wanted me to drop out of class.”

“What? No, no, you can’t drop out! That’s the only time I see you!”

“Yeah, that’s why he wanted me to drop out. Don’t worry, I think I convinced him to let me stay.”

Eddie must have been expecting this answer, because he didn’t look surprised in the slightest. Still, his shoulders slumped like a child during the holidays who had just found out they weren’t getting any presents this year. “I just wanted to help.”

The defeat in his voice made Stan’s heart ache. How had he been pushing his friend away this whole time? “I know. And I appreciate it, I really do. But someone’s gotta pull the short straw in life.” Eddie didn't answer this time. He just stared down at his feet, nose wrinkled and lips pinched. Stan didn’t have to be a genius to know he was holding back tears. But he didn’t say anything, Eddie had never been fond of sympathy. “I - um - I should go. Belch is going to wonder where I am.”

“Alright.” Sure enough, Eddie’s voice was wobbly and he sniffed loudly before picking his head back up again. His eyes were shiny, but other than that all evidence of his emotional state had been swept under the rug.“Be careful.”

Stan left without another word, wondering if this little talk had left him for better or for worse.

Despite Henry’s persistence, Stan did not drop out. This was the one thing he had been allowed to do, and by God was he going to do it.

Eddie seemed pleased by this. His grin nearly split his face when he saw Stan sitting in his regular seat, and Stan was sure that if neither of them were so worried about Henry catching Eddie’s scent on him, he would have hugged him. Instead he just sat in his regular seat beside Stan, looking happy for the first time since he had entered this damned class.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Eddie said, keeping one eye on Doctor Keene as he did. The professor was still gathering his papers, they had a few minutes to exchange pleasantries.

“Me too,” Stan said. He kept his voice quiet. Even if class hadn’t started yet, Doctor Keene did not like meaningless chit-chat in his classroom.

Eddie’s eyes lingered on the bruises littering Stan’s skin. “Are you feeling better?”

Stan shrugged. “A little.”

Eddie nodded. “I told Bill to lay off for a little bit. To stop coming to pick me up and stuff. I thought maybe…” He trailed off lamely. What had he been thinking? That it would somehow convince Stan to trust him? That it would even the playing field? Make Stan less nervous?

Despite Eddie’s worries, Stan smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“But he - um - he wanted me to give you this.” Eddie’s hand slipped inside his backpack, his face scrunching up as he tried to focus on finding this mystery present. Stan found his heart skipping a beat at the prospect. There were a million possibilities, each one more self-indulgent and romantic than the last. But when Eddie pulled his hand back out, it was only a small, folded slip of paper. Stan still felt hot all over as he took it.

“Thanks,” he said, feeling breathless.

Eddie nodded. “I don’t know what it says, he was insistent that you be the only one to read it.” He offered Stan a sad smile. “He misses you. We all do.”

“I-” Stan bit his tongue. He couldn’t say he missed them. He couldn’t make it real. “Thank you,” he repeated instead.

Eddie smiled. Stan was sure he understood.

Doctor Keene rapped his knuckles against the whiteboard. “Afternoon, class.”

Stan knew Doctor Keene’s eyes wouldn’t be on him. He had developed a reputation as the best student in the class, always knowing the answers but never saying them without Doctor Keene’s permission. Even though he liked to think he could withstand Henry’s torment, he had become a docile omega. One that would never cause trouble.

But for once this was in his favor. He carefully unfolded the note, being sure to keep it hidden beneath the desk as he read.

“I believe wherever dreams dwell, the heart calls it home. So may you untangle yourself from the twist of melancholy and let your thoughts carry you back to the birthplace of your truth.” –Dodinsky

Stan couldn’t help but smile softly. Maybe his first real smile in a long time. Because he recognized the handwriting, the loops in the y’s and the slightly skewed dots atop the i’s. Bill could never get the dots to sit perfectly on top.

With gentle ease, Stan folded the note back up and slipped it between the pages of his notebook. It would be safe there. And Stan very much intended to keep it safe, to keep it out of Henry’s prying eyes and grasping fingers.

Distantly, Stan was aware his walls were starting to crumble.

–

Stan had begun to find himself looking forward to Doctor Keene’s lectures. Not because they had gotten any better, in fact they had gotten worse as he had begun describing biology in embarrassing detail, but because Stan was able to see Eddie.

Although Bill didn’t come around any more, Stan wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed about that one, Eddie had begun bringing him little presents from the Losers. After Bill’s note the gifts came in one every class. One day it was a sketch of Ben’s. The next class there was one of Mike’s famous recipes copied out in his meticulous hand. Beverly sent Eddie with a Polaroid she had taken when they were in middle school. It was before he had presented, Bill’s scrawny arm wrapped around his shoulders. Physical contact had been easy then. Normal. The memory of that touch made Stan shiver. The photo held second place in Stan’s heart to Bill’s note, but today that would change.

Today’s gift was something from Richie. The thin little book would be hard to hide, but when Eddie passed it to him before class Stan knew that he would keep it close. He recognized the worn, sun-faded and dog-eared pages, and the cracked spine by touch alone. It was Richie’s copy of Donavan’s Brain. And although the book was covered in Eddie’s scent, a sweet soothing smell almost like calamine lotion, as Stan thumbed through the pages he could smell the other alpha. The scent, while not as powerful as Bill’s, calmed Stan. It made him want to arch his back and curl up in a pool of sunlight listening to Richie read the story in his voices. The thought made him nostalgic as he tucked the book away into his bag with his other treasures.

Doctor Keene strode into the room a smile on his face. He no longer bothered with role. There was no need to. He knew his students would show up through fear alone.

“Today we shall begin discussing heats,” Doctor Keene reveled as his students squirmed before him. He knew they must be uncomfortable discussing such a personal topic. “This is the time of the month when you are most fertile. Leading up to your heat your scent becomes irresistible to alphas. Your body releases pheromones which make you more attractive to them. They can’t control themselves around you which is why it is your responsibility to remove yourself from the public. On top of that you will begin to produce more slick in preparation for penetration and eventually your alpha’s knot. During the heat you became slaves to your bodies’ needs. You are nothing more than mindless breeding machines.”

Stan felt Eddie tense up. It was funny how he was beginning to pick up on Eddie’s moods more and more after only seeing him through Doctor Keene’s lectures. Stan mused that this is what it must be like to be part of a pack, not one that was enforced through fear, but one grounded in mutual affection and affinity for one another.

Doctor Keene began his next point, and Stan hastened to catch up in his notes. Although he didn’t agree with what Doctor Keene was preaching, Stan lived in fear for the day that Henry would decide to look over his notes to ensure that he was paying proper attention in class.

“During your heat, if you perform well your alpha may choose to reward you with food – yes Mr. Kaspbrak?”

“If it is so important that we breed,” Eddie spat the word out clearly uncomfortable by it, “then isn’t it necessary for us to be well fed during our heat?”

“Absolutely not. Omegas are undeserving of reward if they do not take their alpha’s knot properly.”

“But how can we if we are on the brink of starvation?”

“That is enough, Mr. Kaspbrak.”

Eddie stood up. “No it isn’t! The reason omega populations are down is because of alphas and betas who think like you do. Not feeding omegas as punishment during a heat is what is leading to such high omega and pup mortality rates. There are so many undocumented miscarriages that occur because of the abuse which omegas suffer at the hands of their alpha because of the ‘science’ you preach. If omegas are so important to society then we should be treated as your equals.”

“Enough.”

“You are poisoning an entire generation. These omegas don’t know better, and will believe the filth you spew. They’ll take the abuse because something in them tells them they deserve it. Something you planted.”

“Mr. Kaspbrak, you are to leave my classroom immediately. I will be writing you up. Expect a meeting with me, your alpha, and the dean of undergraduate studies in the near future. Now pack up your things and leave.”

Eddie looked like he was about to say more, but instead he grabbed his bag and left. Stan could feel the anger and humiliation rolling off of him in waves. He wanted nothing more than to go after Eddie, but instead he remained rooted in his seat. He wondered how much of Eddie’s speech had been meant for him.

Stan knew he deserved better, but there was some part of him convinced that it was a lie. Deep down there was a voice which told him that Henry had been right. He hadn’t been good enough to be Bill’s mate, that’s why Bowers’ pack had been able to take him all those years ago. Henry had told Stan that he would never be good enough for an alpha like Bill and that one day he would learn his place. Henry had said that he certainly wasn’t good enough for him either, but that he was doing Stan a favor and it would be good for him to remember that. That was before Henry raped him for the first time. Stan could still remember the humiliation as his body produced slick against his will. Henry had been pleased, telling Stan that even if his mind was rejecting him his cunt was more than willing.

Stan’s breathing became shallower as Doctor Keene continued his lecture as though nothing had happened. When Henry had pushed in for the first time he demanded that Stan beg him to start moving. Stan refused for as long as he could. Henry had slapped him in the face shouting at him to beg, but Stan wouldn’t give him that. He couldn’t. Already he began constructing a haven in his mind. One where Henry couldn’t touch him; a balloon drifting far out of reach.

It was only when Henry pulled out his knife and slid it across Stan’s ribs that he was drawn back. The pain was instantaneous, and the howl that Stan let out was deafening.

“Beg.” Henry had growled, the command evident in his voice.

Stan had no choice. Henry was right, had always been right. Stan didn’t deserve Bill, not when he was so hungry for pleasure, because now his body was beginning to demand Henry to move. It demanded the delicious friction and stretch of Henry thrusting into him, the orgasm sitting hot in his belly waiting for release. Panting, like a bitch in heat, Stan begged. And in that one act he had sealed his fate.

Stan pushed those memories aside. He thought about the book Richie had given him, and the photograph where touch wasn’t something that left him feeling used and dirty. Stan longed for the innocence promised in the trinkets the Losers gave to him. He wanted more than anything to still be the boy he had been when he was with them. But he couldn’t live in the past. It was too painful.

He focused back on the lecture and began to take notes. His hand shook. Without Eddie here the class was unbearably lonely. Stan hadn’t realized what a big impact Eddie was already beginning to have on him.

–

The following day, Stan brought a bagged lunch with him to campus. He had two classes which bracketed lunch, and there was no way that Belch would come get him just to bring him back within the hour. And Henry wouldn’t give Stan an allowance for the cafeteria, so a bagged lunch was his only real option.

The day was nice enough that Stan decided to eat outside. He found a table far enough away from the hustle and bustle of campus that he figured he would remain undisturbed. Last week he had been eating near the cafeteria and several knot-head alphas had begun to catcall him, laughing as they chased him away. So today he was on the other side of campus, a place he had never been before, and was determined to eat in peace.

The sky was a soft hazy blue, and large clouds rolled lazily across it like they had no place in particular that they needed to be. In the shade of the tree it was relatively cool, a breeze stirred, but not much else.

Stan began unpacking his lunch, laying each item out on the table before him.

“Stan?!”

Stan turned at the voice and found Beverly and Ben. They must have scented his fear, because they approached him like a frightened animal.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“I – I didn’t know that you’d be here.” Stan said, beginning to pack his food up again.

“Woah. Hold on, there’s no need to pack up,” Beverly said. She glanced over her shoulder at Ben before sitting down at the table as far from Stan as possible. “You can stay, we just weren’t expecting to see you near the design building. That’s all.”

Stan stopped packing his food, but made no effort to pull out the items he had already placed into the brown paper bag. He eyed Beverly and Ben curiously wondering if there was any way Henry would trace them being near him. They were both up wind of Stan, keeping enough distance that their scents wouldn’t mingle with his own. Slowly he began to relax his posture.

“Eddie’s told us what’s been going on,” Ben said, joining Beverly at the table.

Stan nodded.

“Have you been getting our gifts?” Beverly asked.

Stan cracked a smile. “Thank you very much. I loved the architectural sketch and photo.”

Beverly smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank god, we weren’t sure if it would be safe for you to have those things, but we wanted to let you know that we were thinking about you.”

“Besides we couldn’t let Bill have all the fun,” Ben said.

Stan tensed at the name.

Beverly didn’t notice, “wait til we tell Bill about running into you –”

“Don’t!”

She turned to look at Stan, puzzlement clearly on her face. “Why not?”

“I don’t want him to know. I just think it would be better that way.”

“Stan, you know he misses you, right? We all do.”

Stan shook his head. “Stop please.”

“Stan?” Ben asked.

Panic began to rise. If Stan allowed himself to believe them then it would be all too easy to believe everything Eddie had said yesterday. If Stan had any hope, Henry’s treatment of him would become unbearable. All the work Stan had done would be for nothing and he would be pining for something he could never have. His breathing hitched, and as he drew in more air he could sense the soothing scent coming of Ben and Beverly. While it was nowhere near as effective as what an alpha could produce it calmed Stan down.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “We don’t mean to manipulate how you’re feeling, it’s just a panicked omega can draw unwanted attention, and we hate seeing you distressed.”

“I’m not distressed.”

Beverly and Ben shared a look.

“It’s okay if you are –” Beverly started.

“I’m not. I better leave.”

“No,” she stood. “We intruded on your lunch. Enjoy the rest of your day, Stan. I mean it.”

He watched as they walked away together. “Wait!”

They turned.

There was so much he wanted to ask them about. About their lives, their pack, about Bill. Instead he settled on something relatively innocuous. “Has Eddie met with the dean yet?”

They seemed disappointed in his question, Ben answered it. “Not yet. They have a meeting coming up, but things aren’t looking too good.”

Stan nodded.

The couple stood there for a moment, unsure if Stan would come up with any other strange outbursts to delay their departure, but when he didn’t they had no choice but to leave. Stan watched them and wished he weren’t so awkward, that he had been able to get them to stay. He felt as if a piece of his heart had left with them.

–

The next day Eddie didn’t show up for Omega 101. Stan held out his hope until the last second, silly as Eddie usually came ten minutes early, but when Doctor Keene began his lecture and there was no Eddie, Stan became resigned to the fact that he would be missing today’s class. Stan couldn’t help but miss the warm companionship of the other omega, the soothing scent of calamine lotion, the absurdly righteous anger. The presents. Stan realized that Eddie hadn’t given him anything of his yet. The thought saddened him in ways he couldn’t express. While he was jealous of Eddie’s position as Bill’s omega, he missed his friend even more. He thought maybe, given enough time, he could learn to be unselfish and find happiness for Eddie and Bill being together. He wondered if that was why Eddie hadn’t given him anything, maybe he had sensed the resentment and hadn’t wanted to be Stan’s friend at all. Maybe he was just doing everything as a favor to the others and not because he actually liked Stan. Stan knew that if he could confess all this to Henry that that’s what Henry would tell him. And Henry was always right when it came to Stan.

Stan tried to focus on the lecture instead of the sadness his thoughts caused him. He copied down notes in a shaky scrawl so unlike his normal handwriting as the rest of his mind wandered like a loose balloon.

When he left the class he found Mike waiting for him. The other boy smiled at Stan and began pushing his way through the crowd.

“Hey, can I walk with you?”

Stan nodded unsure what was going on.

Mike stayed by Stan’s side, but was sure to keep enough space between them so as not to freak out the omega. “Eddie sends his regards by the way.”

“Oh?”

“He said to tell you that he’s not allowed in Keene’s class until their issues are resolved. I’m sure you can imagine how devastated he is.”

Stan let out a small laugh.

Mike’s smile grew warmer at that. “Aw man, it’s been awhile since I’ve heard you laugh.”

Stan blinked and before he knew what he was saying he said, “I wish you were an alpha.”

Mike looked over at him with surprise on his face.

“I mean then you could have claimed me and I wouldn’t have ended up where I am.”

“Stan, even if I had been an alpha I wouldn’t have claimed you.” Mike said it so kindly and sweetly, but his words stabbed Stan like a knife.

His breathing went weird, it was becoming a common occurrence. The cruel side of Stan, which sounded so much like Patrick, teased that it must be a side effect of hanging around Kaspbrak so much. “What do you mean?”

“Aw, c’mon you know.”

“I don’t actually. All I know is that Richie and Bill have always loved Eddie, it might tear apart the pack but they both would choose him. Even Henry saw that… that’s why he… it’s why he took me. He knew –”

“Stan, stop.”

“Henry knew that I was the surplus. That no one could have wanted me. But if you had been an alpha maybe you could have claimed me. I would have been good for you, Mike. I would have hung off your knot –”

“Stan, enough. Please.”

Stan stopped. He supposed if he wanted to show Mike how good he would have been a great starting point would be shutting up when asked.

“It’s no good thinking like that,” Mike continued. “I’m not an alpha. I never will be, and even if I were I wouldn’t want you to hang off my knot like some heat-slut. You deserve more than that, Stan. Besides Bill –”

“I don’t want to hear about him.” Stan said. “I should get going. It was nice to see you.”

“Hang on,” Mike said, running to catch up with Stan. “Eddie wanted me to give you this. He said it’s the last one you needed.”

Mike passed Stan the gift, careful not to touch him. Once done he turned on his heel and began heading in the opposite direction.

Stan looked at Eddie’s gift. It was Eddie’s honor society pin from high school. Stan had wanted one so badly, but of course Henry wouldn’t allow him to join the honor society. The pin gleamed in the light and only when Stan tore his eyes away from it did he read the card that it was pinned to. Printed in Eddie’s careful lettering was an address. 1958 Jackson St. Stan realized at once that it was the Losers’ home address. His heart began to pound. If he were smart he would throw out the card and forget the line of neat printing, but already he was beginning to memorize the number and street name. Against his better judgement it was imprinted into his mind. 1958 Jackson St.

–

Belch picked him up and took him home.

As Stan began to cook dinner his mind wandered to the conversation he and Mike had. Why hadn’t Mike wanted him. Sure it had all been ridiculous speculation. Mike couldn’t change his secondary designation any more that Stan could, but it still hurt that Mike didn’t want him. Stan longed to be desired, wanted. As he cooked he thought about big hands wrapping around him, pinning him down, lips mouthing at his scent glands and bonding gland. He imagined an alpha’s deep rumblings of satisfaction as they mutually pleasured one another. Stan let out a soft whine. He needed to be filled with an alpha’s cock, to be told he was beautiful, wanted. He needed to know that he could inspire lust in another individual. He wanted to submit. To be good.

–

After dinner, before Henry could leave his place at the table, Stan sunk to his knees in front of him baring his throat to him.

“Alpha,” he purred. “I need you.”

He began mouthing at Henry’s stiffening cock through his jeans.

“Everyone out,” Henry ordered.

Belch and Vic backed away instantly, but Patrick let out a growl. Henry glanced up at him before looking back at the omega kneeling before him.

Henry began running his fingers through Stan’s curls, tugging him further into his crotch. “You’re needy tonight, aren’t you slut.”

Stan moaned.

“Think you can handle the both of us?”

Stan nodded.

Henry crooked his finger to Patrick allowing the other alpha to approach. Stan heard as Patrick undid his belt buckle and unzipped his jeans. He took one hand off of Henry’s thigh and reached for Patrick’s erection.

Stan lifted his head from Henry’s crotch and spat on Patrcik’s cock before taking the tip into his mouth. He moaned at the weight of Patrick on his tongue. He hollowed out his cheeks and began taking Patrick further into him, his hand making up the difference. Patrick thrust into Stan’s warm mouth, but before he could repeat the action Henry let out a growl.

He pulled Stan off of Patrick by his curls, causing the other’s dick to slide out of his mouth with an obscene pop. Stan let out a cry of pain.

“Teasing bitch, you finish me off first. Take care of him second,” Henry said.

With tears beginning to pool in his eyes, Stan helped Henry take off his pants and underwear before taking his angry red cock into his mouth. Henry’s dick was shorter than Patrick’s, but was much thicker. Stan was able to take it deeper into his mouth, as Henry controlled his movements with a hand on his head.

Stan could barely breathe, and what little air he was getting smelled entirely of Henry. He began to choke on the scent, as Henry continued to force his dick into Stan’s wet mouth.

“Henry,” Patrick’s voice was a whine of desperation. “Enough. I need to get into his wet cunt.”

Henry growled. “Shut up, Patrick. Fuck, baby, right there.”

Stan moaned at the praise, impaling himself further on Henry’s dick. The alpha’s hold was getting painful, and he really needed to breathe, but Stan was determined to pleasure the alpha.

“Enough,” Patrick said.

He pulled Stan off of Henry, wrenching his arm painfully in its socket. Stan let out a whine.

“Shut up, slut. You’ll get a cock soon enough.”

Henry rose and shoved Patrick away. “You don’t get to touch him when he’s sucking me off. Understand?”

In his daze Stan realized just how bad a fight between them would get. Desperately he tried to fill the air with a soothing scent that would get both alphas to back down. He was uncomfortably aware of his slick now, and how hard his own cock was. He needed to be touched, mated with. He wanted to get off so badly.

Against his better judgment he stuck his hand in his pants and began to stroke his cock. As an omega, it was smaller than the alphas’, but the pleasure which soared through his body must have changed his scent because both Patrick and Henry looked at him sharply. The hunger was unmistakable in their eyes.

Their fight was quickly forgotten as they turned their attention to the needy omega. Henry pushed Patrick onto the ground. He gestured that Stan go to him. Stan sunk to his knees and crawled to Patrick, taking his dick back into his mouth. As he sucked on Patrick’s cock, Henry came behind him and began running his hands up Stan’s shirt. He grabbed him by his hips, forcing him to present.

Stan moaned at how slutty he must look and took Patrick’s cock deeper into his throat.

Henry then pulled Stan’s pants down, and with little ceremony, shoved his cock into Stan. Even with all his slick, the stretch burned instantly and for a moment Stan could see nothing but bright white pain. As Henry thrust forward he gagged on Patrick’s dick, much to the other man’s pleasure. Patrick wrapped a hand in Stan’s curls and pulled him closer. Tears began to form once more. Henry thrust at a painful rate, his hips slapping against Stan’s ass.

“So wet for me, you fucking slut. You’re such a nasty, needy, omega whore. You think you deserve this pleasure, don’t you? You’re nothing but a set of warm, wet holes for us to use and breed as we like.” Henry gasped into Stan’s ear.

Stan hummed around Patrick’s cock. He could taste the man’s salty precum and knew he was getting close. Patrick’s knot had begun to form, his movements becoming limited. Stan struggled for air. He wanted to pull away. He tried to, his teeth scraped against Patrick’s sensitive skin, but the knot prevented him from doing so.

“Bitch!” Patrick shoved his cock in further.

Stan gagged, a sharp gurgling wet sound.

Tears sprung unbidden to his eyes streaming down his cheeks. Patrick’s hand moved from his hair and caressed his cheek.

“Pretty omega, weeping for my cock.”

Stan whined at the praise, disgusted but still craving more.

Henry grunted. He reached his hand around and began to roughly jack Stan off. The sensation was too much. More tears came as he whined in pain. He clenched around Henry’s dick. Anything to end this quickly.

“Nasty little slut, taking the both of us like this. You want praise?”

Stan couldn’t reply even if he had wanted to.

“Keep sucking me off,” Patrick slapped Stan’s cheek leaving a red mark.

He redoubled his efforts and soon he could feel ropes of hot cum painting the back of his throat. Patrick continued to stroke his cheeks, puffed out like a chipmunk from the intrusion. His touch was surprisingly light. Stan felt himself leaning into it, desiring Patrick’s affection. He swallowed the cum ignoring the sour taste, desperate for approval. Patrick’s knot didn’t go down immediately so Stan was stuck with a softening dick between his lips.

Henry was getting closer to cumming. With the formation of his knot, Henry’s movements had become limited so he ground his knot against Stan’s stretched lips causing them both to pant and moan. His grip on Stab’s hips tightened, fingernails digging into his skin drawing blood. The tip of Henry’s cock nudged against Stan’s prostate and he felt painfully close to cumming himself. Slick leaked out of his abused red hole. He was close. So close. The orgasm was beginning to build, hot and bright, tingling just below his belly.

With a moan Henry released his load into Stan. His omega hindbrain preened at the knowledge of getting off two strong alphas at once. A traitorous part of him desired a litter, even though he knew it wasn’t his time of month. Henry continued to tease him with his knot. His hand continued to tug at Stan’s erection, the over-stimulation causing more pain than pleasure.

Stan hissed, closing his eyes willing it to be over.

At last Patrick was able to pull away. After a few more painful moments, Henry tugged his deflating knot from Stan. The omega howled in pain.

After Stan regained his sight he whined. The lack of physical touch was too much. He needed to be held. He crawled to where Patrick was standing, desperate for intimacy. Desperate to cum. Patrick kicked him away.

Henry wiped his hand that had been jacking Stan off on his pant leg. “Disgusting whore.”

The two alphas left the dining room leaving Stan on the floor in a puddle of his own fluids. More tears threatened to come, but Stan wouldn’t allow them. He felt dirty and used. He tried to remind himself that he had wanted this, had needed to be desired and had asked for everything that had been given. It had been selfish of him to ask. That’s why it had been unsatisfying. He had been needy and demanding. He didn’t deserve to get off. He was just Henry and Patrick’s fuck toy. Something to be used. That was all.

He rose carefully, his knees and legs already sore. He dressed, head bowed, before beginning to clear the dishes. He would need to get a mop and bleach. Lots of bleach. His nose wrinkled at the thought of the strong chemical erasing the heady scent of their bond. He may not love Patrick or Henry but they were all he had.

In the bubble which separated him from the rest of the world a tiny voice argued that they weren’t all he had. He thought about the trinkets hidden in the bottom of his bag. The poem. The sketch. The book. A recipe. 1958 Jackson St. along with a pin. A photograph where touch wasn’t dirty or wrong. Stan closed his eyes and tried to remember that touch. A time when he had been pure. Clean.

The tears came now and there was no stopping the sob which rose in his throat.

–

Stan was grateful the next day was Saturday and he didn’t need to go to class. He could barely walk, his hips were bruised, his ass sore. On top of that his throat felt as if he had swallowed hot coals. His voice came out as harsh rasp as if he had spent a lifetime chain smoking packs of cigarettes. He hadn’t washed up last night, going straight to the closet of a bedroom and curling up in his blankets. His instincts demanded an alpha as he hadn’t finished, and he didn’t dare wash Henry or Patrick’s scent from his body. It was the only reminder he had that he had been wanted, at least for a little while.

In the harsh light of day, Stan wondered how he had allowed last night to happen. How had he fallen so far to let them abuse him so grossly and even enjoy parts of it? He didn’t want to enjoy the pain and humiliation, but his body had responded, and he had mewled in pleasure. He had wanted their knots and he hadn’t even been in heat. The thought terrified Stan. He had never given up control so easily, had never been tempted to. What had gotten into him last night?

Stan began calculating the days, counting backwards. It couldn’t be right. He tried again and came to the same conclusion. His heat was late. It should have started by now, but it hadn’t. He counted again panic rising.

He couldn’t be pregnant with Henry’s pups. The thought made him violently ill and he wondered if it was the morning sickness. A hysterical cry burst from his lips.

He thought back to his last heat. Patrick and Henry had refused to touch him. They didn’t want to take the days off to help him through his heat so they had locked him in his room with his toys. Vic had had to bring him water and food every few hours, complaining that he reeked every time the door was open. Stan relaxed. He couldn’t be pregnant. No one had touched him. Now that he thought about it no one had touched him for his last few heats. Had that led to last night’s neediness? Was it a contributing factor to his late heat? Did it mean his next heat would be extremely hard to get through?

Stan wished he could ask someone these questions, but his only option was Doctor Keene and there was no way he would be discussing his intimate sex life with the older professor. Stan would rather die first.

–

Stan arrived early to campus on Monday. He needed to go to the library to print some documents before Doctor Keene’s lecture. As he was leaving he caught a familiar scent, mellow and warm like sunshine. He looked up to see George Denbrough staring at him.

He had gotten big since Stan had last seen him. There was still a certain roundness to his face, but he had lost his baby fat. And while he and Bill weren’t the same, Stan could certainly see the similarities in his eyes and the quirk of his lips. His heart skipped a beat and instead of running away Stan walked towards the younger man.

The beta was obviously releasing soothing pheromones, but Stan didn’t mind. He could breathe in the mild Denbrough scent all day.

“Hi, Stan,” George made no sudden movements as the omega approached. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Had to print an essay.”

“Yeah? Cool.”

“What about you?” Stan asked.

“I work here these days. Mike got me the job.”

Stan felt shame rise at the mention of the other beta. He had made such a fool of himself the last time they had met, all because he was a needy omega. Before he could begin drawing in on himself, George’s voice broke through to him.

“Stan?”

He looked up sharply.

“Hey, you’re alright. What’s going through your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Do you see the Losers often?” Stan asked before he could overthink why he was asking.

George smiled, Bill’s smile. “Once a week. I go over for dinner with them. Sometimes some of my pack comes, but not always.”

Stan nodded. He wanted to know more about George’s pack. The last time they had seen one another George had only just presented, and now he was part of a pack. He pushed the questions down and asked what he really longed to know. “From an outsider’s perspective how are they, really?”

“The Losers?”

Stan nodded again not trusting himself to speak.

The light in George’s eyes dimmed a little. “They’re alright.”

While the words stung Stan knew it was for the best. They had moved on. Why shouldn’t they?

“But they miss you, Stan. Just yesterday they were talking about you over dinner.”

“What did Bill think about that?” The comment was out before Stan realized who he was speaking to. He dropped his head in shame, baring his neck to the beta.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” George’s brow furrowed.

“I – nothing. It was stupid to say.”

“No. I want you to elaborate. Please.”

“I should head to class.”

“Classes don’t start for another thirty minutes. C’mon, Stan, what’s really going on?”

“I just doubt that Bill likes to hear about me, that’s all.”

George laughed. “He was the one to bring you up.”

Stan’s head shot up. “Why?”

The humor died on George’s face. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Bill misses you Stan. He wants you back in his pack where you belong.”

“No, you must be mistaken.”

“Stan, why do you think Bill doesn’t want you?”

“He let them take me. He didn’t fight for me.”

“Oh, Stan. I can’t speak for then, but he wants you to be there now.”

“What about Eddie?”

“Eddie has always thought Bill hung the moon. He’s loved him for as long as I can remember. I thought that by now they would have bonded. He’s a better omega for Bill.”

“Eddie respects Bill as the leader of their pack, but he doesn’t love him that way. They haven’t mated, Stan.”

“But Eddie’s perfect. He isn’t broken.”

“Stan, you’re not broken.”

“No one is going to want me. I’m too messed up”

“My brother is always going to want you, Stan. After you both presented he was sure you were bond mates.”

Stan’s heart started to pound. “Those aren’t real.”

“Maybe not, but he was convinced that you were the only one for him.”

Georgie must be mistaken. There was no way that Bill actually thought –

“Then why did he let me go?”

“I really think you should talk to him.”

Stan shook his head. “I can’t. I should go.”

He did his best not to run from George, using his sweater sleeves to wipe the tears from his eyes. He felt that all he had done recently was cry.

Eddie didn’t show up to Doctor Keene’s lecture. Stan wondered if he had had his meeting yet. He wondered what the outcome was. He tried to pay attention during the lecture to keep himself from thinking about what George had said. Bill couldn’t have really believed they were bond mates. It was a childish fantasy. George had probably only said those things to make him feel better. If Bill really thought that – no. Even following that line of thinking was too painful for Stan to consider. Class ended and Stan hurried to gather up his things.

As he was leaving Stan ran into Richie. His scent, nowhere as near as potent as Bill’s was soothing nonetheless and reminded Stan of simpler times out by the quarry. He was sick of running away and crying so instead he approached the alpha. He could feel curious eyes on him, but he ignored them.

“Hi –”

“Hiya, Stan the Man.” The smile was the same heartbreaking smile, the tone was deeper but the inflection was the same as when they were younger.

“How’s Eddie?”

“He’s not suspended which is good. But he won’t be returning to Doctor Keene’s class. He’ll be taking the course next semester with a Doctor Nell.”

Stan tried to hide his disappointment. His one link to the past was gone. Sorrow threatened to drown him, but he was determined not to cry in front of Richie of all people. “I’m glad he isn’t in too much trouble.”

“You should have heard some of the things he said in the Dean’s office. There were times that Bill was worried that he might have to hold Eddie back,” Richie said cracking a fond smile.

Stan could imagine, but not even that could bring a smile to his face. He was exhausted and just wanted to curl up in his bed at home. “Why are you here, Richie?”

“Well couldn’t let all the others have the pleasure of seeing your pretty face now could I?”

Stan wasn’t used to the light teasing. It had been so long since he had heard it. He didn’t know how to respond.

“Hey, c’mon Stan. What’s an alpha got to do to get a cute lil omega like you to smile?”

“Don’t.” The words were too close to something Patrick or Henry might say.

“Woah, there. Clearly I said the wrong thing. I’m sorry, man. C’mon let me know that you’re still in there.”

Stan looked at Richie and again felt jealous of Eddie. Richie would never claim Stan when there was an Eddie for him. But if Bill had claimed Eddie, would Richie have claimed him? Stan would be willing to be second choice to Eddie if it meant he could stay with his friends. He had never loved Richie that way, but he could have learned.

“Why did you let me go?” Stan asked.

“Aw, fuck. We wanted to fight, but we weren’t even really a pack then. You remember? Bill and I were constantly on the verge of snapping each other’s heads off. There was no real leadership. It only got worse when you were gone. I resented him for so long. I couldn’t bear to look at him knowing that his weakness was the reason we lost you to them. Things have been a mess for so long.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? Once things settled.”

“Bill thought that maybe you were better off. He figured you would have run back to us, and when you didn’t it was because you didn’t want to be a part of a pack that couldn’t protect you in the first place. Bill thought you didn’t want him. He blamed himself for not being strong enough to defend you and bring you back. He thought you hated him all these years for being weak. He never wanted you to go, he just didn’t think he was worthy of you.”

“Bullshit.” Stan sobbed. “I fought them for so long, waiting for you to come.”

“We thought you would make it back to us, Stan. We always thought you would break free of them.”

“Well I didn’t. They’ve tainted me. I’m beyond repair. I don’t deserve to be rescued.”

“That’s not true.” A fire burned in Richie’s eyes. “You don’t deserve how they’re treating you. Nobody deserves that.”

“You sound like Eddie.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe Eddie is right?”

Stan let out a noise equal parts frustration and despair. “He can’t be.”

“Why?”

“Because if he is then I’ve allowed them to treat me like… like they have. I let them do those things to me. I let them.”

“That’s not true,” Richie reached out and rubbed his scent gland along Stan to release pheromones that would calm the omega.

Stan relaxed but then stumbled back like he had been hit. “I have to go.”

He did his best not to run.

Richie watched him go noting an odd scent in his wake. It was heady, almost pungent. He blinked away his disorientation. It must have been due to Stan’s discomfort. The halls were empty now, and Richie turned already late for his next class. He didn’t care. All he could think about was the tortured look in Stan’s eyes so different from the boy he remembered. Despite Bill’s orders to give Stan space, Richie was going to find a way to bring back his best friend. He couldn’t let Bill order him around this time.

–

When Stan got home he went immediately to the small bathroom off of his room. He began scrubbing his skin until it was raw hoping that Richie’s scent didn’t cling to him. Next he moved to his room and began rearranging the pillows and blankets on his bed. He hollowed out a spot in the center of the bed, big enough for two, before meticulously building up soft walls around the spot with extra pillows and blankets. It was shabby as Henry didn’t allow him much, but Stan couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at his work.

“Hey, fag, what’s for dinner?” Belch asked, opening his door. He caught sight of Stan’s actions. “Shit. You about to go into heat?”

Stan froze. He hadn’t even realized what he had been doing. He looked down at his work in dismay, all of his pride was replaced by horror. It was a nest.

Belch was sniffing the air intently. His brutish face screwed up in puzzlement and disgust. “Ugh, Uris, you reek. Henry!”

Stan couldn’t stop the tremors running through his body. An alpha couldn’t control themselves around an omega in heat, isn’t that what Doctor Keene had taught them? Everything that was about to happen would be Stan’s fault. He hoped Henry would just tell him to take care of it himself. It would be a normal heat, everything would be okay. He kept promising himself that as he heard Henry’s tread on the stairs above.

Henry appeared at the door. His annoyance at being called darkened as he scented the room. He shoved Belch out of the way and entered the room. “Jesus, Stan. Overdoing it much?”

“Sorry.” Stan shrunk back into his nest.

“Friday not enough for you?”

“It was enough! More than enough.”

Henry let out a bark of a laugh. “And yet you smell more potent than usual. Ripe for the taking. Now why do you think that is?”

“You haven’t touched me.” Stan shut his mouth immediately regretting what he had said. It was stupid. Only an omega so close to their heat would be so stupid.

“I thought we established that I touched you plenty on Friday.”

Stan let out a whine. He could smell Henry now, and even though he usually hated his scent, it was starting to smell good. “Not during heat. You haven’t touched me. I’ve only had my fingers and toys.”

Henry smacked Stan across the mouth. “Don’t get smart.”

Stan found himself leaning toward Henry, craving an alpha’s touch. He reached up to Henry’s arm tugging at him. “Stay, please. Henry. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll do whatever you say I’ll be good for you please –”

Henry caught Stan’s wrist. The hold was a vice grip, and as much as Stan tried to pull away he could not.

“What’s this?”

Stan keened in pain.

“An alpha. Who touched you?”

“No one!”

Another smack across his mouth.

“You lying bitch. You want to be touched this heat? I’ll touch you. I’ll touch you so no one would ever want you. You won’t be able to cheat on me then.” Henry pulled his knife from his jean pocket, pressing it just above Stan’s collar. “I’m going to make sure everyone knows you’re mine. When you look in the mirror you won’t forget. I’ll carve my name into every inch of your flesh.”

Stan tried to back away, but Henry had him pinned. “Tell me you want it, Stan. To be mine. Say it.”

Henry ground his erection against Stan, causing the omega to melt. The fight was beginning to leave him, and that was more terrifying than anything Henry had planned.

“C’mon, Omega. Say it. Tell me to mark you.” Henry’s knife pressed against Stan’s throat the cool metal warming under the contact with his sensitive skin.

Henry buried his nose into the scent gland by Stan’s throat drinking in the fear and desire that came off the omega in waves. He growled, deep in his chest, clearly pleased by the effect he was having on Stan.

Stan could feel the inner omega jumping to comply. The pleasure which was rolling off of Henry was intoxicating. Before he knew what he was doing he bared his throat to Henry. The real him inside the balloon hated his body for betraying him. This was it. If Stan didn’t do something now it would be too late.

“Say it.” The alpha’s orders were deeper, commanding. Stan wouldn’t be able to resist much longer.

Before his thoughts could cloud over completely, Stan thought about trinkets. Things he would line his nest with if he were sharing it with his bond mate. This was a game he played when he was waiting for his heat, desperate to be touched. It distracted him from the loneliness. He dreamt about a room with a big bed, his nest made of fluffy pillows and thick, warm blankets. The room was always the same, but depending on his mood what he decorated it with changed. Today there was a lovingly printed recipe pinned to the wall, beside it a drawing of a building on vellum. There was a photograph on the bedside table along with a dog eared book. A pin sat on top of the book glinting in the light. 1958 Jackson Street.

Stan had never thought that this room would exist outside his head, he never allowed himself to believe anyone would accept him after what Henry had done. The knife began to dig into Stan’s throat. His time was almost up. 1958 Jackson Street.

… w-wherever dreams dwell, the h-heart calls it home… untangle from the t-t-twist of your melancholy … let your thoughts carry you b-back…

Bill.

The balloon popped.

This was real.

If he didn’t fight back now he would never get another chance.

Stan kicked his legs, destroying the nest he had so carefully made. He squirmed under Henry, primal instinct overriding his heat. He drew a leg up and kneed Henry’s groin.

The alpha recoiled instantly, pain radiating across his face. In his surprise he curled inwards on himself, pulling the knife away from Stan’s throat.

Stan tried to push Henry off him, but the alpha was much bigger than he was. His window was narrowing, panic began to set in again.

Henry was howling and it wouldn’t be long until the others came.

Stan managed to wriggle free. He had jumped off the bed when Henry’s arm shot out and grabbed him.

“You’re not going anywhere. You fucking cunt!”

“Let go of me!”

“You’re going to lie down and take it good. You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you, Stan?”

The hold on his wrist was tightening. There was a growing pain in his shoulder as he tried to jerk away. Henry was getting up now, the window narrowing further. All Stan wanted was to curl back into his balloon in the room he had created. Let Henry do whatever he wanted with his body, the real Stan would be safe.

“Good, omega,” Henry crooned.

Stan could feel himself being dominated. His thoughts were going hazy as if hidden behind a gauzy film. If he returned to the room in his head none of this would matter. It wouldn’t be real.

The words 1958 Jackson Street flashed through his mind like a neon sign breaking through the haze. This was real. If he let Henry touch him it was real.

Henry was closer now, his scent surrounding Stan.

With his free hand Stan punched Henry square in the jaw. He threw all his weight into the hit. All his anger and fear. The pain in his knuckles lit up hot and bright, but he felt Henry let go of his other wrist.

Stan didn’t look back as he ran.

Outside he could feel the cool rain on his skin. It was late and dark now. There was a chilly breeze too. His teeth chattered in his head. As the adrenaline began to leave his system he remembered why he had gotten into the fight. His heat was approaching. It was a terrible idea for him to be out, maybe he should go back, beg for forgiveness.

Stan didn’t know where he was going. He looped around the streets, any sane person would think he was drunk and lost. He was getting colder. He crossed his arms around his chest to conserve warmth. There was nowhere to go, and his heat was coming. Stupid, omega. He wouldn’t be able to prevent any alpha from taking advantage of him in this state. He was practically asking for it wandering around like this. And part of him wanted it. He wanted some alpha to ravage him and fill him with pups. His omega hindbrain was buzzing at the thought, all higher thinking was disgusted by his own biology.

He had been foolish to think he could survive without Henry. Where was he going to go? Without an alpha looking out for him he might end up somewhere worse. A breeding farm. As his heat approached his thoughts became more cloudy, the separation between hindbrain and higher thought widening. He couldn’t stay out here for much longer.

Dimly he tried to remember somewhere safe he could hide. There must be a culvert or abandoned building he could spend the night in. He felt something flicker in the back of his brain, but the cloud of his heat was too thick and he couldn’t access his higher rational.

Jackson Street. Something Jackson Street.

He looped through deserted streets keeping his eye out for a Jackson Street. He wasn’t sure what was there, but he knew that that was where he would be safe. His clothes were drenched now, hanging heavily from his equally soaked limbs. His entire body was shivering. Pain radiated from his left hand and right wrist. One was bright the other a dull throbbing ache. He couldn’t stop shivering.

After what felt like hours of wandering, Stan found himself at Jackson Street. It was a pretty little domestic street, practically across town from Henry’s place. He had no idea how long it had taken him to get here.

Stan walked down the middle of the street willing himself to remember the address. Something Jackson Street.

The rain and heat-fog blurred all the houses together. Something 8 Jackson Street. That had to be it. To Stan it seemed as if all the houses were locked up for the night. Closed against the rain. Only he was left on the outside. 19 something 8 Jackson Street. Of that he was sure. But he couldn’t remember the missing number. The more he thought about it the more it disappeared behind the fog.

Stan was getting scared now. His feet ached and he couldn’t consciously remember what he was doing out here. He had to stop. He just needed to go somewhere to warm up. That was all that mattered now.

Stan found himself looking up at a snug little house, which must contain two apartments. The one on the left side’s windows were bright despite the late hour. In the ambient light, Stan could make out a well kept garden. It looked safe here. Happy. Even the door was a cheery blue which complimented the yellow shutters. Pretty. Maybe the inhabitants would take him in until he could remember the address he was looking for. Hopefully they wouldn’t turn him away. Stan wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to keep wandering.

Drawing up what little courage he had left Stan approached the door of 1958 Jackson Street. He knocked, tentatively soft, barely heard above the rain.

The door opened. Light streamed from inside causing Stan to blink. At first he couldn’t see who was at the door, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. “Please I need –” His words were slurred.

“Stan?”

His eyes focused and there before him was Bill. His last conscious thought was that he was dreaming. Stan collapsed as the last reserve of energy abandoned him.

Bill caught him and carried Stan inside, kicking the door shut. Stan Uris had come home.

#the losers club #stenbrough #reddie #benverly #stanley uris #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #stenbrough fanfic #stenbrough fanfiction #the losers club fanfic #the losers club fanfiction

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fvaleraye · 4 years

Text

Letters and Locks

Well, would you look at that, another Scintillam thing :D this one focuses pretty much entirely on Caecus and the Historium, and takes place some time after Turning in Old Goods, but not directly after. some time has passed i have spent p much all day on this, and i hope y’all enjoy reading it asdlkfn-

It was a rather calm day in the Silver City, grey clouds hung lazily over the sun, a gentle drizzle peppering the roads, roofs and towers. A good day for a walk, if you had an umbrella. A better day for just sitting at home with a good book, listening to soft pats of rain against the roof. Caecus enjoyed days like these, where he could rest his old bones in his private study, read over one of his favorite books, and just listen to the not so distant sounds of nature, just barely kept in check by the walls of the city. A bastion of civilization and knowledge, nestled right in the middle of one of the wildest and untamed parts of the great kingdom. It was poetic.

Today was one of the few days where he was not working, where he just sat, and read some silly stories. He chuckled as he flipped through the pages, apparently amused by the current events of the book. Some people thought that he never stopped working, but they would be instantly proven wrong if they could see him now. It was pleasant. Peaceful. Of course, such peace could only last for so long.

There was a knock on the door, polite and soft, so as to not disturb the rooms inhabitant too badly. He just tried to ignore it, still taking in his story. He would very much prefer not to be bothered. He thought that much was obvious by how he was in his private study. And then there was another knock, this one a little more forceful. He just let out a sigh, and set his book aside. "Alright- come in." He called, quietly grumbling to himself as he took his cup of coffee from the nearby side-table. His rather disgruntled expression softened a bit once he saw who it was.

"Mors!" He said, setting the coffee back down. "You should have said it was you, come in come in, sit down!" He gestured to a guest chair he had nearby.

The scholar in question stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, before scuttling in and closing it gingerly. He was a sullen and nervous looking fellow, wearing glasses and robes similar to the magus's. "I apologize for disturbing you, magus." He said, quietly, his voice as anxious and quiet as you would expect from looking at him.

"Don't apologize my boy! Come come, sit down, please."

"M-magus-"

"I insist, my boy."

There were a few indignant sputters and mumbles, before the young scholar let out a deep sigh, and walked to the empty seat. He looked as if he was sitting on pins and needles.

"Comfortable?"

"S-sire, I must-"

"Sire?" The magus parroted, tilting his head and giving an incredulous look. "Now, Mors, how long have we known each other? I practically raised you, where are all these "sires" and other formalities and pointless honorifics coming from?"

"I promise it is of utmost importance-"

"Everything is with you..." He cut in, his tone starting to show slight signs of exasperation.

"-otherwise, I would not disturb you during your time off."

Caecus sighed again, and leaned forward towards the younger scholar, hands pressed together in front of him. "Mors, why must you always be such a doom and gloom fellow?"

"I'm just a realist, sire." He replied quickly, seemingly used to these sorts of questions.

"Mors..." He let out another sigh, one hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, while the other went to rest on the armrest as he leaned back into the chair. "... Mors, my boy, there's a difference between being a realist, and being a bore and a downer. And I don't see what being a realist has to do with anything happening right now... but, you've already ruined my good mood, so just... just- just get on with it, for gods sakes."

Mors took a deep breath, and leaned forward, clearly wanting to stand up, but also not wanting to upset the magus any further. "Sire, there have been noise complaints from the church."

"Gods sakes, I thought we were past this..."

"One of the pastors claims he heard screaming from the Historium."

A dread silence hung over the room, Caecus' previously annoyed expression shifting to one more... unreadable. He leaned forward again. "... would you like to run that by me again? I don't think I heard you right."

"One of the clergymen was passing by the Historium early in the morning on his way to the church, to get ready for his afternoon sermon, and claimed to hear, and I quote, "hysterical and inhuman sobbing and screaming", from the Historium, most likely from the lower levels of the building."

"... that's impossible..."

"That's what I said too, I said that the only thing below the Historium were the storage rooms and your private laboratories, and no-one would be down there that early, not even you. We even questioned the early morning staff who were in the building at the same time he was passing by, and none of them heard anything, and even if there was screaming he shouldn't have been able to hear it from outside the building, but the good father stands by what he said."

There was no response, just silence, as he slowly leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking below the chair. While his expression was hard to decipher, it was clear that he didn't like what he was hearing. He took a deep breath, and another, and another, tapping his fingers together as he started to mumble quietly. "... okay... okay." He set an elbow down on the armrest, and placed his head in his palm. "Okay. Who was the clergyman?"

"Pastor Daniels, sire."

The old scholar took a deep breath, his face contorting into something beyond anger, before quickly shifting back to his previous one of indecipherable annoyance.

"I've been talking to him all day, but he is convinced that he heard something ghastly." He sighed, his look one of worry to contrast the magus' unreadable expression. He didn't like his expression. It was usually one he wore when he was about to blow up in someone's face. "... I might have a few theories."

"Do you now?" He responded, his tone just short of a yell, clearly already fed up with the topic.

He flinched at the others tone. "... y-yes, I think I do." He cleared his throat awkwardly, and shifted in his seat. "Well, th-there is a- uh- a sewer grate near the tower, perhaps it could have come from there, all sorts of ghastly things lurk down there, or, perhaps-"

"Do you want to know what I think, Mors?"

"... w-what do you think, magus?"

"What, I, think..." He slowly pushed himself out of his chair, getting to his feet as he spoke. "... is that the church is back to their old games."

"S-sire?"

"You know how they are, Mors, they've always hated me, hated the Historium, because so much of what we find and research doesn't fit into their little narrative, "blasphemous" this, "heretical" that-" He started to pace, gesturing wildly in the air as he felt that his raising tone was not properly voicing his frustration. "-they've been trying to get us shut down and silenced for years, ESPECIALLY Daniels-"

"S-sire-"

"And NOW, HE wants to RUIN me, he's probably going to tell EVERYBODY about what he heard, maybe even go to the Councilman Argentum and try to convince him to cart me out of the Historium so he can finally burn it all down and ruin all my work-"

"Magus Coluber, m-maybe you should sit back down-"

"I WILL NOT SIT DOWN, MORS." He yelled, his face nearly entirely red with anger. "Actually, it's a good thing you're here!" He grabbed some paper, a quill, and tossed them at Mors, causing the young man to flinch and tense. "Write down what I say, and send it to the head of the church."

He swallowed the lump of anxiety and panic in his throat, and fumbled with the paper and quill for a moment. "Y-yes sire-"

The sorcerer cleared his throat, straightened his posture, folded his hands behind his back, and spoke clearly, and forcefully.

"Dear Your Holiness, I have heard your complaints and concerns from Father Daniels, and I understand the concern you must feel from what you have heard from him, but I can assure you that these claims are false. Young Mors, my personal assistant, questioned every Historium staff member who were here that morning, and none of them, not one, could claim to have heard the same sounds Father Daniels claims to have heard, despite being in the same building he claimed to have heard the screaming come from. It is not exactly a secret that me and Daniels have had longstanding animosity for each other, and me and the church have never exactly seen eye-to-eye, but I assure you, if such a thing happened in my Historium, I would investigate, but, as it stands, there is no evidence that he actually heard anything, and it is the word of over a dozen hard working Historium scholars, most of whom are in their physical and mental prime, who were within the building itself at this time, versus the word of only one of your oldest preachers, one who is pushing seventy, might I add. In short, I sincerely doubt that he actually heard anything, and, even if there was the, quote unquote, "hysterical and inhuman sobbing and screaming", coming from the building, my staff would have heard it and reported it to me, and your Father Daniels would have hardly heard anything from the road. Especially if it came from the lower floors of the building as he claimed. I stand by my staff and what they have said, and I hope that you will, for once, stand on the side of reason, as I have. Serpentis oculo veritas, Caecus Coluber, Librarian Argentum of The Historium, Duke of The Turrim Veritatis, High Magus Argentum of The Domus Autem est Argentea Serpens."

"Did you get all that?"

"D-did you r-really need to use all the- the d-dead language terms for these things, s-sire-"

"Did. You. Get. All. Of. That."

"Yes sire-"

"Good. Now leave."

"Y-yes sire-"

The magus watched as the young scholar scurried out of the room, letter in hand. When the door slammed shut, he sat back down in his chair, idly rubbing his now throbbing forehead. He let out a deep, tired sigh, and started to mumble to himself. "... I can't believe this..." He grumbled, snapping his fingers and letting his book disappear in a puff of smoke. "... today was supposed to be quiet... and nice... I was going to read my stories, and suddenly..." "... I have another letter to write..." He clapped his hands, and a decidedly unique looking piece of parchment appeared in his hands, along with another quill, which had seemingly been dipped in silver, and a new bottle of ink. "... where to begin..."

"My most trusted accomplice, I hope this letter finds you in good health. I thank you for the documents that you so graciously gifted me with earlier this month, as well as the compilation of folk stories. While I am pleasantly surprised at the prevalence of my theories in these folk tales, most of their contents venture too far into the realm of the absurd for me to use as a reliable source. I thank you for them still, as they have been a good source of entertainment in these stressful workdays. Your theories are most interesting, though they stray quite close to the realm of make-believe for my tastes. Nevertheless, I am open to hearing more. Your "Starborn" hypothesis, in particular, was fascinating. I would be delighted if these "star children" you are so adamant about would exist as you say they do, and even more so if you could find a living one, but I have my reservations. On a more serious matter, however, I must ask that you relieve me of the rejects at your earliest convenience. Besides the noise they constantly make, and the slime and shed skin that have begun to accumulate, one of them attacked an intruder this morning, and a passing local clergymen heard the cries of pain through a grate. At least this confirms the soundproofing spells for the rest of the building are functional, as none of the morning staff heard anything. Furthermore, I fear that the reject responsible has developed a taste for blood, and can no longer be safely worked with. I am too old, and I do not have the tools to terminate it in the Historium, nor do I have the means to deal with the remains. Of the subject, that is, there were no remains of the hoodlum besides some blood to be mopped up. Besides, this entire batch was a dud. Nothing gained, no changes, and too much material lost. I expect replacements for both materials and subjects by the summer solstice. Lastly, I beg of you, please cease with your more criminal activities, at least for the time being. I respect you as a scholar and a mage, but for gods sakes, if you get caught then all of this will have been for naught. I could swear you were taunting the council itself with your antics. If you are apprehended and brought before the council of nine, and you would go before the council of nine for the severity of your numerous crimes, there are no strings I would be able to pull to save you. And I refuse to go down with you. So please, for both of our sakes, exercise discretion. We are so close. Don't ruin this for us now. In the eye of the serpent, the truth, Caecus Coluber, Silver Librarian of The Historium, Duke of The Tower of Truth, High Silver Magus of The House of The Silver Serpent."

Folding the finished letter, he slid it into an envelope, and stamped it with the seal of the silver magus. He then walked out to his outside balcony, protected from the drizzle by a stone overhang, and tied it to his personal carrier raven, which quickly flew off to its intended destination, as it had been trained to do. He gave one more deep sigh, and walked back into the study, glancing at the clock. "... it's getting late..." He mumbled, opening a drawer on his desk, full of mostly broken orbs. He took one, and looked it over, slowly. "... no help to my research, in the end, but fascinating nonetheless..." He let his somber expression soften into a smile. "... "you learn something new every day..."... well, not quite, not anymore, but it's still nice when it happens." Placing it back, he closed the drawer, and walked out into the rest of the building, nearly bumping into a pair of passing scholars.

"O-our deepest apologies, magus-" One of them stammered, bowing deeply.

"No, no, my apologies, I should look where I'm going..." He pat the bowing young scholar on the head, and sent them both off.

The old sorcerer continued on his way, making passing greetings at the various Historium staff as he walked, his shoes thumping quietly on the marbled floors and stairs. As he was passing through the lobby, he took a moment to look at all the people, scurrying to and fro, the sound of feet and shoes on marble drowning out the conversations some were having in the corners of the room, and the opening and closing of creaky wooden doors grating on his ears. Now he remembered why he spent so much time and energy getting the upper and lower floors soundproofed. Nevertheless, he stepped back onto the stairwell, and eventually arrived at a small intersection below the surface. There were a few doors, and the construction was mostly stone, as opposed to marble, showing that it was mostly likely built after the rest of the building, and for sturdiness rather than aesthetics. Each one was locked. There was someone else in the room, fiddling with the lock. "... hello?"

The person jumped, and turned towards him. They both eased up once they saw each other. He sighed. "... James, what are you doing down here? You know the rules."

"I-I know, I..." James fidgeted a bit, his usual professionalism not quite all there at that moment. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but it took a few moments before he could actually answer. "... sir, I think I might have... dropped the keys to my locker of personal things in the grate outside... I was... hoping I could... slip in and get them before you noticed."

He chuckled at the response, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Is that all? I'm on my way in there, I can grab your keys for you and have someone leave them in your quarters."

"Thank you magus." He replied, giving a smile and a bow.

"It's no problem, James. Now, off with you."

The young assistant stepped out of his superiors way, and hurried up the steps. With that out of the way, Caecus stepped towards the one directly across from him. He looked over the wood and iron door, and gripped the padlock. He reached into his pocket for a large iron key, and inserted it into the lock.

Click.

#Valerie Writes #Scintillam #Caecus Coluber #another chapter........#yell heah #i think i'm doing good asdflkjn #i hope y'all enjoy reading this!#and i apologize for any grammar errors; i looked over it as best as i could; and i don't have proofreaders; so asdklfjn-#i am my own proofreader and i did my best-#i also apologize if any of the unnecessary latin is completely botched ASDFKLJN

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zukofenty · 4 years

Text

Day 4: bad decisions

➜ The one where Katara (might) be in love with the campus drug dealer.

“So why won’t you go out with me? Is it because I’m a drug dealer?” Zuko’s mad, twisting the rings on his fingers while impatiently waiting on her answer.

“Not exactly,” Katara quips, averting her eyes from his fiery gaze. “It’s mainly because you don’t tip when we go out to eat.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, teeny bit of angst, DrugDealer!Zuko

➜ Words: 5.3k

➜ Warnings: I love DrugDealer!Zuko more than I love myself 😩

AO3, Zutara Month Playlist, @zutaramonth hi i love u!

➜ Notes: hehe listen to “Bad Decisions” by Miss Ari! life changing!

“Zuko’s dead? ” Katara nearly screams into the phone. She pulls on one of his hoodies and is scrambling to find her slides and keys.

Toph sighs. “We all knew this would happen. The sky’s blue, Beyonce needs to stop forcing her boyfriend on us. Basic facts. Get it together , Katara.”

“Toph, how does your disdain for Jay-Z make it into every conversation you have?” Suki wearily states. “All we know is that a dealer got shot near the frats today. So in conclusion, Zuko’s dead.”

“Donezo.”

“Bitch is gone .”

“God bless his beautiful ass.”

“A moment of silence for his fake Chanel blouses.”

Katara does her breathing exercises. “ Enough .” She hears a knock at the door, and immediately grabs her expandable baton. “Oh my god , someone’s at the door.” She whips out the baton to its full length.

Toph gasps. “Bitch, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. Are we getting a two for one deal tonight?”

Suki cheers. “I call dibs on her Fenty highlighters.”

“Oh hell fucking no ! You do not have the range for Trophy Wife, whore!” Toph shouts right into the microphone. Katara winces, and takes out an Airpod. She’s heaving, nervous at who could be at the door. Toph and Suki were trying to negotiate with each other on who was getting Katara’s brand new Hydrating Foundation when she takes an experimental glance out the peephole. Her gasp reverberates through the phone.

“She’s died, Suki! She’s died!” Toph wails, her screams nearly unintelligible.

“ Zuko? ” Katara screeches at the top of her lungs, launching herself at him so violently her other Airpod pops out.

He chuckles when she locks her legs around his waist, his arms coming out to support her from underneath her ass. It’s domestic, and he relishes in the attention. “Hello to you, too.” She’s smiling at him and it’s beautiful and soft and everything he wanted to see after the shitty night he’s had. Dealing in college was an easy route to Balenciaga and bitches. Everyone did it, it was as easy as catching HPV at your school. Yet, Zhao, the Kingpin of dealers, just had to get his side-chick pregnant and then just had to get shot by his girlfriend. Even if he did get shot up because he was a slut (#FreeZhao), the campus dean had called the cops and was in the process of launching an extensive campaign to fuck up any current dealers. Even if you possess the slightest hint of addy for your ADHD, you still had to haul your ass to the campus police station. It wasn’t fair though. Coke is what makes college campuses around the world run as smoothly as they do.

“You promised me you’d stop,” she’s murmuring in his ear, curled up beside him in her cramped twin bed. Her roommates went back home for the weekend, so it makes it just that much easier to pretend you two could be like this. Lost in the sheets, hopelessly in love with her head on his chest.

“If I didn’t, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get you this,” Zuko whispers in her hair. He slides a ring on her finger and she smiles lazily back at him, placing a tender kiss on his cheek. God, is this what love feels like? If she accidentally got pregnant with Zuko’s spawn she wouldn’t immediately reach for Plan B? The ring was a simple thing, just plain silver because she wanted one to be “edgy,” obsessed with rings after playing with the handful that adorn Zuko’s fingers. After making sure she was sound asleep, he lets himself smile. Finally , he’s getting somewhere with her.

Seemingly a too perfect, impenetrable forest, he’s finding himself finally being let into her world. As corny and lovesick it sounded, Zuko understood how easy it was to love someone when he laid eyes on you. All those damn John Green books were right, he begrudgingly admits ( Eat shit John Green.) She truly could not do one wrong thing in his eyes, her soft giggles as she attempted to explain commas and semicolons and gerunds or whatever the fuck he doesn’t quite remember because he was busy being infatuated and trying to make her laugh. They’d met freshman year, and have remained in this weird limbo ever since. Where he would call her to remind her to eat when she was stressed, and he could plant kisses in her hair when he’s showing up to her apartment at night, cuddling her without her pulling away because it always felt right. At the same time, Katara felt so unattainable, so out of reach. It’s never progressed past simple, flirtatious touches. Yet, being with her feels different than any other relationship he’s been in, as though his heart was permanently and solely hers.

It was easy to fall in love. Katara was so kind, yet so dead set in her ways. Never detracting her focus from school, she had no time for anything else in her life. Her older brother Sokka had raised her when their parents had disappeared shortly after producing the “accident” child. They handed Katara off to him, who hadn’t spoken to them in years. While Sokka was in college and attempting to care for Katara at the same time, he had struck gold with recording labels interested in his music producing work. Soon, he was making songs you could regularly hear on the radio and not just on Soundcloud, and the royalties were ensuring Katara got the best. The best schools, clothes, life. Even if her brother was obsessed with flexing his regular Bugatti purchases on Instagram, she wasn’t nearly as preoccupied. She was always in oversized hoodies that once upon a time ago belonged to Sokka before he decided on dressing like a 30 year old hypebeast Instagrammer still trying to hold onto their youth. Always volunteering her time and doing things rich people had time to do to make themselves feel good about their tax breaks.

It made Zuko feel jealous in a sense, with his uncle struggling to make ends meet his whole life. He ran a small fried chicken and tea shop (Iroh was convinced about this combo) in his neighborhood, and he hated to admit that he was ashamed. That he dreamed of shoving Chanel anything up his ass. He would take the perfume sample cards from the mall that said Givenchy , pinning it to his wall as inspiration for what he would buy in the future. It didn’t make sense to him, when Katara had all this money and couldn’t care less. She penny pinched when she didn’t need to, wore clothes from Forever 21, as though Sokka wouldn’t drop thousands for the Fendi boots she always talked about.

“Damnit, you’re dick sick, aren’t you?” Toph sends her a look that screamed pity. Katara tried to fix the frown, but her eyes always revealed everything. So she nods in agreement, and Toph wraps her up in her arms. Zuko had invited her and Toph to a quote unquote “exclusive party” thrown by the rich kids whose parents owned the university. The Olivia Jades of the world. Schmoney shmoney . It didn’t help that she felt so out of place, circling all throughout the frat house before settling on the cleanest couch near the one window that wasn’t broken. She wanted to be a part of Zuko’s world for a night, see where he was disappearing to on the weekends.

Although Toph spent the better part of the evening prepping her hoe fit, Katara stuck to an uneventful long t shirt (Zuko’s shirt, of course) paired with thigh high boots. She had planned on only staying half an hour, tops. She didn’t drink, smoke, it just wasn’t her thing. Her worst fear was contracting herpes from a wax pen. Even when she was a college freshman and people were busy coming back upchucking all over the communal dorm bathroom, she instead dutifully held hair back, and changed drunk girls’ clothes. She quickly learned the tricks of the trade after cleaning up Sokka’s messy weekend self during his quarter life crisis phase. Admittedly, she was boring . So, she reasoned 30 minutes gave her enough time to walk around the place and see Zuko schmoozing with rich kids, and then leave to have enough time to do her skincare before bed.

“More like sick. He deals coke now! Coke! That’s a prison drug, ma’am. The real deal,” she whimpers into her tits. She had caught Zuko in one of the trust fund babies’ enormous rooms in the frat house, daddy’s credit cards and student IDs out and about with lines of something she’d only seen in movies. Since all the dealers were on the low with the campus crackdown, and since it was midterms season, the demand amongst the student population was unbelievably high. Zuko was the only brave stupid enough to keep selling. Katara had burst into the room to alert Zuko that Toph and her were about to make a dramatic exit without him to go back to her place and watch John Tucker Must Die instead of studying.

She had expected a lot of things, hell even coke (maybe). What she didn’t anticipate was seeing a girl in Zuko’s lap, kissing up his neck, wearing practically nothing. He had an assertive hand on her thigh, massaging it, manhandling her like Katara wished he would do with her. He’s talking and acting like he belonged with the assholes of your school. Like he wasn’t the gentle guy who Katara always saw in sweats always talking about his half sister, or memories of his uncle’s restaurant. She had made eye contact with him and promptly shut the door, feeling as though her heart would burst any second now.

So Toph and Katara go back to her place, calling up Suki who Ubers over, ready to rag on her (sort of) mans. Both Toph and her were in Suki’s t shirts that she “gave” to the duo. Both girls ignore her protests when she shows up and demands for them back. “Hey, that is premium Aliexpress Yeezus Tour shirts! They don’t sell fakes like these anymore!”

Katara was eating Target generic brand ice cream out the container, her heartbreak palpable, especially to Toph. The two girls were best friends after becoming roommates freshman year. Katara’s a sweet thing, too sweet in Toph’s opinion. Always remembering little things, people’s birthdays or favorite brand of instant Udon packages. She was always the one defending Toph against those who found it too easy to take advantage of her. Toph, in turn, was always there to mend her big heart after no one remembered her birthday freshman year. In many ways, Katara won a permanent place in Toph’s heart. She was always the one showing up to her dance performances, even if they were a two hour bus ride away. Always making sure to take off her makeup after recitals when she was too tired to move. It hurt her to see Katara like this, in pain.

“All I’m saying is that he uses you to play house. It’s time to cut the cord. Don’t be Beyonce, don’t keep letting a man bring down your worth. Plus, you don’t have the range to come out with Lemonade in the middle of all this heartbreak and betrayal.”

She scoops Vanilla bean into her mouth, eyes downcast. “What do you mean? Just because he comes here and sleeps over all the time?” She settles her head in Toph’s lap when she sees Suki begin to straighten her back, prepping for the rant she was about to deliver.

“Katara, sweet, pure, virginal Katara.”

“Hey!” Katara yelps.

“I’m going to be honest with you, and it’s going to hurt. Like pap smear at the gyno hurt.” Katara nods, interest piqued. “Do you see you on his Instagram? Do you? Any posts, any tagging done when I know you took this photo of this overpriced matcha soy latte?” Suki tries her hardest not to break her tough girl role when she sees hersad fucking eyes. Why are they built like that? Like she could break her heart with just a watery glance? “Tell me, who do you see on Zuko’s Instagram and Snapchat?”

“Hotgirls,” she jumbles the words in her haste.

“Louder!” Suki shouts.

“ Hot. Girls. ” she admitted defeat. Toph strokes her hair gently to try to comfort her.

“That’s the thing with guys like Zuko, ok? They want the hottest girls on campus to suck and fuck, but they’re even more cruel with girls like you. Girls who are meant for dating to marry and cute gender reveal parties and pastels and shit. He knows that you guys aren’t meant to be together, the universe says so. But he’ll still play with your feelings because he likes pretending he deserves you. Pretending that in this world, girls like you and guys like him can be together and make it work.”

Katara’s jolting her head out of Toph’s lap in protest. “Well, what if I want to be a slut? What if I want to be the kind of girl that Zuko wants?” She was tired of being the cute girl who looks like she goes to volunteer at the community center regularly and is destined for some picket fence with a balding, accountant husband and loud, undisciplined kids. She wanted sex, hell she wanted to wear skimpy clothes without worrying what Zuko was going to think about how her tits looked, or if her pants showed enough of her ass to be considered hoe. Katara wanted the confidence of those girls Zuko would put on his social media, she wanted to be them. Being with Zuko felt like being with someone who got her, and she liked, hell loved the attention he gave her. As though she felt pretty, and not adorable. He was someone she just couldn’t get out of her head, someone that was so dangerous to her because she was feeling herself change for him. Is it wrong that she liked it? The way he called her gorgeous when he comes over, or how he lazily grinds against her ass when he’s half-asleep, hands on her hips grounding her.

Suki squeezes her chipmunk cheeks between her musty hands, and interrupts Katara’s protest about an acne breakout. “Even if you try changing everything about you to become exactly what he wants, do you really think he’s going to treat you the same when it isn’t on the down low?”

Ouch.

Suki’s honesty still stings, but it was the cold hard truth. She was willing to change herself, be someone for a guy promising her trips to Paris when he could never meet when the sun was up. Suki’s words hurt as bad as the dress Toph was squeezing you into. “You wanted slutty, I’m giving you waist trainer, Insta model slutty!” She had convinced Katara to go on a date with some guy who was “perfect” for her. Code for boring, she was sure of it. Probably an engineering major who didn’t know how Twitter worked.

Even with all of Toph’s efforts, Katara decided all the shapewear in the world wasn’t going to contain her “post depression ice cream for all three meals” belly. So, she decided to keep it simple with her “knock-off Ariana” outfit as she calls it. Pairing just a pair of thigh high boots with a long sweatshirt.

“Look, I know you secretly get off to the thrill of dating a lame drug dealer, knowing the cops could bust down your door and cause a scene at your apartment. I know you live for the drama. But I promise, this guy will be good for you. Let’s just have fun for one night. Please put the dress back on? I know you haven’t washed that hoodie in a week,” Toph pleads with Katara.

She just rolled her eyes while Toph reapplied a layer of gloss to Katara’s lips. Deep down, she just knew in her heart there was no getting over Zuko. At least immediately. But, it didn’t hurt that Jet was cute, harmless fun. He was taking her out to a diner near her apartment, frequented by students at their college deluded by the aesthetic photo ops, and not too concerned about how the restaurant was serving up microwaved Mac n cheese. He showed up looking exactly like his Instagram photos and in a well ironed H&M button up. She could feel Toph hiding behind her futon, snapping clandestine photos for Suki, who was in the bathroom with the Taco Bell shits.

“ How dare you?! ” Jet screeches, dropping a cold fry in disbelief. “You’ve never watched anime?”

“Ok, a scream was not what I was expecting. I just asked if Teen Titans counted. Sue me.” Katara’s laughing, and hates to admit that it was fun being with Jet. He’s nerdy and sweet and most importantly so, so tall. A good guy.

“It doesn’t! ” he huffs petulantly.

Katara juts out her lip. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmm. I guess a second date. Maybe an anime sesh will have to do. Your place, and we’re pulling an all nighter.”

“Why not your place?” she questions.

“I live in a living room, and I don’t have a mattress. But why not? My place it is!” His aggressive thumbs up makes her laugh so hard it sends her into a choking fit.

“So, we’re watching Teen Titans first, right?” she teases, pounding at her chest to stop the coughs.

His smile reaches his eyes. “You know, I was kinda scared going out with you tonight. No offense, but you have, like, no pictures on your social media. All Toph promised me was ‘you’re really pretty and heartbroken as well. ’ And, not to try to win any brownie points on this date, but I have to agree, you’re really pretty.” Katara rolls her eyes, and he blushes.

“I was expecting something along the lines of ‘ Goddess like,’ but I guess ‘really pretty’ works, too.” She’s laughing along with his obnoxious giggles, and she feels almost lighthearted. Not quite ready to fall in love again, but considering the possibility. “Let me guess, she cheated on you?”

“Worse. Walked in on her with...drumroll please!” Katara lightly began drumming her fingers on the dining table. “You guessed it! My brother!” he sheepishly admits, bringing out the jazz hands and everything to emphasize his point.

She audibly gasps. “That’s some Kdrama shit right there! Please tell me you started a fist fight with him, kicked a nut or two.”

“Nah, I had an essay due. No time for that shit, you know? I just shut the door, banged out my paper, and haven’t spoken to either of them in about four months.”

She takes a sip of her milkshake. “That’s healthy!” Jet tilts his shake in Katara’s direction in agreement, before taking a long gulp from the cup.

He quirks a perfectly shaped brow towards her. “So, let me guess. Your guy saved his side chick’s name as Chick-fil-a in his phone, you found out and tried to strangle him with his belt, and he pressed charges?”

“Oddly specific, but sadly no. Let’s just say he had the biggest heart. Big enough for bitches on the side as well.” Jet makes a grunt in disapproval. “It wasn’t like I could be mad, anyways. We weren’t in anything official. But it felt like it could’ve been something, you know?”

It was like an unspoken agreement, an energy that the two felt when they met each other. A “my heart was just shattered into a billion pieces but hopefully a rebound will lessen the pain just for two hours tonight” kind of vibe. It felt good with Jet, like the two of you guys had known each other forever. He serves her with corny joke after joke, and she lets herself laugh. She hated being around men, and besides, Sokka threatened any that even made eye contact with her for longer than 20 seconds. Aside from Sokka, Zuko, and Aang, the kid she babysat, Katara was afraid to let any other men in her life. Three was already enough emotional labor.

They both go out for boba afterwards, and Jet makes sure to pay for their drinksand then drop his change into the tip jar. He knows that Katara swoons immediately. It always works. That’s why 30 minutes later, she’s slamming him into her futon. Soon after, he’s shirtless, pressing at her core with impatient fingers. She’s grinding helplessly in his lap, his moans egging her on. He insisted she keep the boots on.

“I was not raised to leave my shoes on in the house. That’s just vile ,” she protested. Jet silences her with a gentle kiss, and a press of his throbbing cock against her.

“Please, baby. Make an exception for me tonight,” he whispers against her lips. Her shorts and underwear are suddenly missing. When the fuck did he do that? She’s dizzy and horny and so full when he starts fingering her. His fingers so fucking long and is making her whimper and ready to have his kids. She closes her eyes because staring at Jet’s fucked out ones made her want to combust. She was focusing on the feeling of being stuffed while trying to tamp down on the fear of losing her virginity, because that seemed like the logical course of action with how the night was playing out. Damnit, what if it hurts like a pap smear ? She thinks pathetically. In the middle of all her inner monologues, she’s suddenly shoved off of Jet’s warm body, tumbling on the ground. She opens her eyes to see Zuko pummeling Jet to a pulp.

“Not the face, Zuko! Not the fucking face! He’s too pretty for this!” Katara yelps, shoving Zuko’s muscular frame off of Jet. Jet sends her a sad smile before slipping his shirt over his head and heading out the door.

She’s fuming, too angry, too confused. “What the fuck was that ?” She’s at maximum screech levels tonight, much to her neighbor’s dismay.

“You tell me!” Zuko cards his hands through his hair. “You’re fucking some other guy? Don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Katara. But this,” he gestures between the two of them. “Did you forget about us? Forget about me? What the fuck?”

“Hold up, Walter White.” She’s sticking a hand out in his face. “We are a situationship, at best. Don’t you dare accuse me of whoring around when we aren’t even official.”

“I thought what we had, what we were...I don’t know? It’s different,” Zuko rubs at his neck awkwardly. “Did you not feel the same way? Why do you care about all these labels all of a sudden? Why didn’t you fucking tell me you wanted us to make it official?”

“It’s because you’re supposed to know! You’re supposed to know that I hate what you do, that I hate loving you, because it hurts me.”

“So why won’t you go out with me? Is it because I’m a drug dealer?” Zuko’s mad, twisting the rings on his fingers while impatiently waiting on her answer.

“Not exactly,” Katara quips, averting her eyes from his fiery gaze. “It’s mainly because you don’t tip when we go out to eat.”

“Bullshit!” he howls.

“You need to tip at least 20%!”

“Katara.” He takes a deep breath in. “Why don’t we just make this official?”

She’s worrying at her lip. Trying desperately to remember the breathing exercises her therapist had recommended before she started crying and did something crazy like suck his dick because he looked hot when he was angry. “Zuko, as much as you’d like to keep pretending that we could ever be a thing, I can’t. I can’t keep holding onto this fucking unrealistic dream. These unrealistic expectations! What do you want me to do? Pray for the day you get bored of dealing or hanging out with the rich kids or making out with sorority girls so you could come back to me at night? Because I’m fucking pathetic and let you back every single time?”

She sees him spluttering, trying to desperately hold onto a solid response that could sway her decision. “Katara, you know how much I care about you. But you would never get it! You would never get someone like me!”

She scoffs. “Try me. What don’t I get about you, Zuko?”

“That being with those people, and dealing makes me feel like more than just a poor kid with no parents and no fucking future.” Zuko huffs out the confession as though he was holding it in for a millenium.

“I get it, ok I understand but-”

Zuko steps back from her, as though she’s slapped him straight across the face. “No, Katara. You don’t. You don’t fucking get it. You get to cosplay as poor. Pretend that you have to budget when Sokka could easily handle everything if things go wrong.”

Katara’s angry, angry at herself. For hurting Zuko with her careless words, for looking so fucking stupid. “Ok, fine. You’re right.” She surprises even herself at her confession. "I don’t get it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be fucking worried about you? That I’m terrified about what could go wrong? One wrong move and you could fucking die! You think the dean is going to let any of those rich assholes take the fall for anything? No, they’re going to blame it on the disposable kid on Financial Aid,” she wails at the top of her lungs.

She searches his eyes for any understanding, for any reaction to what she was saying. His jaw is set in a determined look, the kind of look she knew was unwavering, was unable to be changed no matter what. She sucks in a breath of air, praying for any sort of strength. “How about you do you, and I do me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Zuko squeezes out. He’s rushing out the door, slamming it on his way out.

“I knew I could smell the cock on you! You rode that dick like a stolen car, didn’t you?” Suki bellows, cackling.

“Please, I will fucking block you,” Katara wearily threatens, without any might behind it. She’s, predictably, in one of Zuko’s old t shirts from when he played soccer in high school, slapping on moisturizer before she could retire to bed. “Zuko stopped anything from happening when he came in and went 'New York after Hottie said she looked like Beyonce' on his ass.

Toph grunts over the line. “So what’s the deal with you guys? He’s dealing you drugs and dick now? You’re fucking the weed man for weed? Or are you fucking the dick man for dick? At least you’re not fucking the tweet man for tweets.”

Katara pauses in patting in the cream on her face. “How does this make any sense to you? Like do you not hear yourself speak?”

“It makes perfect sense to me, slut.”

Suki jumps in before low blows could be dealt and the girls start making fun of each others foundation not matching. “You know what, I bet Zuko’s selling whole ass cilantro and/or oregano and no one says anything because he’s fine.”

Katara pauses in applying her lip balm, a call from Zuko popping up threatening to end her call with her girls. “Zuko’s calling?” she questions.

“This late?” Toph is in between bites of her pepperoni Hot Pocket.

Suki sighs. “Listen, Katara. Girls don’t win when it comes to love, we never win. Maybe you should take a break from all this Zuko mess, and I don’t know. Pick up a hobby. Go back to therapy.”

But Katara knew something was wrong. She could sense it, just feel it inside her. Something was inherently wrong. As though the universe was whispering this to her, pleading with her to listen. “I’ll call you guys back, ok?”

“This is the future Stephanie Meyer wanted. For girls to be pathetically in love with pale, emo guys,” Toph miserably whimpers after Katara leaves their call.

Katara heart felt like it could fall out of her ass and then jump back in her mouth with how loudly it was beating. She’s running, clad in only the t shirt and her slides. They were threatening to slip off at any second from how fast her feet were forcing them to pound at the pavement. Word of the wise, don’t fucking run in slides.

“Don’t fucking hurt him!” She screams, expandable baton whipped out and ready to pummel any bitch dumb enough to hurt Zuko while she’s around. A few guys were standing around Zuko’s limp body, about to lay another painful blow against his bruised visage when she starts wildly beating them with her baton. She’s shrieking at the top of her lungs, scaring them enough for all of them to disperse. They all ran off before they had to deal with whatever the fuck Katara was doing. Crazy wasn’t in their agenda that night, only beating up good looking dealers.

“Oh, Zuko.” Katara immediately lets go of the weapon, dropping down to her knees to look at him.

Turns out, everyone wants a shot at the king.

She sits herself down and gently cradles Zuko’s head in between her hands before placing it in her lap. He closes his eyes and musters the strength to give her a small smile.

“Thank you, Katara.” She’s trying her best to hold back her tears. The gravel is scraping unforgivably against her legs, the cold causing her throat to begin to itch. She’s shivering as she types in “911.”

Zuko lifts a battered arm to swat quickly at her fingers. “Can we just Uber to the hospital? I don’t want to drop two racks on an ambulance.”

“Zuko!” Katara squeals. It works, he’s got her to smile in spite of all the drama, all the tears. It’s so easy for them to be like this together. Just enjoying the moment, just being themselves. “You know, I’m sorry for ever saying you look like an angry snake. You still do, but I’m sorry.”

“I hate you,” he says without any commitment to the spite.

“You don’t.”

“I know.” He lets her finish ordering the Uber before speaking again. “I love you.”

She runs her fingers in his hair. “I know.”

“Say it back, please?” He has the audacity to pout despite being beaten nearly half to death.

“I’m scared,” she can’t bring herself to break eye contact with his intense gaze.

“I know.”

“Zuko! What happened?” Iroh’s running as fast as he can, still clad in his sleepwear. He sees the pretty girl that the nurses warned has refused to leave the boy’s side for the past few hours, never letting go of his hand. She’s even had the gall to snap the nurses who would show up to their shift a few minutes late.

He sees his nephew rub comforting circles in the girls’ hand with his thumb, looking at her before he could make eye contact with his uncle. Right when he’s about to say something, he’s interrupted.

“He was protecting me. We were walking in a bad part of town because I really wanted to get ice cream, and...we got mugged.” She finishes lamely, whispering the last few words. “They hit him first and then were trying to steal my purse. They got even more mad when he started yelling ‘don’t hurt her!’ He jumped in front of me before they could do anything.”

The two share a look and a smile. Zuko’s grip on Katara’s hand grows impossibly tigther.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #day 4 zutara month #katara #Zuko #zuko x katara #zutaramonth #zutarafic

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rebirthdilemmazine · 5 years

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Evangelion: A FAQ

by @metaandpotatoes

Q: What, exactly, is an Eva?

A: Great question. An Eva is prehistoric goo heated to approximately 10000.9999999ºC then poured into a mould shaped carefully from the carcass of our quasi-religious-alien ancestors. After that, it’s flash frozen, rammed into the moon at light speed, and then animated for all our mecha fantasy needs.

Q: Doesn’t mecha imply mechanical though?

A: If you really think about it, isn’t the human body the most amazing mechanism of all? (#DYK the human hand has 27 bones in it? WOW! Don’t worry about what’s happening below. It can’t see you if you can’t see it.)

Q: Okay. So what are these giant robot monster machines for?

A: And when God created the Earth, He gave the life of His only forgotten Son so that humans may inhabit Him and use Him to break down the barriers between themselves and others and then stab the shit out of their hearts in a vain attempt to punish all life for being self-interested and self-sustaining.

Q: Is that really how the Bible goes?

Trust me, I have a divinity degree.

Q: Is this “barrier” situation like...a metaphor?

Oh no, it’s literal. There are invisible-but-totally-visible-because-animation Absolute Terror Fields between beings. Some beings have stronger fields than others, but rest easy knowing: Everyone is scared shitless of getting close to another thing. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. (Except you are. That’s why you must get in the robot.)

Q: Are you scared shitless of getting close to another thing?

Of fucking course I am, what do I look like, an empty shell existent in an equally empty universe?

Q: Why can’t Shinji get in the robot?

Why can’t you get out of bed every morning bright-eyed and bushy tailed without fail to go to your soul-sucking job?

Q: But he needs to like, save the world. I’m just helping capitalist drones buy shit they don’t need. Why can’t he get in the robot?

Are you really saving the world if you’re destroying it in the process?

Q: Hey, I’m supposed to be asking the questions here.

Fine. By logic of predestination, God has already determined who will be saved and who will be damned, so Shinji is just taking the logical path of not fucking things up any further trying to fight against that idea.

Q: So you’re saying Shinji is a Calvinist?

I’m saying that Shinji has never said he’s NOT a Calvinist.

Q: What’s up with all this religion anyway?

It’s right in the title: Neon Genesis Evangelion. There’s like, 20 layers of religion there:

Neon => neos => something new => New Testament

Genesis => creation => first book of the Old Testament (NB: Hebrew Bible) => the story of God’s new (soon to be old, because original sin and aging, WHAT FUN) creation etc., etc.

Evangelion => evangel => word for the Christian gospel (good news!) or for someone who goes around and evangelizes, aka spreads the good news (gospel!). (Evangelion also conveniently contains the word angel! Crazy amirite!?)

SO you could say that Evangelion’s title is like: New Beginning for the Good News (or the people that spread it). Whether humans or angels spread the good news...and whether...y’know, it’s actually good news is...well...up for the viewer to decide.

I, personally, welcome our singularity-obsessed orange goo overlords.

Q: Sounds like a lot of Judeo-Christian imagery is at play here...

HOLD THE FUCK ON WE DO NOT USE THAT TERM, THAT IS A MEANINGLESS TERM. EDUCATE YOURSELF: https://newrepublic.com/article/153867/arguing-bad-faith

Q: Can you give me the TL;DR?

TL;DR, “Judeo-Christian” erroneously equates two extremely different and complex religions, and carries the frankly offensive assumption that Christianity is a more evolved form of Judaism while leaving out a third religion that shares many of the same commonalities as Christianity and Judaism (Islam).

TL;DR squared: We don’t use the term “Judeo-Christian-Islamic,” so you should immediately find “Judeo-Christian” to be sketchy af.

Also, the term gained popularity through use by mid-20th-century Christian evangelicals, who had a huge stake in 1) courting Jewish folks (who they didn’t really like but wanted to seem like they liked) and 2) getting the state of Israel established so that they can usher in the second coming or something.

TL;DR squared part two: Once upon a time it was politically convenient for Christians to link themselves with Judaism, so they did, and it’s a useless term that we shouldn’t use outside of a very specific context.

Q: Speaking of, what is this Second Impact?

Oh that’s easy: Adam hurtled into Antarctica at lightspeed and sent the world into post-apocalyptic meltdown.

Q: Wait, Adam like...Adam Adam? Adam and Eve Adam?

In the words of Hideaki Anno: “Any moron should be able to tell this references Adam and Eve.”

Q: O-kay.

Look, what I’m going to say is: Neon Genesis Evangelion is a fascinating and important example of a decidedly non-Christian (in this case, culturally and personally) interpretation of quote-unquote Christianity—of like, the cool parts of Christianity. The apocryphal texts. The wacky subcategories of angels. The miracles. The Oedipal imagery.

That kind of batshit interpretation is important. It’s been happening the other way (e.g., off-the-wall Western interpretations of Zen Buddhism) around for a longggg time. These kinds of interpretations (some might call them “appropriations”) are, in my opinion, not fundamentally good or bad—the good or bad shit is brought on by, you know, using those interpretations to oppress and/or marginalize people. They are, however, fundamentally productive in that they make something new for the world to either chew up and digest into unusable diarrhea or mull over like cud until something even more productive or interesting results.

Like, the key to interpreting Eva through the lens of Christianity is to remember to put the lens of a non-Christian on top of it. Shit’s gonna be smashed together that people raised in Christian context don’t think are similar.

Like, Lilith doesn’t really register for most modern Western Christians, I’d venture, especially in the context of Adam and Longinus (got a lot of old and new testament mixing going on here).

But thematically, it makes sense: Fringe folks (from my understanding; this is where I disclaim that I spent 90% of my time in Divinity School studying Buddhism and angst) pin Lilith as the real first woman and therefore the original companion for Adam; Lilith getting run off the scene and replaced with Eve is kind of a crucifixion, I guess, seeing how women are usually treated by Christianity, etc. Did Anno go this far in his interpretation? Who fucking knows. The important part is that we can. AND WE WILL.

Q: Isn’t that cultural appropriation?

This is an interesting question that falls out of the scope of this shitpost of an FAQ.

Q: ...I’m out of questions.

That’s fine. You’ll come up with more later. I know because I am you and you are me and we always come up with more questions.

In the meantime: Take care of yourself. (Read: Take your antidepressants.)

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #eva #nge #faq #shitpost #text

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banditthewriter · 5 years

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The Woman Without Fear - Matt Murdock

This idea was sent to me by an anon for Valentine’s Day. I don’t actually work Valentine’s day into it, haha, but hopefully you still like it darling!

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, torture, talk of needles. Take care of yourselves dears!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

It sounded like someone was crying in the distance. It was a daily instance, but this sounded different. This sounded more like someone was scared.

The sound of a slap made you jerk your head to the side. Down on the ground you saw the form of a man raising his hand to strike the crying woman again.

Not on your watch.

You dropped off of the fire escape you were crouched on as you tuned your eavesdropping device. It left you on the far end of the alley, away from the couple, and you quietly made your way forward.

He might have a weapon and you didn't want the girl to get hurt. Or you.

Close enough to be able to see him but not for him to see you just yet, you grabbed the little cylinder off your belt. With one brief squeeze, a metal shaft shot out of either end.

Bo staff in hand, you gave it a quick twirl before you stepped into the light of the streetlight.

“I think you're going to want to step away,” you said as you shifted your weight, preparing.

The guy had a strong grip on the arm of a smaller woman, his fingers turning her skin pale from the hold. She looked petrified and you were a little disheartened to see that at least some of that was directed at you.

The hood and mask you wore were to protect your identity, not to strike fear into the hearts of the people you interacted with.

That was just a nice bonus.

“Release her,” you demanded in a firm tone as you spun the bo staff around menacingly.

The guy stared you down. If he was perturbed by staring at a masked person with a metal staff, he didn't show it. Instead he started to smile, teeth showing like a snarl more than anything else.

He didn't say a word. He just pulled a gun out of his pocket with his free hand and aimed it directly at you.

“What's that shiny stick gonna do for you against this?”

You were ready, knees bent and staff held level. Time seemed to slow down as he pulled the trigger at the exact instant a body dropped down on top of him.

The bullet shot wide of its mark but you still felt the pain as it grazed you. You grit your teeth and spun around, your staff knocking the attacker down as your quote-unquote savior stood up.

Daredevil. You should have known.

While he made sure the assailant was down for the count, you turned to the girl that was cowering against the wall.

“You're safe,” you said as you twirled the staff away from her. “Are you hurt?”

Her eyes darted past you and you watched them widen with fear before she crumpled onto the ground. You shot to her side, tearing off your gloves to check her for a pulse or any injuries.

“She fainted,” Daredevil said in a gruff voice. “She's not the one bleeding from a gunshot.”

“It was a graze,” you shot back as you continued to look the girl over. “I had it under control.”

“He had a gun,” he replied as he stalked forward.

You stood up and looked him over. The costume looked like it probably kept him mostly safe. The mask was a little terrifying, you had to admit, but only when he was frowning at you like that.

And why didn't it have eye holes? What kind of material was it that he could see through it?

“You aren't the only one that can protect this city, Daredevil. And I can take care of myself.”

His head tilted towards your arm. Whether or not he could see through the mask, you knew he couldn't make out your wound in the dark and through the layers you wore.

You twirled the staff around until your fingers found the slight depression. With a quick squeeze, the sides retracted back in and you replaced the cylinder to your hip.

“You shouldn't be out here trying to take down the criminal element,” Daredevil said with another frown.

It was almost word for word what he said the first time you ran into him.

“I'm not asking your permission.” And then, as you brushed past him back to the fire escape you had been staked out on, you gave him one last look. “You aren't the only one willing to bleed for this city. But at least with me it's not permanent.”

Let him ponder on that, you thought as you took off at a run, climbing up onto the fire escape and back to where you had left your hearing devices.

The night was still young.

------

The first time that you met Daredevil, you had been following what looked to be a gang. You couldn't be certain but you were pretty sure that they were about to commit a crime so you followed them.

It wasn't hard to do. They were on foot and not trying to be stealth or evasive. But they had guns and knives and you weren't about to let anyone come to harm that night.

On one rooftop overlooking the run down apartment building they entered, you were poised to head in if you heard any sound or commotion.

One second you're bracing yourself on the edge of the roof, ready to run to the roof access door if needed. The next you were spun around to face Daredevil himself.

Quickly you went into defense mode, knocking his hand free and ducking away when he tried to grab you again. He was quick and apparently skilled but you weren't some slouch. You didn't just wake up one morning and decide this sounded fun.

“Stop trying to hit me,” he complained through clenched teeth.

“Well stop trying to grab me. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to grab a woman without her consent?”

His mouth ticked upwards and you weren't sure why you felt so proud for having made the devil smile.

“I make exceptions for when innocent people are stalking cartel members.”

A cartel? You thought they were some local gang members. You turned towards the street but he pulled you back a bit.

“Their lookout scours the rooftops. You might want to stay out of sight unless you want a bullet to the skull.”

You smirked but didn't say anything. Instead you pulled out of his grasp and headed over to the roof access door.

“If there is a cartel in my city, I'm not going to just let it happen.”

He followed you and kicked a foot out to keep you from being able to open the door.

“Someone like you shouldn't be out here trying to take on the criminal element of the city.”

That made you pause from wondering if you could trip him up.

“The devil is sexist? Good to know,” you said as you yanked on the door as hard as you could.

“It's not that. It's that you don't know what you're getting into. No one should try to take on the dark underbelly of this city.”

That was interesting. You pulled away from him and the door, eyes canvassing the rooftop for another way down.

“You take it on. You go through every inch of Hell's Kitchen and bloody up anyone that dares to cross your path. You do it every night. You think you own the rights to this city? You think you’re the only one that feels it’s their duty?” You scoffed and shook your head, taking a few steps backwards. “You’ve never been more wrong.”

You turned and took off at a run, the gravel on the roof crunching under your boots. You heard Daredevil call something out but you pushed that to the back of your mind as you launched yourself up and over the lip of the roof, sailing through the air before you landed on a nearby roof with a quiet thud.

The impact jostled you a bit, but you’d had worse. You stood up and looked across the opening to where Daredevil was still standing on the other roof. With a sarcastic salute, you turned and darted across that roof as well.

Let him handle the cartel for the night. You weren’t done just yet.

------

The actual first time you had met Daredevil had been before the red suit. It was before the nickname, before word of a man running around in a black mask had begun to circulate. You had watched him come from seemingly nowhere before he dragged your would be attacker away from you.

A right hook. A jab with the left. He spun around and kicked the man in the face, effectively knocking him out.

When he turned back to you, you could see his chest rising and falling. It didn’t look like it was with exertion because surely that hadn’t taken much energy. No, you had a feeling it was something else.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t do more than nod, unable to find your words. He had asked again, probably wanting to hear you verbalize it. Instead you stood up and ran out of the alley you had been pulled into.

That night you had sat on your bed and looked at the scars that circled your wrists from the way you had been strapped down during the experiments. They were the only scars that never seemed to heal.

With the memory of that man saving your life and the rush he seemed to get from it, you started to plan.

A few years later and you were the person that was rushing in to save people’s lives. You wore an outfit that was inspired by what you had seen on the not-yet-Daredevil; black pants that gave you didn’t hinder your movement but that wouldn’t weigh you down, a long sleeve black shirt, and a black jacket with attached hood that helped obscure your identity.

The mask was for that purpose too. It covered your face and it masked your voice to a point. On the off chance that you encountered someone you knew, you didn’t want them to figure out your secret.

Well, any of your secrets.

You placed the utility belt that you had made on the table and sighed. Next you shed your boots and jacket, your mask having been removed the moment you landed on the fire escape outside your apartment.

The wound from the bullet had already healed even though the blood on your shirt was still wet. You dropped the shirt onto the coffee table and moved over to where you kept a sewing kit. You’d patch the shirt and the jacket; at least this wound was small enough you didn’t need to pull out one of the others that you had stock piled when you started this.

Becoming a vigilante hadn’t been your plan. As a kid you had dreamed about becoming a doctor or a vet or something of the sort. You had it all figured out but it didn’t matter.

The experiments had been something your foster parents had signed you up for. They had told you that it was to help you but you weren’t so sure that that was the truth. It didn’t seem to matter. After days and weeks of boring medical tests, you were strapped to a bed and injected with multiple needles.

The lacerations on your wrists from where you tugged and tugged, desperate to run away, had never fully healed. Sometimes they still hurt, sometimes they burned.

You’d been awake for every second of the experiments. Some of the injections burned, some of them felt like you had ice being poured in your veins.

It was something you learned much later, but some of the kids that were forced into the experiments didn’t make it. You were one of the lucky ones.

The side effects included blinding headaches, fatigue, speedy healing, and extreme agility. It made running across rooftops and jumping from one building to another easier; you didn’t have to worry about not making the landing.

Granted you weren’t sure what it would take to kill you. Maybe a fall from a ten story building would leave a mark. Maybe a bullet to the brain or a knife to the heart.

So far you hadn’t found anything that kept you down for long.

That’s why you were going to keep doing what you could. That was why Daredevil wasn’t going to stop you.

------

Rain was falling pretty steadily and you frowned as you sat on a part of a roof that was covered. The device that you usually used to find trouble wasn’t working very well in this weather. It was partly a surveillance tap, using a mild transmitter that could pick up sounds up to a few blocks away. It also had the addition of being a police radio scanner but that didn’t help you stop crimes from happening.

The sound of boots on the roof made you grow rigid. You had been there for a while so surely no one had seen you. You took a deep breath and reached for the cylinder, but a voice made you freeze.

“This isn’t exactly the best weather for looking for trouble,” Daredevil said as he came around the wall of the little enclosure you had holed yourself up in.

“Who said I’m looking for trouble? I’m just minding my own business.”

He tilted his head for a moment before he smirked. His hand shot out and grabbed the cylinder on your hip, pressing the mechanism that made your staff stood out. He spun it around before he hit the mechanism that made it retract.

“I think that speaks for itself,” he reasoned as he held it out to you.

You snatched it from his hand and tucked it back onto your hip. The suit was wet but it didn’t look soaked through. Either he had been nearby or it was waterproof.

The heavy feeling of your soaked clothes made you a little envious of that. If you got into a fight right now, you had a feeling there’d be a lot of chafing.

At least it’d heal fast.

“There’s not going to be anything to do tonight,” Daredevil stated as he tilted his face towards the opening. It was eerie with the lack of eye holes, but you didn’t say anything. “You might as well go home.”

You rolled your eyes and reached up to wipe away the rain water that had started to drip under your mask.

“Yeah, and I bet you’ll just head back to whatever cave you crawl out of once the sun goes down, huh?”

He inclined his head as if conceding to you. While he was quiet, you lifted out the tiny device that had a wire in your hood, protected by a layer of plastic to keep it from shorting in the rain. The audio tuner wasn’t picking up anything but raining nearby so you flipped over to the police scanner.

“Is that how you find who needs help? A police scanner?”

You shot a look at him before you leaned back against the brick wall once more.

“Sometimes, yeah. Can’t always just walk past someone when they are in trouble.”

Did you detect a smirk on his lips? You tucked the device back into your pocket with the volume low enough that it barely registered to you. While you weren’t sure if you were on friendly terms with Daredevil or not, you couldn’t stop the thought that he had a nice smile.

The rain wasn’t pouring as hard as it had been. You stuck a hand out and then wiped it on your pants leg.

“You should be wearing gloves,” he said as he turned to face you, a frown covering that nice smile you had just been enjoying.

“I have them,” you said as you pulled them out of your jacket pocket. “I can’t tune the scanner with them on in the rain. You don’t have to worry about me getting frostbite.”

“Wasn’t worried about that. I was thinking about fingerprints.” He gestured to his mask and then to yours. “Figured the reason you wear that is because you have a life that takes place off of rooftops and you don’t want people to know that this is how you spend your free time.”

He had a point. You tugged on the gloves and crossed your arms over your chest. It didn’t feel like conceding to his demands. In fact…

“Are you giving me vigilante tips right now?”

The laugh that that brought out of him seemed to be a surprise even to him. He shook his head a bit.

“I haven’t been able to talk you out of this. I can at least make sure you’re doing it right.” And then with a smirk, “I’m not a vigilante, by the way.”

That made you laugh in return.

“You got a devil kink? And a rooftop kink?”

He started to reply but he froze, his head tilting to the side. You listened as well but there didn’t seem to be anything there. You fumbled with your radio before you could skip it over to the other channel. It didn’t pick up anything nearby.

“What is it?”

Did he have some sort of radio in his cowl? That would be cool… and really extra, which fit his whole aesthetic.

“Trouble,” he said with a wicked grin before he started to head out from the awning. Then, with a look over his shoulder, “You coming?”

You grinned wide under your mask and took off after him.

------

The pain was a dull reminder that you weren’t immune to dumb ideas. It also wasn’t going to stop you from other dumb ideas. Pain was funny like that.

The building that you and Daredevil had cleared during the fire hadn’t been very safe. He had told you to get out but you wanted to do one last pass. And good thing you did because there was a kid on the third floor that would have died.

You got him onto the fire escape and made him go first while you made sure there wasn’t anyone else up there. The sound of the crackling inside the building made you realize that there was about to be an explosion.

There was a window at the far end of the hallway that you were fairly certain led to a parking lot. It was the third floor so it wouldn’t hurt too bad. With that in mind you had taken off at a run and burst through the window right as the gas line blew.

The force of the explosion threw you further and you slammed into the ground harder than you had planned. The number of injuries was higher than you wanted to count. At that point you were breathing in concrete and praying that the building didn’t collapse on you.

Hands were on you, a frantic voice asking if you were okay. You groaned as you were rolled over, the thick taste of copper in your mouth.

“Fuck,” Daredevil swore as he pulled you a little further out of sight. Then he yanked off one of his gloves and started to pass it over your body. “Jesus, what were you thinking? I have to get you to a hospital.”

“No,” you said as your vision swam a little, seeing four horns instead of just two. “No hospitals. I mean it devil boy. No hospitals. I’ll be–”

You didn’t get much more out than that before you coughed up some more blood, feeling it trickle out from under your mask. Oh yeah. That was going to hurt for a bit.

And then it was dark.

------

There was a very obvious lack of a mask on your face. You reached up to check just in case and you saw that you weren’t wearing gloves anymore. Or your jacket or belt.

As you started to sit up, you felt a hand press against your shoulder and push you back down on the bed you were in.

“You had a rough night,” a somewhat familiar voice said. “Although by time my nurse friend got here, you were mostly healed. Neat little trick. Not something you can teach me is it?”

You tilted your face up a bit in the direction of Daredevil’s voice. Instead of seeing red leather and horns, you saw a very attractive man that looked like he hadn’t slept in a while. His hair was a mess, his eyes glassy.

Actually…

“Are you blind?”

A little color went to his cheeks and he leaned over to the bedside table where he grabbed a pair of red tinted glasses. He put them on and you watched him shift a little where he was sitting on the side of the bed next to you.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. You jumped out of a third story window of a building that exploded and you look good as new.”

You sat up with a groan, ignoring his insistence that you lie back down.

“Might look good, but I feel like shit. And how do you know what I look like anyways?”

He cleared his throat and then gave a quick nod.

“I’m technically blind but I have enhanced senses. It’s a long story,” he said when you opened your mouth to ask, “and I think your story is more important right now. I had a nurse friend come over but you were healed by time she arrived. She looked you over anyways and gave you a clean bill of health. Does it still hurt?”

Your eyes went to your wrists and shook your head.

“I’ve had worse,” you promised as you started to move to the edge of the bed. Then you realized you had no idea where you are. “Did you kidnap me?”

“You’re in my apartment,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, that doesn’t answer my question. Seriously Daredevil-slash-blind-man, where am I and where are my clothes?”

He gestured over to a pile of dark clothes on the dresser nearby. You stood up with a groan, wavering a bit before you limped over to it. It wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust him, but you didn’t know him. You checked to make sure that everything was where you had left it, fingers rubbing at a char mark on the edge of the mask.

“How’d you survive that?”

His voice was soft, gently inquiring. You glanced over your shoulder at him and then back at your mask. The ache in your wrists drew away from the ache in your body.

“I’m technically hard to kill,” you said sarcastically, playing off what he had said about his blindness.

He noticed and you watched him curiously as he seemed to ponder his next step. With a short nod to himself, he stepped over to you and held his hand out.

“I’m Matt Murdock. During the day I’m a lawyer at a firm with my best friend. At night I’m Daredevil. I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

You looked between his hand and his face, those eyes that were hard to see through the tinted glasses. At least now you know why his mask didn’t have eye slots.

With a sigh you reached out and grabbed his hand for a shake.

“Y/N Y/L/N. You got any alcohol in this bachelor pad? I think I’m going to need a drink before we get into this.”

His laugh made you smile.

------

It was the first time you had ever told the whole story. And while it didn't seem to be the first time for Matt, he also seemed almost relieved to get the words out.

There was a certain freedom in having someone know it all. And he didn't seem to regard you any differently than he had before.

There was also the shared trauma of being in an orphanage. You joked that you would have picked nuns over becoming a lab rat, but you knew you both had a troubled childhood.

“So what made you decide to do this? You've been like this since a kid. How long have you been running around in a mask?”

You shifted on the couch, tucking your legs under you as you stared at the glass of bourbon he had poured for you.

The cheap stuff. Not that you cared.

“Actually I was saved by some guy in black pajamas and a mask. He didn't know what I was capable of,” you added with a grin.

Matt's mouth dropped open in surprise and you could see him racking his brain for a memory of you. He had taken off his glasses at some point during the conversation so you watched his apparently sightless eyes dart back and forth.

“I don't remember you.”

You knocked the back of your hand against his arm gently, fully aware that he could avoid the touch if he wanted to.

“I'm not offended if that's what you're worried about. Just means you save so many people that you can't keep us straight.” You paused for a moment before you continued. “I want to thank you for that. Not just for saving me, although that's pretty awesome. But because you're the reason I do what I do.”

It wasn't that you thought that he would be blown away by the sentiment but you did notice that he looked relatively crestfallen once you'd spoken.

“I don't take that as a compliment,” he said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I do this so that other people won't have to.”

You turned to place your feet flat on the floor, straightening your spine as you did.

“I don't do this because I have to. I do this because I can and someone should. I'm like this for a reason.”

“But your reason doesn't have to be this,” he explained as he gestured to your wrists.

“You think those people that performed the experiments on me as a kid did it because it was going to help me? They preyed on foster kids because no one would care if we didn't make it out.”

You stood up and paced, unable to take the lack of movement any longer.

“The people that did this to me were criminals. Whatever they wanted me for was probably not good. I was created for the wrong reasons. So if I want to use my new abilities for good, who are you to tell me that's wrong?”

You turned to face Matt who had followed your trek. He had listened intently to your rant. At that point he nodded and stood up, taking a step towards you as he did.

“I always told myself that God made me this way for a reason,” he said simply as he gestured to his eyes. “The way I am now and what I'm capable of? It gives me the opportunity to help those in need. I shouldn't judge you for feeling the exact same way.”

He seemed so sincere. You turned away from him and looked out of the wide windows, biting your bottom lip.

The hours had stretched on since you had met him on the roof the night before. Now the sun was starting to make its presence known through the buildings.

The illuminated sign seemed duller in the growing light. You'd noticed it when you first came to in his apartment but you hadn't gotten a good look until now.

You knew around where you must have been located at least.

“I'm not asking your permission to do this. I know what the danger is and I know what I'm capable of. I jumped out of that window knowing that I might not make it.”

“But you did,” he said as he moved up to stand beside you. “You made it and you saved a lot of people in the process.”

You rubbed a hand over your wrist, the feeling of the scars a grounding reminder of how you survived that fall.

“We saved them,” you said instead.

------

You hadn't seen the gun. You had just taken out three men who were suspected of human trafficking, using your staff to knock them unconscious. As you tugged out the zip tie cuffs you usually used to restrain the people you caught, you heard a noise behind you.

It'd been almost a month since you found out who Daredevil was. Almost a month and in that time you had seen him almost every night that you put on the mask. It made sense that you thought it was him.

With your guard down, you spun around to face Matt. Only instead you found a man dressed like his unconscious buddies.

Your first instinct was to take him down too. You spun the staff, ready to fight, but you never made it that far because you hadn't seen the gun.

The shot sounded like an explosion, the noise bouncing off the metal walls of the warehouse you were in.

First there was nothing, just the noise. And then there was pain.

The man seemed surprised when you didn't immediately fall over. You gasped through the pain as you tried to stay upward.

The next shot shouldn't have surprised you. It did knock you over.

One hole in your chest, one in your stomach. The one in your chest was already starting to heal, but that didn't stop the pain you felt.

The shooter walked up and peered down at you. He tilted his head as he looked you over, probably not sure what he was looking at. You watched through blurry eyes as he aimed the gun at your head.

With another ringing gunshot, everything went dark.

------

The thought of showing up unannounced made you feel a little vulnerable, but right then you didn't mind. You wiped at your face and prayed that there wasn't any left over blood, but you hadn't exactly stopped to check a mirror.

It'd only been a few moments since you had knocked but you raised your fist to do it again. Instead the door swung open and you were faced with a panicked looking Matt.

“Get in here,” he said as he dragged you in by your arm. “I could smell the blood through the door. What the hell happened?”

He was wearing sweats so obviously he hadn't been out tonight. Or he had already come back home.

You let him guide you to his couch. Then he felt around to check that you were in one piece. His hands were warm as they brushed your face and then your chest.

You grabbed his hands before they went to your stomach, your fingers linking with his almost immediately.

“I think you may have had a point when you said that I shouldn't do this alone,” you said as you squeezed his hands.

“What happened?”

With his hands in yours, you explained that you'd been taking down some traffickers when you realized there was a fourth one. You relived the moment of being shot three times, the aches making it hard to catch your breath.

“I knew I'd heal from the one to my chest and my stomach because I've done it before,” you explained quietly, eyes locked on your clasped hands. “But I didn't know if I'd survive a shot to the head point blank.”

“Y/N,” he said as he reached you to cup your cheek.

“In that instant before he pulled the trigger, I couldn't help but think that was it and I was about to die. And the last thing I thought was that I didn't want to go without telling you…”

You hesitated then, unsure how to word it without making a fool of yourself. But the look on his face made you feel calmer than you had any right to be.

He felt it too.

Instead of finishing your sentence, you simply leaned in and pressed your mouth against his. It was a kiss full of desperation and longing, but it filled you with such joy.

You'd never thought you'd have something like this. Because of who you were, you always thought you would end up having to hide a part of yourself. You never dreamed you could find someone who would know all about you and not pull away.

And Matt was definitely not pulling away. In fact he was tugging you closer, his mouth moving against yours eagerly.

Having another mask ruined was worth it for this moment.

------

There were too many for you to take on by yourself. You spun your staff around as you looked at the people surrounding you.

Way too many for you to take on alone. Good thing you weren't alone.

In the instant that Daredevil appeared, you struck out and attacked. The two of you worked together flawlessly, dropping armed thug after armed thug.

The two of you had developed quite the reputation on the streets for being capable and even ruthless at times. It was also well known that where one of you were, the other was soon to follow.

Apart you were both fearsome opponents. Together you were a force to be reckoned with.

No criminal stood a chance against Daredevil and the Woman Without Fear.

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Klaine one-shot “Consequences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: At a formal dinner thrown by a good friend, Kurt encounters a man he'd rather forget existed. He handles the situation with his signature cool, but his pet might not be quite so disciplined. (2529 words)

Notes: Okay, so, right off the bat, there are a few things I will admit are slightly problematic about the way Kurt and Blaine handle things here, but I know people like Kevin personally, and sometimes, a good old-fashioned revenge fic can make your day xD Plus, before anyone comes at me about hating switches, that isn't what this fic is about. I love switches. I know tons of them. But I also know people in the kink community who's behavior give switches a bad name. Kevin happens to be one of those. Dom Kurt, sub Blaine

Part 69 of Taking a Journey Together

Read on AO3.

“Why, if it isn’t Kurt Hummel!”

Those words slide unappetizingly through several sour notes of a single rusty octave range, volleying towards their target (in this case, the back of Kurt’s head) and striking with the messy precision of a hot mustard sandwich.

“Well, well, well …” The distastefully tipsy voice becomes louder as its owner slinks closer “… look who the cat dragged in! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Blaine, holding his Master’s drink with eyes trained on the floor, feels Kurt sigh through every fiber of his being from four feet away.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Captain Cliché. God save us all,” Kurt mutters under his breath. He reaches for his drink - a half filled glass of champagne – which Blaine obediently hands over, and knocks it back in one gulp.

Blaine takes the empty glass, prepared to hand it off to the next serving slave that passes by. He keeps his eyes lowered, disallowed to lift them as a submissive, but he doesn’t need to see this man to know who he is, though they’ve never been introduced.

Kevin Dale.

Not Kurt’s only ex, but the dreaded ex.

Blaine knows all about him. He’s the only sub Kurt had who doesn’t gush over him the way his other subs do. Worse, he does anything he can to cut Kurt down behind his back. He identifies as a switch, and is more than likely painting himself as a Dom for this particular occasion, which is why he can approach Kurt like they’re equals. He’s an egotistical ass who is more into fetish than BDSM, but he’s also an attention whore - a difficult thing with Kurt by your side. It’s one of the reasons Blaine can travel in BDSM circles with his Master and not worry too much about being noticed for who he is in real life.

On Broadway, Blaine’s the star, but in this arena, all eyes are on Kurt.

And even if they weren’t, they should be, because Blaine’s Master looks stunning.

They’re attending the first formal dinner they’ve been able to go to since Blaine started his new show. The dress code is evening gowns and tuxedos for the Dominants, clean-cut and slightly more casual attire for the subs - anything from the grey dress slacks and eggplant cashmere sweater Blaine has on to completely nude and collared applies. Blaine doesn’t have permission to look in the faces of the Dominants around him, but there’s two things he can tell about Kevin off the bat without looking:

The man is leering at his Master like a cat staring at a plump pigeon perched too high out of his reach.

And he’s drunk as a skunk.

Which leaves Blaine with a lot of questions, first on his list being where did their host go? It stated quite clearly in the invitation that it was against the rules to get drunk at this function. Inebriation was grounds for immediate removal.

Someone should have carted Kevin out of here a bottle of champagne ago.

“Oh, Kevin,” Kurt says, frustration embedded in his tone. “And just when I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Looks like today’s your lucky day!” Kevin slurs, but his attention wanes quickly when he sets eyes on Blaine. “And look who we have here!”

Blaine can’t see when the man’s eyes find him, but he knows his gaze lingers. He feels it like oily fingers trailing down his skin. He shivers in disgust.

“I heard you had a beautiful new boy, but I didn’t realize he was that beautiful.”

“Yes, he is. I’m incredibly lucky. And before you ask, no. I don’t share.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it,” Kevin replies, but to Blaine’s ears, he sounds disappointed. “I’d have no way to reciprocate.”

“So, you’re still unattached?” Kurt asks. To the outside observer, it would sound like small talk, but Blaine knows his Master took a dig.

“Sadly, yes. I’m far too busy to deal with anyone these days – Master or sub.”

“Pity,” Kurt grumbles, grabbing another glass of champagne when a tray passes by. “And yet you managed to find time in your schedule to show up here. To what do we owe the honor?”

“What’s the good of being part of the kink community if you don’t mingle from time to time? And being single is, uh … a great time to mingle.”

Kurt takes a possessive step in front of Blaine, a sign that Kevin must have given Blaine another lecherous once over. But Kurt changing positions draws Blaine’s gaze to his right, to his Master’s hip and Kevin’s hands gesticulating in and out of his line of sight. That’s when he sees it – a gold chain on Kevin’s wrist holding a complicated silver key. Blaine has seen those kinds of keys before. He knows what they’re for.

Kevin having one doesn’t make sense.

Kurt notices it, too, when Kevin dramatically reaches for his own glass of champagne, flashing it before Kurt’s eyes, waiting for Kurt to mention it. “So, you’re a key holder now?”

“Yup.”

“But I thought you said you didn’t have time for anyone.”

“I don’t.”

“So … whose is it?” Kurt sounds downright exhausted when he asks, but Blaine knows why he does. Not because Kurt cares who Kevin’s seeing, but because he wants to make sure that any soul who turns themselves over to Kevin’s quote-unquote care, even casually, knows what they’re getting themselves into.

“My own.”

Kurt’s breathing stops short in a shocked way that makes Blaine want to laugh, but he holds himself together.

“Come again?”

“I couldn’t find anyone worthy of being my key holder so I’m doing it myself.”

“O-kay.” As a masochist himself, Kurt can’t judge. He has a cage of his own. Several, if he’s being honest. There are many things he does to himself that stricter purist Dominants would consider crossing a line into submission. And Kevin’s a switch. Different rules apply. Still, what Kevin does, he does mostly for show, so Kurt would face palm himself if it were socially acceptable. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“Yup. I bought the heaviest, most restrictive cage I could find. Expensive, too,” he exposits even though no one asks, grabbing himself in the crassest way possible to emphasize his point. “It’s special made to my specifications, one of a kind, with only the one key.” He holds up his wrist, dangling the key in front of Kurt’s face like some sort of enticement. “I’d have to go see a locksmith if I lost it. Maybe even the ER.”

“You don’t say.” Kurt grabs another flute of champagne when another tray goes by out of habit now, sounding less interested in this conversation than he would talking about the average velocity of snot traveling through space. “You’d better pray it doesn’t go astray then.”

“The only way someone’s going to get ahold of this baby is to cut off my hand.” Kevin growls, sounding excited that someone might actually fight him over that key. Maybe he’s hoping Kurt will just so he has an excuse to mess with him again.

The assumption that he could sets Blaine’s back teeth on edge.

Kurt sighs. Blaine knows that sigh. It’s Kurt’s beyond done sigh. “Well, as exciting as this has been, I’m afraid it’s about time that my pet and I run along.”

“Ooo,” Kevin coos, stepping purposefully in Blaine’s way as they begin to walk off causing Blaine to run into him. “Feel like moving this party somewhere else, then? Somewhere more intimate?”

“Not in the slightest.” Kurt takes Blaine’s elbow and maneuvers him around the swaying bastard grinning in front of them. “You stay here, Kevin. Here ...” He thrusts his untouched glass of champagne in the man’s hand “… have a drink. I’m going to find Adam and confer with him about the caliber of his guest list. Have a lovely rest of your evening.”

“You as well, mon ami,” Kevin says with a clumsy wave, watching Blaine’s ass in particular as the two men leave, hand lewdly reaching for his caged cock again.

***

“Jesus Christ! That was the longest, dullest dinner Adam has ever thrown!” Kurt laments, shoving Blaine against the first wall he can find the second they walk through their hotel suite door. “I don’t know why he chose to change party planners, but they had no clue what they were doing!”

Blaine doesn’t get a word in before Kurt claims his mouth and kisses him hard, smacking the back of his head against the drywall. Not that he would have said anything … or had permission to speak. None of that matters anyway because he enjoys this – enjoys Kurt’s control, a control he doesn’t even have to surrender to. One only needs to surrender control when they have it, and as Blaine’s control is limited, there’s nothing to surrender. He just gets to be and that’s all he really wants.

“You know, I thought our evening was shot when that asshole Kevin showed up, but with you there …” Kurt breathes his pet in deep, letting the clean smell of Blaine’s skin fill his nose and mouth “… you make it all bearable.” He grins against his pet’s lips, crowding him further against the wall even when there’s no more room, pressing the whole of his body against him. “You were such a good boy tonight, pet.” Kurt giggles, reaching for the buckle to Blaine’s slacks. “Such an obedient boy. I think that deserves a reward. Don’t you?”

“I …” Blaine squeaks. God! Now is so not a good time to speak up, but he has to! If his Master finds out he was keeping something from him after receiving a reward, Blaine won’t see another one until the year’s out. And it’s only February. “Sir, I have a confession to make. An important one.”

“Oh?” Kurt steps back, annoyed at the interruption, but mostly at the idea that his pet may have disobeyed him behind his back. “And what’s that, pet? Tell me now.”

But Blaine doesn’t say another word. He reaches into his pocket and slowly pulls out a gold chain. He holds it up in front of Kurt’s face, gulping down air with a dry throat, aware that this might have serious consequences. Kurt’s eyes spring open wide.

The gold chain twists in front of his eyes from the weight of a single silver key.

A complicated key.

A familiar looking key.

“What the …?” Kurt stares at Blaine, surprise mixed with confusion swirling within his gaze. “When did you …?”

“I … I didn’t, Sir. Not intentionally. When Kevin bumped into me on the way out, the clasp must have caught on to my sweater and broke. It was stuck to my sleeve. I didn’t notice until we were in the parking lot. I suppose I could have told you in enough time to return it, but I ...” Blaine’s bottom jaw snaps shut, and with it, Kurt’s already wide eyes open further.

“But what, pet? Finish.”

“But I …” Blaine inhales in and exhales out, mentally preparing to end this night taking whatever punishment his Master sees fit to give him. “I don’t like Kevin. I don’t like the way he talked to you. I don’t like the way he talks about you. I don’t like the fact that he disrespects you. You’ve told me how he acted when the two of you were together – how he insulted you, manipulated you. Obviously, he hasn’t changed. I know that those concerns shouldn’t be mine, and that I should just obey. You give me rules, and I should follow them without question. But I wanted to get back at him. And this seemed like a fitting way.”

Kurt grabs the chain from Blaine’s hand and examines the clasp, not because he doubts his pet’s version of events, but so he can grasp the extent of what happened. He holds the chain closer to his eyes and sure enough, the clasp has snapped, rendering it permanently open. Kurt muses over this turn of events, contemplating what he should do, how he should handle Blaine. Considering the condition of the chain, it’s not really Blaine’s fault.

And yes, Blaine shouldn’t carry those concerns. They’re for Kurt to bear. But Kurt can’t punish Blaine for his loyalty. That would be like setting him up to fail. Kurt confided in him to begin with. Did he expect his loyal pet, this man who loves him unconditionally, to be able to push those things aside without any opinion on them whatsoever?

Kurt isn’t able to. Blaine has confided in Kurt, too, about demon exes from his past. Kurt hasn’t set any of that information aside. On the contrary, he’s created a hit list of sorts. On occasion, he takes it out, Googles a name, looks at a picture, memorizes information, dreams about the kinds of punishments he’d dish out if the two ever crossed paths …

Blaine shouldn’t disrespect a Dom by keeping his key from him. Losing keys are anxiety fuel for Kurt. But no one they know really considers Kevin a Dom worthy of respect anyhow.

Very few people consider him a Dom at all.

According to Adam, the man wasn’t invited to his soiree tonight. He finagled himself inside by taking advantage of his overwhelmed party planners – another point against him.

But regardless of feelings and people’s opinions, in the end, Kevin should have opted for a sturdier chain to carry his super important key.

The irony of Kurt finding himself unexpectedly becoming Kevin’s key holder makes a grin burn from cheek to cheek.

“You know, I should probably be upset at you for this,” Kurt says, unable to keep the snicker out of his voice. “And you’re right. The responsible thing would have been to tell me about this earlier, when I could have done something about it.”

“I know, Sir,” Blaine says, pressing his chin to his chest to hide the smile that won’t go away, relieved when he hears his Master’s playful tone. However Kurt decides to punish him over this, Blaine will deserve it.

But for the moment, he feels fucking great.

“Stay here, pet, while I take care of … this,” Kurt says, sneering at the key, thoughts of having to see the distasteful man again sullying his mood.

“Yes, Sir.” Blaine assumes Kurt will put the key safely away and text Kevin about it, letting him know when and where he can pick it up. After all, that’s the responsible thing to do. Kurt crosses the room to the bathroom and disappears behind the door. The next sound Blaine hears is the toilet flushing. Kurt comes out, brushing his hands together, the chain and key nowhere to be seen.

“Master?” Blaine says, raising an eyebrow.

“You know nothing, and neither do I, pet,” Kurt declares, returning to the matter of Blaine’s belt buckle. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Sir,” Blaine says, biting his lower lip the second Kurt slips his hands downs his pants.

“So,” Kurt hums, vibrating with satisfaction, “where were we …?”

#klaine fic #klaine #klaine fanfiction #dom/sub #frankie writes

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badwritingbuttriessometimes · 5 years

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The Project

Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Summary: you, like your father (Tony Stark) are literally done with everything. When you get kidnapped, Peter is right behind you hoping to get you back before your dad finds out.

A/N: this isn’t edited and was written at 1 am :) also kinda feel like writing a series so send in requests if they’re set up (I honestly don’t know if they are)

“Why can’t anyone do anything? Why is it always me? ALWAYS? ‘Oh they’re a Stark. They’re smart. THEY CAN DO IT’ Just because I’m amazing doesn’t mean I’m okay with doing everything!” You rant as you pace into your workspace in the Avengers facility. You were assigned a group project and had the pleasure of being with the kids who don’t care. You asked your teacher if you and Peter Parker could do it and the rest of your groups be a big group, but your teacher said no. Shocker.

“Hey hey hey, what’s wrong?” Your dad asked, hearing your ranting from down the hall.

“Group project due Thursday and I’m with the dumbasses who don’t care.”

“It’s always like that isn’t it?”

“Yup. I just- I can’t believe that JUST because I have your last name, everyone thinks I’m a genius.”

“But... you are,” Tony replies slowly, “you made your own AI for your fourth grade science fair. You made a projector of the galaxy instead of a solar system model. You-“

“OKAY! I get it. Thanks.” You say, cutting him off.

“What I mean is: you are a genius but you need to learn to work with others”

“Is that why you’re Iron Man and have been reported to ‘not play well with others’?” Tony’s eyes widened. “Okay I’m sorry I’m just in shock I have to do four peoples work in two days when I have more important things to do.”

“More important things like what? Reconfiguring F.R.I.D.A.Y quote-unquote just cause?”

“No but anything’s more important than someone else’s stuff they can handle but won’t. Meh whatever I’ll just hammer out the basic bones of it now and add some big words and synonyms after dinner then work on the presentation once the script’s finalized. Yeah that’s a good plan right?”

“Uh yeah sure okay. You could just do all of it in one sitting and have a self-loathing break at 3 am. Works great for me” Tony says with a laugh.

“I think I’ll save that tactic for uni. I’ll see you later though” you say as you usher your dad out of your workspace. You open your laptop and begin typing up the notes you took on the influence of Greek civilizations and the ways we see it today. You created a list of simple ways. Food. Fashion. Architecture. Parties. Frats/Sororities. Sports. Once you had enough ideas to last a ten-minute presentation, you began expanding on the topics you had. For food you wrote about how the spices and cooking styles changed the diets of North Americans. Fashion was kind of obvious just like food was; the use of white and simple sheets were good for the climate and breezy weather. Architecture was a no-brainer: columns. Parties was where it split into two different things. Weddings and party theme. After watching “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, you were ready to write that section. Using the Greek “toga party” as a transition to fraternities and sororities, you were close to being done. Sure, most sentences were full of nonesense but they were sentenced that took up time. You finished with sports because of the olympics. Everyone knew about the Olympics and it was easy to finish with a bang.

Speaking of bang, that’s what you heard. Living with superheroes wasn’t quiet so you just put on some music to tune out the training drill. Only, it wasn’t a training drill. It was a planned attack on the Avengers. You were too busy writing the conclusion and picturing what icons and images to have where to notice the door to your workspace open and three people came in. Their footsteps were inaudible compared to the drums of your song. You only noticed them through the shine of your laptop when it was too late.

———————————————————————

Peter was on his way over to the facility after school. You were lucky and had last spare which let you out at 1:45 compared to his 2:45. He was just as mad about the group project as you were and being grouped with Flash didn’t make it any more fun. Peter was walking in through the doors when he heard a loud bang. And another. And another. His arm hair stood up, alerting him something unplanned was happening.

He quickly put his mask over his head and web shooters on his wrists and ran towards the sound of the crash. That’s when he saw you. He saw three people in tactical gear holding your kicking body and dragging out of the building. Peter scanned the area. No one was around. How, in the Avengers facility, were no Avengers around? Peter ran into the bathroom and changed into his suit. He ran out and saw a truck driving its way out of the facility’s property. He asked Karen to track it for him but without having a tracker on the vehicle, it would be nearly impossible.

Peter swung after the truck, eventually landing in the bed and layed down to catch his breath and not be seen. He placed a tracker there too on the off chance he fell off in traffic. When the truck stopped and people began getting out, Peter got nervous. What if him being there would make you suffer more? What if he was on the wrong truck? What would they do to you if they knew he was there? Or if he wasn’t?

When his questions were swirling in his head, he barely noticed you be yanked from the truck cabin. Your hands and legs were bound but your mouth was running more than anyone had ever noticed.

“I swear to god if you don’t let me go I’ll kick your asses into the ocean!” Each word becoming louder than the previous. Your threats stopped while you were in the moving vehicle because you were outnumbered in a confined space. Now, you were outnumbered in a large, empty parking lot. You had space. You could fight back. At least, you would if your hands and legs weren’t tied. You moved your hands around, trying to undo whatever knot the person used. To your excitement, it was a simple bow. You unraveled the bow on your wrists and moved to the one on your legs. How your captors didn’t notice this, you had no idea.

“Hey! You know, tying people up is bad. Webbing them is better!” Peter yelled

So that’s how they didn’t notice you thought. You turn around and see two of the four people webbed to the truck. The other two were holding guns pointed at you and the Spider-Man. You hear the click of the gun being loaded as you think-in true gen Z fashion “thank god please kill me”

Quickly, a web-grenade is thrown and covers all four tactical members in webs. Peter rushes over to you, looking for bruises, cuts, anything that required medical attention.

“I’m okay, just mad. I’m not hurt you can stop worrying about that just worry about those four okay?” You say, trying to assure and alert Spider-Man of the fight that was to come.

“Oh yeah, right of course”

“Okay your sputtering. Here give me this-“ you say as you grab at one of his web shooters “- and watch me kick some ass”

For someone who has never used the web shooters in the field before, your aim was amazing. You knew all the different web combos and how each worked. It was almost like you helped make it or something. You webbed the four tactical team members to different walls and set web-grenades to go off at times intervals so they’d be stuck until the police showed up. The police showing up wasn’t your biggest concern. It was your dad. He didn’t know where you were and whatever happened at the facility never happened before.

———————————————————————

“Hey you still in here?” Tony called as he checked your workspace. Everything was exactly as you left it. There were no signs of resistance. He was beginning to worry. No one has ever been able to just break and enter the Avengers facility before let alone find your workspace and just grab you. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had no video of what happened and the audio recorded gave no help showing where you were. Tony was looking at your work when an idea hit him.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. track Parker’s suit for me”

“Located in the parking lot down-“

“Why do kidnapping always rendezvous there?” Tony wonders aloud as he walks to his armoury. He grabs the gauntlets he was fixing for you because of your school load and took off towards the lot. He saw the webs from a distance away and his worries subsided for a second until he realized that webs meant a fight. Fights mean pain. Pain is bad. His kid was in pain. His kid could be laying on the ground in a pool of their own blood. And he didn’t even realize.

———————————————————————

He landed in the parking complex and began calling out for you. “Y/N! Y/N! Please be alive. Y/N! Y/-“ he saw Peter. “Hey kid, where’s Y/N?”

“Hey Mr. Stark! Y/N’s over there. You flew right past them.” Peter replied pointing to just behind where Tony landed. Tony was shocked at how peppy the kid’s voice was. Was Y/N not in a pool of blood? He turned around and saw you laying on a web-hammock looking very relaxed.

“Y/N? You’re not dead?” He called out. You perked your head up and let out a nervous laugh.

“No, why would I be dead? I’m a Stark, remember? Plus I have that presentation so desth isn’t exactly an option right now.”

“So you just got kidnapped when the facility was down and no one was around, are deserted in a parking complex, and somehow made yourself a web hammock, and what you’re concerned about right now is that project?”

“Its a realllllyy big presentation Mr. Stark. It’s worth 30% of our grade.” Peter interjected “I’m about halfway done and it’s a lot of work.”

“See? Told you I had a reason to be mad.”

“Okay okay so why are you two still here when you have such a big project to do?”

“The police aren’t here yet.”

“They need to take those people away”

“Did either of you think of calling the police?”

“No but you can thanks Dad! Peter, let’s go back to the facility.” You say and begin shooting webs to get yourself out of the parking complex and towars your workspace with Peter quick behind you, leaving Tony to await the authories.

———————————————————————

Around 10:30, Peter’s phone was buzzing, waking the two of you up. You wiped the sleep from your eye and looked at your finished script and visual layout. As you were looking over your work, Peter picked up his phone.

“Hello?” He said, voice groggy from being asleep for who knows how long.

“No im not dead” “yes, I’m okay” “Y/N’s okay too... you’re okay too right” he whispers the last part to you as you laugh and nod “yes Y/N’s okay. No I didn’t. Why? Because it’s Y/N Stark! I can’t just do that! No, Ned ‘Y/N I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since freshman science please go out with me now that I’m a superhero’ is a HORRIBLE pick up line!”

“Hey, um Peter?”

“I’ll call you back, Ned.” Peter ends the call and turns to you, completely oblivious to you being within earshot of his and Ned’s conversation. “What’s up?”

“Wanna go out with me?” You say, a shit-eating grin on your face

“Y-yes. Uh yea of course!”

“Great cause you’re right, ‘Y/N, I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since freshman science please go out with me now that I’m a superhero’ is a bad pick up line.” You say as you walk out of the lab.

“Aha yeah.. I guess it is. WAIT YOU HEARD?!”

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icefir-windbreaker · 5 years

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All-Stars -Story Mode- [CHAPTER 13]

It’s done... Finally... It’s done... I had finished up Chapter 13 finally. Sorry that it’s a bit too long to read but I hoped you’ll enjoy it guys. Now, if you excuse me; I must take a nap now... 😴

-Chapter 13-

[Three hours later, right before Frisk and Mugman escape]

Bendy is kept inside a glass case, due to the Chaos Team don’t know who or what he was and placed inside the glass cage.

The Caucasian man, whom he learned that his name is Bruno Delacroix, he had kept watched on the Dancing Devil to make sure that he won’t get away from him or the crew. It had been an hour, the Caucasian woman with red hair, blue eyes, a scarf, white shirt with short sleeves and a crimson vest with two belts around the waist, brown leather gloves, tan leggings and blacks boots.

“Are you two sure that you can get more of that 115 stuff? I mean, Scarlett, we had known what it can do…” the male Maxian said before the red-haired woman named Scarlett had answered him back “We are sure, me and Shaw, will be alright. Don’t worry.”

Shaw is said after his niece “Indeed, we make that there are no bloody zombies around this time.” with a reassuring tone, “we will be back before you’ll know it.”

And like that, they left and closed the apartment door. Once again, he was left with Bruno and on this hour, he’s with the Maxian Spy.

“I’ve never thought a Diabo would be real but made from Ink.” the Maxian had said as he looked at the glass cage, Bendy knew what “Diabo” meant when Bruno had replied, “I know Diego, best to keep watch on it for a while.”

Bendy had said nothing as he laid on the bed and had nothing but a mirror that was in the glass room with him, seeing the Hispanic man named Diego with brown eyes and brown hair, in a white button-up shirt, a vest, brown trench coat of some kind to make room for pouches on their belt, blue jeans and boots. He and Bruno had been watching the Ink Demon for another hour. Bendy had watched them back through the mirror as it facing him.

Those two hours felt like two weeks to him, he had think of ways of how he would die, ways to escape and one of thoughts is being the pinned topic: how is he going to save his friends now?

Then his attention was snap to position by Scarlett, talking to him. “You know that it’s nothing personal but we can’t determine what you are.”

“I am the Ink Demon and the Dancing Devil!” Bendy replied harshly as Scarlett seemed like she wasn’t impressed by this, “If you had said that,” she said “We’ve likely killed you on sight.” as she is making a device on a work table, something that is like a weapon.

“Oh…” he said as he scratched the back of his head as he looked around the apartment and it was okay-clean expect with the blood from a recent zombie that had tried to get it inside but okay-clean.

“Alright, you’ve got me there Mrs…”

“Scarlett. If you know where my father, then you better-”

“I don’t know where he is, Scarlett, honest and fore truly.” he interrupted.

“What?” she said, she sounded surprised. “I don’t know where he had taken to, I wasn’t from your world you know, I’m from mine.”

Scarlett said nothing but turned back to the work table and continue to work on the weapon. “From your world?” she said finally, “You mean that you were brought here too, like us or with those soldiers?”

“Only me and my friend, not with the Helghan soldiers but I had heard there are others here too. Been taken here from theirs as well.” Bendy explained that to her as she turned her head to him again. “How do you know that when there’s-”

“My friend had told me that he had a feeling.” Bendy quickly answered but doesn’t want to left out that it was Knight whom told him, she turned her head back as Bendy was curious on what she is making. He tried to peek to what it is she’s working one but failed, “Say Scarlett, what is that you’re making?” he asked finally as he tried to peek again, she looked over to him with annoyance. Has this demon been like this?

“You just curious and really wanted to see what I’m doing?”

“That’s why I am right inside the glass box, unable to get out.” Bendy laughed jokingly, Scarlett sighed and then moved out of the Bendy’s view and what was on the table; it amazed him.

(From Call of Duty WiKi)

“What in Silly Valley is that??”

“The Wundewaffle DG-2, the Wonder Weapon is what it’d said on the blueprints. That is what I am making and I need to get the element that we didn’t know it had been discovered early from our timeline.” Scarlett explained, Bendy looked at the wonder weapon with… Well, wonder!

“Do you know who made it?” he asked, Scarlett only turn back and read who had been the first who invented it. Out of curiosity plaguing his mind, he said “Did you invent it Scarlett?”

“No, Dr. Edward Richtofen did.” she answered, “But I had read it when the blueprints was made: in the year, 1943. I found it… Odd though.”

He tilted his head to the side, “How is it odd, Scarlett?” as he rubbed his head, “The world we’re from had been the year 1912 and this was invented in 1943. This wasn’t the right year we’re in.”

Bendy wondered for a moment then a thought came through, he looked at Scarlett and questioned “What if… It’s from another timeline, just seven years further into the future.”

“Timeline?”

“A timeline, you know, what time was but in other timeline, it’s different from ours.”

Scarlett looked at Bendy like he was crazy loon toon, “You’re talking about the different timelines in legions of the world, if you’re are-”

Bendy interrupted before she could finish “Not just different parts of the world but in different dimensions. I do remember when someone else had told me that but very little bit of information before I came here.”

“Different worlds… I think this is something to bring up to Shaw. Thanks Bendy.” she said as she begins to return to work but stopped midway, then looked at Bendy again as if she wanted to make sure to he’s not lying and said “Is there something else you know about it?”

Bendy looked at her with his half-close-doll eyes, “Not much but the fact we are in a different world and timeline now, quote-unquote.” he answered to her, she smiled and shake her head. “You should save the rest for later.” she said.

Bendy nodded and lays down on the bed and then closed his eyes shut for a little while…

-An hour later…-

There were noises outside as Bendy had been woken up by Scarlett’s voice saying to Shaw “We can't leave him here! Not with them, Stanton!”

“Dearie, we had no other way to free him!”

“What’s going on?” the Ink Demon said in a half yawn but soon snapped into full-awake mode when Scarlett said “Those soldiers had found us! We have to leave right now!”

“What??!” Bendy yelled.

“Scarlett…” Diego said as she is trying to get the glass cell open, “Help me!” she said as she continued then soon felt Bruno’s hand placed on her shoulder. “We have to go, now.” the Frenchman said as she looked at him before looking back at Bendy.

Bendy smiled but it felt like it was nervous smile, “I’ll find another way to get myself, don’t worry.” he said as she nodded while backing up. “You better not die on the bloody way out when you escaped.” Shaw said as Scarlett, Diego, Bruno and even himself are running out of the door and got out of the apartment, almost as if they had breached the point of never to be seen again.

“If I find a way out that is.” he muttered to himself as he looked around as he heard voices, Helghan soldiers are clearly right outside. “Search the area! Look for any enemies.” one of them said.

A lump dropped so hard into his stomach, “oh crap…!” he whispered, maybe he should’ve have told Bruno to use the ancient hammer to smash the glass in and he would got out and escape with the crew easily.

He looked around frantically to find anything he could use to escape, nothing is there from him to use. Then there’s one stick that seemed to be sticking out of the wall with a writing that read “If there’s a will, there’s always a way.” next to it.

He looked at it for a moment before grabbing and then pulling it out of the wall and then discovers that it’s a crowbar!

*You’ve obtained a crowbar!

*You are there! I can see it already!: You are a free man! Err- Demon!

*A Knight in shining armor who had been saving everybody’s butts!

*The people will hail you as a hero!

*The government will hate your guts to hell!

*Even the Aliens will come to Earth to meet you in person!

*Oh… Also, you will be able to break glass with it if that’s all you’re wondering!

*Yet, it feels like it belongs to someone… Someone who was in Black Mesa.

“Yeah, thanks again…” Bendy said as he looked at the glass, then walks up to it as he is thinking his options “It will make noise but it’ll get me out.” before stopping, rendering back and swings the crowbar at the crystal surface as hard as he could swing and a cracking noise is heard and he saw that he had shattered it, “Just one more hit….” he muttered as he rendered back again and then swings it at hard force, this time, breaking the glass as pieces of once clear crystal fallen onto the floor.

“Ha! There we go!” he whispered under his breath and walked out of his cell, then looked around as he thought “I need to get out of here but…. Wait… they are in the hurry to leave, if that’s the case….. Then where’s the….?”

Bendy looked at the workshop table and saw where exactly Scarlett left it, the Wunderwaffe DG-2, it’s still right there, right there and ready to be used. “The Wunderwaffe….!” he whispered in awe, “they had left it behind…! Then I can fight…!” he whispered again as he smiled softly in joy.

“Thank you…” he ushered as he placed his hands together into a praying position and then he put on a devilish smirk as the usual mischievous Devil Dearing he is, he walks over to the table and then grabs it.

*You’ve obtained the Wonder Weapon, Wunderwaffe DG-2!

*Created by Scarlett Rhodes yet originally invented by Dr. Edward Richtofen.

“Okay, this is going to get old into the fanfiction story, isn’t it?” he thought despite the fact he had broke the fourth-wall in the progress. He then looked around and found his rucksack when they took it away from him after he was caught.

He grabbed it and put it back on, “I hope I can eat Bacon Soup once this is over.” he whispered again out of his thoughts.

*There’s no time to stay in one place with the Helghan Soldiers,

*You knew what will happen if they catch you!

Bendy’s eyes grew wide when he heard the soldiers getting close, he looked at the work table and found ammunition for the Wunderwaffe as well, electricity which is contained in three tesla power-tubes that resemble light bulbs, jected them in and loaded it.

“Come on in boys…” he whispered to himself like a crazy Deviling, “Prepare to be zapped.” as he heard the soldiers are getting closer and closer and then, they opened the apartment door and looked in. That is when Bendy opened fire on them while he screamed an high-pitched Indian battle cry.

He was surprised that the Wonder Weapon had fired a shocking bolt of electricity at them and did more than just elecrute them: it had barbecued them and that bolt had spread from one soldier then to another and other.

Soon, a squad of Helghan soldiers were killed, he slowly got outside and view the corpses of what was left of the Helghans, he looked in awe and said “Wow… Now that’s some quitely Wonder Weapon!” as he looked around.

He then looked around and finds a stairwell, then looked down at it and gulped, “This is not going to be easy but it’s the way.” he said to himself as he scaled down the steps and onto the ground, he looked for any signs of Chaos Crew but he later knew they had been long gone already.

He then ran forward on the left to see where they came from as his feet had echoed through the empty streets, then he heard gunfire. He stops and panting as he looked around for anything for that same sound, then he hears it again and turned his head to the right.

He quieted down his breathing to see what he heard was as he thought it was…

BANG!

Revolver, it’d was a revolver- wait, two… it was two revolvers. Someone is using two of them! The noises are coming from the right of Bendy’s position, he looked at it and thought “Please let my friends be in one piece.” before running for the source of the gunshots as more are being fired.

Bendy then noticed a wall of cars and a crane with the remaining vehicle, still tight in it’s claw. Bendy groaned as he looked at the wall, then it occurred him; someone had intentionally put made a wall out of cars to block something out, presumably the zombies or something worse, maybe them both and had it as a barricade. Then he heard an air raid siren had sounded off, he looked up and at the barricade again.

“Better get my butt moving to get to them..!” he said the thought aloud before running towards the barricade made out of cars and jumped upward to the first car above four other cars, grabbing the handle of it and holding on.

He struggled but soon gain the strength to grab onto other handle but accidentally opened the door to the car, making him hold onto it with a death grip as he swing back and forth as he gasped to the moving car door.

His feet are running on the air before he climbed onto the fifth car and then starts to climb on car after car until he reaches onto the top and saw where the Helghan flag is flowing on a flagpole, meaning their base was shipping train yard next to a police station.

Bendy smiled as he sees it, “I made it! Guys! I’m coming to get ‘cha!” he said as he begins to climb down the barricade but tripped in the progress and falls all the way down the barricade and onto the ground.

“Oof!”

It was a rough landing Bendy had made, the Wunderwaffe DG-2 is a bit ahead of him, the rucksack is still on him and his torso is on the ground, no legs are nowhere to be found. He had his eyes closed and had his hands checking his head, his shoulders, the torso but soon as he felt his legs are nowhere to be found nor felt them. He opened his eyes and saw that they had splat on the ground, leaving the rest of his body standing up right, he began to sob.

Inky tears formed on his eyes and then he begins to cry hysterically as he shake his fists like he was a kid. He had kept crying until he looks at the Reader/Gamer and then said “Gruesome, ain’t it?” before continuing on crying his heart out in ink tears as the puddle he’s in is forming two rather blobs and then they turned into feet, his feet.

Bendy kept crying as he reached his hands out and then feels his newly formed feet, he cried as he opened his eyes to looked at feet as he feels the tips of his shoes as his crying is slowly turning into a giggle and then it’d turned into laughter.

Then the ink puddle around Bendy had formed into the lower part of his body, he then looked Reader/Gamer and said “Calm down, I knew it the whole time!” then got up and then brushed himself off. He then walked over to the Wunderwaffe and picked it up, he took a deep breath and let it escaped his lungs before continuing on running for the base.

Bendy then presses his back against the nearby cargo container with the Wonder Weapon in his hands, he then talked to himself “Okay, you’re ready? Ready! Whew!” then readies the weapon as well. He then peeks to see what is going on far from the cargo and saw Erron Black who is also hiding behind one of the cargo containers, wielding two revolvers in both his hands and firing at the Helghans with bullets.

“Wow…” he whispered as he looked at Erron Black whom return to cover behind the cargo but soon fired at Bendy when he saw him behind the cargo. He yelped and hid behind the container again, he heard him yelling “Are you one of those soldiers?!”

Bendy had peeked over to the cowboy and said “I am not of them, but-” until he had been interrupted by Erron snapped “Then get your a$$ over here and help me!”

Bendy was scared but ran over to him and he stood next to him while he’s keep firing at them, he looked up to him and asked “So… You’re here to rescue-”

“I’m escaping but now I’m fighting for my life from them, what brought you here?” he interrupted again as he reloaded one of the revolvers, “I had came here to a rescue mission and I am wondering if you know them in your time of captivity?” he asked as he had picked up another ammunition for the Wunderwaffe on the ground and then put them in his rucksack.

“Who, those two kids?” he looked at him like he was surprised, “Frisk, Cuphead, Mugman and Boris.” he explained a bit further. “Do you know where they are around here?”

Erron looked down as he had remembered his encounter with Frisk and Mugman before, then turned his head back to Bendy again, “I did but both Cuphead and Boris aren’t with them.”

“They aren’t there?” he said confused, “They gotta be, I need to get to them now!”

“I don’t know what to say but I had helped them both, Frisk and Mugman to escaped through the hole the Mug had created.” Erron explained, Bendy looked at him with shock. Has this man beat him to it? Then he continued on to explained as bullets are flying pass them until they died down.

“If you’d really want to get to them bad then I can give you where the hole is; it was in their cell next to mine where I had been kept. Do you even know how to fire that thing?”

“I had barely know where to aim it.” Bendy answered as he looked at him like he was the teacher that is the annoying one that had ever lived.

Erron then looked and then pulled out a small glass with sand in it, before handing it to the Ink Demon as he then said “Alright, I’ll cover you from here but you need to stay in the shadows. If you’re good at hiding then I suggest to sneak your way through the base and get inside the police station and find Point B Cellblock with two opened cells and a hole in the one I’d was next to. You can’t miss it.”

Bendy looked at the glass of sand before taking it before looking at it in the palm of his hand before putting it in his rucksack as another hailstorm of bullets had opened fire before Erron fired more bullets at the Helghan Troops. “Worry ‘bout dodging their bullets and stay out of trouble, ya’ll up to it?”

“I’m only good at dancing but yeah, I’ll give it a shot.” Bendy answered, Erron nodded as he peeked from behind the cargo to see the troops and then they fired at him again but he managed to ducked behind cover again.

“Alright, right when they are reloading,” he cautioned, “I will lay down suppressing fire.” as he had already began to feel that they are right now reloading their guns with the remaining ammunition.

“On three…” he whispered, “One… two...” he pulled the hammer-part back, ready to use when he’s ready before yelling out “Three!” and opened 4 bullets as Bendy ran out behind the cargo from the other side of the cargo.

He happened to sneak his way through their camp, he had hid in the puddle of ink as the soldiers had passed by him as the siren continued to go off and then running the rest of the to the police station as he had unknowingly left a trail of ink behind him. He opened the double doors and entered the station.

Pausing at the map of the whole police department and then finds the one place he needs to go; Cell Block Point B. He ran through the hallways and gone to the left to the Point B, he kept running until he found what he was looking for: the two only opened cells and a hole inside the right cell like the cowboy promised.

“Oh boy…” he whispered, then checked the height of the Wunderwaffe and then the hole; it’s much too tall for a Wonder Weapon go through. Bendy sighed as he had no other choice but to leave it behind as he mumbled “Dang… just when I’m liking it already.” while he put it next to the hole where Frisk and Mugman escaped from.

Then with courage he mustered up and determination, he descended down the Caverns.

#All-Stars -Story Mode-#Bendy and The Ink Machine #Call of Duty Zombies #Mortal Kombat #Kill Zone #Bendy the Dancing Devil #Scarlett Rhodes #Diego Necalli #Bruno Delacroix #Stanton Shaw #Ultimis Edward Richtofen (Mentioned only)#Helghan Soldiers #Undertale #Cuphead: Don't Deal With Devil #Frisk (Mentioned only)#Mugman (Mentioned only)#Cuphead (Mentioned only)#Boris (Mentioned only)

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unharmeddrudge · 6 years

Text

Staying Up Late

A short story for an RP I’m writing with a friend. Besides writing well, they’re also an amazing artist. I, being unable to draw, have opted to just write a lot. I also need to write more as practice. Thus, this. Nothing heavy, just a domestic fluff for fun.

For context: The Soyuzi are a race of Russian space lizard people. Vokachaian is a human ethnicity.

The house is quiet. The TV is off, it’s dark out, and no one has entered or left all day. A faint chill gives the house a temperature that makes blankets quite comfortable. The only significant sound comes from the mechanical clock on the wall.

“Drew, it’s almost eleven o’clock.”

“I know, I know, let me… let me just wrap this up. I’m almost done—you go to bed first.”

The half-Soyuzi eyes the translator carefully from a short distance, across the great peaks and valleys of books and papers surrounding the Vokachaian. He isn’t willing to tread that field just yet. It looks as though a printing shop had exploded, with the boy at its epicenter.

“You say that, but…”

“The longer you talk,” the Vokachaian snaps, refusing to look up from his book, “the longer this will take. Just go already.”

The corner of Sasha’s lips twitch irritably. “Fine. Ten minutes, hurry up,” he says, stomping off to the bedroom in a huff.

Lately, Drew had been pushing their regular ten o’clock schedule to unacceptable limits. He’d been too engrossed in the translation of some damn books, enough to make it feel like he was ignoring Sasha. As much as the half-Soyuzi enjoys watching Drew’s passions stir into a fever (especially at night, in bed), he knows all too well that this sort of behavior is a bad habit that only ends up with a sleep-deprived Vokachaian, and possibly also a sick one.

Sasha falls onto the bed. He can lie there as comfortably as he wants, but in the end, he just can’t fucking sleep. Not without him. The room is cold, as Drew always likes it, but it’s uncomfortable to be alone in. The still and quiet chill is so lonely. He stares at the ceiling for a while, complaining about Drew’s slightly workaholic tendencies, among his other faults. In it, though, he remembers some advice his sister-in-law once gave him.

“When he starts to work instead of sleeping, he’s probably upset about something,” Emily had said one night at the Yodrezhka family household having dinner. Drew had left briefly to buy dessert with his mother. “Trust me, I’ve seen it a thousand times. He did for a few days one time when the kids were bullying him at school, making him buy lunch for them.” She sat back, locking her fingers together and turning them outward to crack her knuckles. “Slept fine soon as I dealt with ‘em, heh.” She smiles, confidently throwing her hair back and examining her fingernails. “He’d done it another time when his last boyfriend broke up with him. He’d lent a book to the guy—never got it back, actually.”

Sasha listened amusedly to the bold young girl. He liked her style. “Huh. Yeah, I think word boy’s done that once or twice, I’m pretty sure. Thought he was just a workaholic.”

“Nah, that boy loves to sleep. There’s always something else. Something’ll be bothering him. Though, I guess work could bother him, too.”

“I see… Good to know, little tiger. But how will I… y’know, fix him?” Sasha grinned, waving a hand in the air.

“Well, look, he’s not one to share his problems so easily. I had my way, and it involved locking the room and playing Jamie Lockensteiner until he fessed up. He hated that stuff,” she smiled back.

“Oh, you’re a cruel sister. His music is terrible.”

“Hey, watch it. He was on the top 20 list in 3284, so obviously, you’re wrong,” she pointed threateningly at him. “Anyway, I suggest a slightly different tactic for you. If he ever gets like that: first, pull him outta work. I mean, really pull him out. Make him forget it exists for a moment. By, heh heh, you know—” She elbows the man suggestively, making a ring in one hand and poking the index finger of the other hand through, “—any means necessary… but just before you get down to the nitty-gritty—deny him! Surprise him with questions, make him talk. Hold your ground, and don’t give him anything until he spits it out.”

“I feel like you been reading too many—what’s it called—’doujinshi’ lately, Emily.”

“No, trust me on this! You just gotta surprise him, and be firm about it. Works one-hundred percent of the time. Promise.”

Sasha takes a moment to pause and thoughtfully reflect on Emily’s advice, formulating a plan. She’s a bit of a perv, but she definitely has some good ideas.

He looks at the clock. It’d been eleven minutes already. Man, he’d been lenient with his time. How nice is that? He gets up and walks down the hall.

The translator hasn’t budged. His brows are deeply furrowed, brown eyes staring into a book, probably puzzling over something esoteric and profound. Maybe.

It won’t be easy to transverse the defensive obstacle course of new and ancient documents surrounding the male. Sasha had once tried to simply trample over them—he’d certainly gotten over, but it left him with a distinct bruise on his face and a pain in his groin, as well as the option of sleeping on the couch. Best to avoid that tonight.

Taking a detour, Sasha enters their small kitchen. Coming up with a plan as he went along, he opens a cabinet, finding a large can of Kharzakyt beans.

Perfect.

Returning to his spot across the paper moat in the living room, the half-Soyuzi squats, facing Drew, who appears to be ignoring him. Shitty brat. Opening the can, Sasha picks a bean out, and tosses it.

Drew doesn’t flinch.

Huh. He’s really committed to this, is he?

Sasha tosses another bean. It hits the side of Drew’s face, then falls onto his book.

Drew blinks, brushes the bean away, and continues reading. He picks up a pen, takes a note on a notebook to his right.

Sasha narrows his eyes at the translator, stubborn with a vain and futile resistance. He’ll break that. He grabs a couple more beans and throws them at his target.

Drew pauses in his notetaking, expressionless, as if physically stunned. He looks up slowly at the offender with a displeasure. “...Are those Kharzakyt beans?” he asks quietly.

Sasha answers with a smug grin. “Yah. Gonna do something about it?”

Drew just looks at him for a long moment. Agitated, likely, under that suppressed exterior. That smug motherfucker has no power over me, he thinks. After a while, he shakes his head slowly, and looks back at his book.

It’s too late, though. Sasha’s got Drew caught like a rabbit in a trap. He tosses another handful of beans.

The translator tries not to react. The Kharzakyt beans are making a mess.

The man tosses another handful. And another.

They’re starting to cover the books. The floor around the boy is almost totally hidden.

Finally, with a maniacal smile, Sasha stands, and fucking spikes a handful.

Holy shit. It stings. At his wit’s end, the Vokachaian stands and lunges across the papers and books, missing the half-Soyuzi as he backpedals.

Joyfully, Sasha continues tossing beans at the other while retreating backwards down the hall to the bedroom while Drew clumsily chases after him.

“Who do you think you are, you scaley bastard? I’ll skin you into a fucking wallet!” Drew growls, continually failing to grab the man as he is lured into the bedroom.

Sasha’s thrill ends as he trips onto the bed, where Drew is finally able to jump and grab him.

Sitting on the Soyuzi’s legs, Drew grabs the man's shirt collar and pulls him up close to his face. “You are an enormous pain in the ass,” he hisses.

In contrast to the incensed raven-haired mess, the brunet is barely managing to contain his laughter. He leans forward, capturing the angry lips with his own. He brings a hand up to stroke those tense cheeks with the back of his knuckles. Drew's hands move down to the other's shoulders. They break, with Drew pouting and Sasha smiling. “Oh, kotyenok, you only have self to blame. You make it so fun to mess with you!”

The translator's grimace never softens, though his face surely reddens. “You're a fuckin’ bully.” He grabs the wrist of the hand touching his face, then proceeds to push Sasha down until he's flat on his back, making out with him along the way.

Sasha lets it happen for a while. He's cute when he's all feisty like this! And it feels good, to boot. He doesn't need to put any work in. Drew's hands run through the brunet's hair and over his chest, while Sasha's hands travel across his partner's back and touch his neck, slyly reminding the boy of the many marks there.

Drew is very intense. Very touchy. Feeling around a lot. Quick to take off clothes, but not willing to part lips for very long. He seems desperate. Frantic, even. Like he's still distracting himself. Just like when he was working.

Damn. He’s just replaced with his books with Sasha. It’s no good.

By now, Drew has managed to remove the half-Soyuzi’s shirt and unbutton his own. It would probably be best to stop him now.

Groaning internally, Sasha pulled Drew’s face off his own, sighing. The Vokachaian tries to continue, but ends up simply furrowing his eyes at the other, confused. Soon enough, the taller man grabs the shorter’s hands before flipping their positions around. Drew gets plopped onto his back, hands caught above his head, with Sasha between his legs, leaning over him.

“Okay, enough of that, Dryushka. Gotta talk,” he grumbles reluctantly. Personally, he’s not too happy about stopping, but he knows it’s the quote-unquote “Right Thing to Do.”

“Hey, what the—let go of me,” the Vokachaian whines, trying fruitlessly to free his hands and reach downwards. He’s way too weak, though.

“Come on, shortstack. Hold still. Let’s use our words, yeah?”

Drew stares in confusion at the other for a moment. “...H-huh? Fuck that, I don’t got anything to say. Take off your pants.”

“Not like that, word boy. “You have been skipping bed-time, and you look like you’re trying to ignore me. Is not okay. If something is the matter, you need to tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“I think you have this backwards.”

“—Fuck me.”

“Right, but no.”

“I—ugh! Why are you so difficult?!” Drew squirms around a bit in another attempt to get free, before deciding to wrap his legs around Sasha’s hips. If he isn’t going to get free, his making the most of where he is right now. “What do you want from me?”

Oh, this cheeky bastard. He’s got some nerve. This is a rather precarious new adjustment, but Sasha isn’t letting up. “L-like… Like I said. I know something is bothering you—spit it out.”

Even in the cold darkness, the Vokachaian’s deepening flush is pretty obvious. “Wh-what? No, you’re… you’re mistaken. Misinterpreting. I’m fine. Let me go.”

Sasha just laughs. “No way. I don’t believe you. Ever heard of… ah… communication? We’re doing that. Now.” He punctuates himself with a prick on the neck with teeth. “So… How was day?”

Drew sucks in air through his teeth, turning away. He doesn’t have to answer a dumb question like this.

The brunet sighs against his partner’s neck. So much trouble. “I thought we’ already worked this whole ‘talking’ thing out.”

The captive Vokachaian doesn’t even squeak.

“Come on, kotyenok. At least look at me.”

He doesn’t budge.

It’s starting to get frustrating. They should be able to talk now! What could possibly be so troubling? So embarrassing?

“Say something, Drew. Honestly—there is no one else here, so whatever it is… you can tell me,” he coaxes in a firm, slightly impatient, yet reassuring voice. “Just tell me.”

Silence. Cold and hard silence with unhappy lips pressed firmly closed.

Sasha shakes his head. He might just have to give up. Can’t force anything.

“...’s stupid…”

“Huh?” The brunet’s eyes widen. The boy has spoken.

“I said it’s dumb… Don’t worry about it…” Drew still won’t look Sasha in the eye, but he’s certainly finding the blank darkness around them quite entertaining.

Sasha smiles once again, bringing their foreheads close together. “Why are you so embarrassed? If it bothers you so much, I have to care about it.”

“I told you it doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” Sasha exclaims, releasing Drew’s hands to embrace his torso. The freed hands end up on Sasha’s back. "You just don’t want to tell me because you’re afraid I’ll make fun of you.”

“Won’t you?” Drew mutters, looking wistfully out the window.

“I will. But it’ll be good for you.”

They lie like that for a while. It’s warm and comfortable, at least. The cold air lets them enjoy each other’s heat without getting all sweaty, though they still got sweaty for other reasons.

Finally, Drew sighs, looking down at the half-Soyuzi. “Alright, alright…” He looks very cute and flustered from this angle. “There was… a book at the convention last week. I wanted it, but I couldn’t afford it. Someone else took it… and… yeah.”

Sasha laughs quietly running a hand through the other’s messy black hair. “Oh, you poor, entitled brat, you. Now was that so hard?”

“It was, and my life has depreciated because of it,” he mutters, pouting. “This is why I didn’t care to tell you, you piece of shit.”

“Oh, but it meant so much to you! All week long… It’s okay Drew. I guess I feel sorry for you.” Sasha rises once more, giving Drew a kiss as a reward for his honesty and bravery. “And look, see—I’ll make you feel better.”

“As if. I’m not in the mood anymo-more—” Drew says before a shiver from Sasha’s touch cuts him off. “...Oh, h-holy shit, I guess I am.”

#writing #original #short story

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imaginarybird · 7 years

Text

Because Reasons

@frankchurchillsaysrelax requested Emmett and Elle from Legally Blonde+enemies to friends to lovers+girl/boy next door+High School/College/Teacher AU... And this was born.

It’s not that Emmett hates his new co-chair of the history department on principle (although the position was supposed to be his and his alone this year). It’s not even that he hates her for constantly parking her car in his unofficial parking spot, or for always playing the most ridiculously upbeat pop music in her office that shares a wall with his, or even that she doesn’t believe in written exams and only uses glittery feather topped pens that write in pink ink.

No, the real problem is that her proposal for a student-run news magazine garners at least five times the student interest as his debate team proposal. And when she gets voted the head of the senior send-off committee--a position he’s held with pride for years as the de facto young staff member. And when all of his students start trying to transfer from his classes in favor of hers, and when that doesn’t work, they start attending her after school study sessions instead of his.

All of this coming together, along with her renting the house next door to his so there’s literally no getting away from her… that’s what makes it impossible to stand Elle Woods.

“Emmett, so glad you can join us.” Elle says from the front of the classroom where the senior send-off committee meeting is taking place before school starts, where she’s writing some bullet points on the whiteboard with one of her signature pink markers. “Don’t worry, you’re only ten minutes late so all you’ve really missed is the summary of the last meeting.”

Reason #24 Emmett tries to avoid dealing with Elle at all costs: she’s always so… perky. Even when she’s being passive aggressive, or downright cutthroat when they’re arguing, Elle is smiling. She’s sweet and smiling and powerful and beautiful and it’s just not normal.

He clenches his jaw as he answers. “The staff parking lot was full.” Because she had pulled into it about fifteen seconds before him and taken his spot. “I had to go to the public lot on the other side of campus.”

“Oh, you should plan ahead next time.” She offers. “It must take about...ten minutes or so to drive over there and walk back.”

“You don’t say.”

The meeting progresses as they always do--everyone presents their ideas, he and Elle snark at each other, everyone likes Elle’s ideas best, he tries to point out the implausibility or the impropriety of doing something like throwing a casino night for a bunch of graduating high schoolers and gets ignored, they snark some more, and somehow he ends up getting volunteered to cover Elle’s detention duty for the month so she can focus her energy on planning the entire venture, starting this afternoon.

Reason # 25: Somehow she can convince anyone to do what she wants. Even when it’s inconvenient for them and they don’t want to do it at all.

He’s in an awful mood for the rest of the day, and because he has to supervise detention, he gets on the road late to head back upstate for his mom’s birthday dinner. Most of the drive is spent mentally cursing Elle’s name because it was her detention duty to begin with and it’s his fault that he ended up taking it and getting stuck in rush hour, and getting to his mom’s nearly an hour later than he had promised.

Even after the dinner, after a nice night with his mom, he’s stuck driving back in the driving rain so it’s dark and miserable and tense and slow again and Emmett can’t help but think somehow that that’s Elle’s fault too.

It would be just like her to be able to control the weather.

Reason # 26.

He finally gets home and all he wants to do is crawl into bed but he can’t. The neighborhood is lit up like the Fourth of July with the flashing blue and red lights of several police cars. And they’re all gathered in the driveway and on the lawn next to his.

Emmett’s heart jumps up into his mouth in the moments between figuring out where all the cops are and spotting Elle’s blonde hair and pink trench coat amongst the crowd and realizing that whatever had happened, she was all right. He feels sick anyways as he gets out of his car and takes in the whole scene.There are broken windows, the front door is barely on its hinges...he can only imagine what the inside of the house must look like… How scared Elle must be if she were inside.

Reason # 27: She’s not despicable enough. He can’t stand her and yet he’s worried about her anyway. How is any of this fair?

With a slight sigh he gets out of his car, upturning the collar of his jacket against the rain and crosses over to Elle’s lawn, just to ask the police what exactly had happened.

Elle spots him before he can even get a word out and rushes over; she pulls him into a hug that lasts far too long considering they’ve only ever shaken hands before and he thinks maybe, possibly, that she might be crying onto his shoulder.

Completely unsure of what to do, Emmett uses one hand to pat Elle on the back. Once, then twice, and she pulls away before he can go for a third tap.

“Oh my god, Emmett it’s awful. I got home and someone had broken in! The house is a disaster, my things are all over the place or missing…”

“So you weren’t inside when it happened? You’re OK?”

“I’m fine.” Elle nods, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whoever it was broke in while I was at the grocery store. They were gone by the time I got back. Which is too bad because I took four years of krav maga in college and I would have been more than happy to dust off my skills if I had found the skeezy jerk who painted such a disgusting message in my room.”

It takes a second for Emmett to parse out the most important information there. “Wait, you went in the house? Before the police got here?”

“Of course! I had to see if they had taken anything.”

Reason # 28: She has positively no sense of self-preservation.

But Emmett can barely contemplate it before one of the police officers comes over, provides Elle with a rundown of what they’ve found thus far, and tells her she’ll need to find a place to stay for the night. Elle looks suddenly small again, soaked from the rain and more than a little nervous about the whole affair. His mouth and brain refuse to communicate on the matter.

“She can stay with me.”

Gaining a roommate in Elle Woods is an experience unto itself.

She critiques the contents of his shower (“Emmett, grown men do not only have a bar of soap and a bottle of Head and Shoulders to bathe themselves with”). She borrows clothes. She makes breakfast.

She makes good breakfast.

Reason # 29: She’s good at everything she tries. Who does that?

It’s actually kind of frustrating to share a living space with Elle. Because the longer Emmett is around her, the more time they spend in the same room doing their respective grading, the more conversations she drags out of him, the more cleanly scented products that seem to find their way into his bathroom, the more he realizes she’s kind of… nice. And caring. And if she does control the weather she’s probably only doing it better the world of the people around her.

Reason # 30 Elle Woods is the actual worst: She’s not the worst at all and Emmett’s going to have to admit (if only to himself) that he was, in at least a few different ways, wrong about her.

Before too long--maybe three or four days into what was going to be a one night stay--Emmett and Elle are actually sharing stories about themselves and laughing together in more than a ‘I can’t tolerate you but we’re colleagues so I’ll pretend that you’re super funny’ kind of way.

And then they start eating lunch together. Sharing a living space and being a friend to the environment (“I’ll have you know that one of my first acts when I was put in charge of my Delta Nu chapter was to get our house put on solar power. We have a responsibility to care for our planet, Emmett.”) means that they start commuting so he gets his parking space back, sort of.

“I’m glad to see you and Ms. Woods are finally working past your differences.” The headmaster says one day as he and Emmett walk out of a staff meeting where Emmett and Elle had found themselves in agreement on every issue and teaming up on more than one occasion to argue their points. “The history department, and indeed the school will be a finer place for your friendship.”

Emmett’s not entirely sure that he and Elle are friends or if they’ve finally just realized that the things they were finding annoying about each other are a little more endearing when they got to know each other, but he does know that when the repairs on Elle’s house are finished and she officially has no more excuses to stick around at his place, the morning he wakes up and there’s not a blonde doing tae bo in his living room while bacon fries in the kitchen, the house feels like something is missing.

The school year continues and at a certain point Emmett knows for certain that he and Elle are definitely friends. He would never in a million years let someone who wasn’t his friend go through his wardrobe and replace all the clothes that make him look like a quote-unquote ‘scruffy fuddy-duddy’(“Emmett, you’re a history teacher at a prep school in his thirties, the kids will take you more seriously if you don’t dress like an ivy league philosophy professor from 1973”).

This doesn’t mean he stops hating her--reason # 33: she signs every text message with a heart emoji and he’s pretty sure she actually means it--but his feelings of hate stop being that jaw-clenching, boiling sensation in his gut and start feeling a lot more… fluttery. Like someone shakes up a warm bottle of champagne and lets it explode all over him, leaving him comfortable and tingly and on edge all at the same time.

That’s what hating Elle Woods feels like now that they’re friends.

It’s a feeling that seems to grow every time she throws her head back in laughter or settles down to do some serious work, throwing on reading glasses and chewing on the end of a pen cap.

He’s not sure that he likes being friends with Elle--his inner grump doesn’t know what to do with himself now that everything she does is kind of endearing rather than being the most annoying thing on the planet--but they keep getting closer regardless. Elle has a way of doing that. Of knowing the right things to say and being adorable and actually being really helpful when he needs it. They’re constantly spending time together and as much as he hates her, he doesn’t really hate it at all.

Maybe that’s why it stings so much when Elle announces that she’ll be spending her summer break back in her home of Malibu. Because he’s gotten used to spending time with her and they’ve built a good working relationship and he had just assumed that she’d be working with him at the school’s summer program too. It’s definitely not because he’s going to miss her.

Except the more he thinks about it, the closer they get to the end of the year and the more she talks about her trip, the more Emmett starts to consider that it might be.

Reason #34: He’s going to miss her.

Well, that’s just not going to work.

Emmett’s used to having people in his life not stick around so this shouldn’t be a big deal, particularly since she’ll come back in the fall but for some reason it feels like it is. Only he can’t say anything because that definitely won’t work so he can do nothing but go back to clenching his jaw and biting his tongue whenever he’s around her. He just needs to put a little distance back between them; after all you can’t miss someone that you’re not close with so if he stops sharing with her, stops finding her jokes so funny, stops wanting to be her friend...a summer without her won’t be so bad.

“Would you stop being weird?”

Of course...Elle notices and she’s not one to keep quiet about what she notices and when they’re chaperoning prom a couple of weeks before graduation she gives him an exasperated look while they count the King and Queen Ballots.

“What?”

“Stop being so weird.” She repeats abandoning her work. “It’s been a couple of weeks and I can’t think of a single thing that I’ve done to bug you lately, and we only have a couple weeks left before I leave for the summer, so either tell me what I did so I can apologize and we can go back to the way things were or...stop acting like a butthead!”

“A butthead?” Emmett sputters over the insult, unable to believe that it’s what Elle landed on. Not even his students use such...silly benign put-downs. He’s oddly offended that she didn’t pick something better. “You think I’m a butthead?”

“I think you’ve got a lot of butthead tendencies.” She huffs. “Your stubbornness and inability to say what you’re actually thinking being two of them.”

“How do you know I don’t say what I’m thinking?”

“Because if you did, you’d tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you Elle, I’m gonna miss you!”

Oh.

Oh, she’s good. She’s really good.

Emmett doesn’t even realize what he’s said until a second or two afterwards when Elle is staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

“You’re gonna miss me?”

Angry with himself for letting the feelings he’s been trying to bury out so easily, and more than a little embarrassed because this is not the sort of thing he does or the kind of conversation he has ever but if he refers back to reason #25...it’s somehow impossible to not give in to her, Emmett feels his cheeks heat up and looks to the side at the start of his answer. “Of course I’m going to miss you. It’s actually infuriating how much I’m going to miss you. Everything you do is annoying and yet somehow adorable at the same time and it’s not fair because we were not friends and we were never going to be but you wormed your way into my life anyways and now it’s impossible to think about what my summer’s going to be like without you force-feeding me quinoa salads and buying me ties that cost more than my car payment because you think they’ll bring out my eyes and not getting to see you crinkle your nose when you get frustrated because I’m fighting you on all of that and--,”

Elle leans across the table, cupping his face in her hands. She presses her lips to his, smiling as she pulls away. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

Oh.

Reason # 35 Emmett Forrest hates Elle Woods: He doesn’t hate her at all.

#legally blonde #fanfiction #elle woods #emmett forrest #this got away from me #a ficlet can be 2500 or so words right?#anyway #this is more based on the characterization in the musical than in the movie #because I like that emmett so much better #punintended #writing games #ficlet #?

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monstertots · 7 years

Text

Remember Me

Fandom: BokuMachi / Erased

Characters / Pairings: Satoru Fujinuma / Kenya Kobayashi

Genre: Comedy, Drama, AU

Rating: PG

AO3: link

Summary: Bright golden light streams in from the window causing them to squint. An odd dream that seemed too real, now only fragments that are fading away. But there's a feeling. Something is different, abnormal, and just maybe that's not the same color hair they had the day before? ---- Kimi no Na wa AU for Kensato Will change points of view between the two about every chapter

Satoru squinted at the bright light streaming in through from his window. He had woken up suddenly from a dream that had startled him but now he couldn’t…..remember.

It had been so vivid but now no matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t come back. It was almost like it was teasing him, like he was chasing something he could almost get, that he could touch with his finger tips, but never get a hold of.

It was unfair.

He gave up after a few moments of heavy breathing and staring into the sun; it was burning his eyes and he was pretty sure his phone alarm had already gone off. Slipping on his glasses, Satoru started to get ready for the day.

“Satoru! You’re late!”

Satoru blinked at the sound of his sister’s accusing voice when he entered the room. Right.

“I’ll get up early and make breakfast tomorrow.” He said simply, sitting himself down at the table with her and their grandma. She seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to eating. Mumbling to himself, Satoru started to serve himself breakfast.

“Hmm, you’re normal today.” Their grandma hummed out, smiling ever so slightly but not looking up from her own food.

“What?” He looked up from what he had served himself, but it didn’t look like she was going to say anything else. “Airi?”

His sister made an odd face, well more odd than she had already been. “Yeah, you were acting really weird; groping yourself and running into things.”

Satoru was about to ask what, once again. Really, did Airi just plan a prank for when he was half awake or did he actually black out the day before? But right when he opened up his mouth to speak the radio in the room sparked to life, full of static.

“Good morning everyone. This is an announcement from Itomori Town Hall. Regarding the mayoral election-”

He had already stood up and unplugged it from the socket in the wall before it could finish another sentence.

“Hey, that was about-”

“It’s annoying.” Satoru snapped back before his sister could finish either.

“You guys should just make up already…”

He bit his tongue for once, knowing how much it betrayed him, and instead switched on the tv. It made slight progress in drowning out the sounds of the announcement that echoed outside on the street speakers. Instead of the monotone political news they were about to receive moments ago, the cheery lady on the screen spoke about the schedule for a comet that was about to pass Earth soon. It had been on the news on and off lately as the date came closer. With an orbital period of 1,200 years it was more than just a once in a lifetime experience.

Soon after the news story had ended Satoru and Airi were already leaving to school. They said their goodbyes to their grandmother before entering the crisp morning and going their separate ways. With a slight breeze and bright skies Itomori still kept a feeling of relaxation even during its bustling mornings. Satoru couldn’t help the smile that graced his face as he heard his friends yelling as they tried to catch up to him.

“There’s Satoru! Get him!”

“More like get off you’re heavy..!”

“Oh, that’s real polite to say Hiromi.”

He could hear a yelp from the mentioned as the other jumped down from the bike to walk with him.

“Good morning, Satoru.”

“Morning, Kayo.”

“Your hair is fixed today.”

“What do you mean by that?” He pulled on a strand of his hair that was loose. It wasn’t really popular, maybe it was more in the cities, but he kept his hair longer than most guys and tied it up in the back most days. Satoru looked over to Hiromi who had made a sound of confirmation. He was currently walking his bike and nursing what was presumably a pinch from Kayo on his side.

“Well, yesterday it was all down and hanging in your eyes. I just th-”

“Were you alright?” Kayo interrupted, which she rarely did unless she thought something was extremely important to say. Her body was rigid and facing forward, but she kept Satoru in her sights by the corner of her eye. He nodded and she sighed seeming more relaxed.

“See. I told you he was just stressed about classes.”

“Listen,” shaking his head, Satoru faced both of them. “I don’t know if this is a prank that Airi is pulling on me, but I’m going to need you to explain what the hell everyone is talking about with ‘yesterday’.” With that they had all stopped in the middle of the path to stare at each other. Kayo and Hiromi peeked at each other, something flickering between their eyes, before she started to speak.

“You really don’t remember..?”

“Losing your way to school? Forgetting where your locker and desk where?”

He stared at them so blankly he felt like his face was about to fall off. “Now, you all must think I’m a real idiot if you think-”

Kayo grabbed his arm cutting his rant short. “Lets just get to school and we’ll try to explain during lunch okay?”

There was no need for a response. Kayo was really the most level headed out of all of them and she was always able to bring an air of calm over those she spoke to. As they started to walk again Hiromi didn’t bother jumping back onto his bike, instead kicking a rock towards Kayo which she kicked back and so on. The mood wasn’t heavy anymore being replaced with a comfortable silence between the three.

However, that didn’t seem to last long. In the distance, a small crowd was gathered around a man speaking. Great, the same political nonsense he had just ignored Satoru was about to walk straight into. A light touch dusted his elbow but it did little to sooth the heat forming in him. The tire of Hiromi’s bike squeaked as they moved to pass by and he couldn’t help but think that it was somehow fitting. The trio tried to blend in and sneak by the muttering crowd.

“So the mayor’s and his contractor’s kids get along, huh?”

A small group of their classmates snickered. Satoru’s nose twitched and he tried even more to look invisible.

“Satoru!”

Apparently the world was just going against him today.

“Stand up straight. Kayo looks more confident than you.” His father said directly into the mic he was holding.

“Asshole.”

Well, there went his tongue betraying him again. Satoru had bit out the words but they still traveled louder in the silence that had formed in the awkward moment. He should really learn how to break that habit. It apparently hadn’t been heard by his father though, or he was just going to ignore it, and he went back to speaking to the crowd once Satoru had shoved his hands in his pockets and straightened up.

“Really, he cares about image enough to pull that but not enough to actually take care of his own children.” Satoru sighed, pushing his glasses and a few strands of his hair up.

“Quote unquote helping kids really brings in the votes.”

That was right. His father had also been part of getting Kayo out of her old home, but it had always felt off. He took months getting someone out to her house to inspect, taken her in himself, and by the time she finally fell into the proper course of being up for adoption the votes had already been casted. The man was infuriating.

The rest of the morning was fine...relatively. People kept bringing up whatever “yesterday” was and he found an odd note in his notebook. By the time it was lunch Satoru wanted to pull out his hair. As Kayo questioned if he remembered anything from having bedhead to straight up forgetting his name, Satoru was feeling more and more like this was an elaborate joke somehow shared with the entire town.

“That’s it! It was your past life!” Hiromi shoved the book he was reading into both of their faces, yelping as Kayo had to kick the spare desk he was sitting on to keep it from falling under him.

“Are you stupid? He just said he was having odd dreams”

“That’s why, just read it!”

“Maybe.” She grabbed the book; setting it in her lap closed. That was the end of that conversation.

“Well...Maybe it was just stress. Your sister is forcing you to do that ritual with her right.” Hiromi reached for the book only to have his hand swatted.

“Don’t remind me,” Satoru sighed, taking a drink of his juice. “I really hate this town, I can’t wait to graduate and move to a city.”

“I understand what you mean. There’s really nothing to do here…”

The end of the day was no more relaxing than the rest had been. The “cafe” that Kayo had offered to take them to, to make them stop complaining, ended up just being a canned coffee vending machine. They really should have known by the smile on her face. The ritual Airi had somehow gotten their grandmother to allow him to be roped into went just as bad as Satoru expected. Not that she thought so of course, she was always so carefree being younger.

Walking home she had just rolled her eyes and said something about no one “really caring”. Well maybe him running down the stairs ahead of her and yelling about how he hated this life and hoped to be an attractive Tokyo boy in his next one would show her.

Probably not but it did make him feel just a bit better before having to sleep.

#boku dake ga inai machi #bokumachi #erased #kenya kobayashi #satoru fujinuma #kensato #satoken #writing #fanfiction

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iamsashagay · 7 years

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Retinitis Pigmentosa Awareness Month

If there’s one thing I’ve wanted more than anything else in my entire life, it’s been to be normal. That may be hard to believe for most people in my life, given that I’m prone to living in a manner some might describe as dramatic and “unnecessary”. Maybe a part of me realized a long ways back that on some level I was never going to blend in, that I was never going to be quote unquote normal. Growing up, I was never normal. I was the kid with the big hearing aids, the kid with the lisp. When I wasn’t the deaf kid, I was the twin who ohmygod shared a womb with his sister “and isn’t that awesome do you guys share a psychic connection what’s she thinking right now?” (As we’ve grown up, I have developed a keen sense of her moods - right now, she wants wine and carbs). Neither of those things that made me different were inherently bad - they were just things that I didn’t have control over. I’m big on being able to control things in my life (more on that later).

Then of course, when I had maybe just become as normal as I’ve probably ever been in high school, where my identity wasn’t wrapped around my hearing aids or my womb-mate since my teachers weren’t all aware of either, I tuned into my emerging sexuality. So then I became the gay kid. I couldn’t control that, either. But if I wasn’t going to be able to be plain jane normal, I was going to control the narrative the best I could. So I was the school faggot who wore six inch stilettos to class because fuck the patriarchy, amiright? I mean, if I wasn’t going to be able to be normal, I might as well be balls-to-the-wall obnoxious. I sure wasn’t going to blend in with the jocks or the gamers or the preppy girls, so there I was making questionable life choices in zebra print jeans and a leopard print purse. Still, somewhere underneath three inches of caked-on foundation and bleached, blue, green, red, black, damaged hair, all I wanted was to be normal. I clearly wasn’t motivated to put in an effort to make myself normal, because I have all the self-motivation of a sunbathing iguana, but if I’d have woken up one morning with some innate ability to fly under the radar, my dreams would have come true. Nobody said teenage me was good with logic, alright?

Because none of the above were labels enough and because we live in a society where we worship excess, I further became the kid with the eating disorder, the kid whose life basically just frayed at the seams until I was spending my eighteenth birthday in the hospital, where surprisingly, I kind of felt...normal? I mean, not one of us there was normal - we were all twisted by some unknown force, hiding mashed potatoes in uggs, pouring shots of ensure in the carpet, and splashing urine samples on the poor nurses (poor woman coincidentally retired that same year). We had fixations that bonded us, a common experience in the ridiculousness of being told to lick out jam packets and eat the cores of apples (Laura, I’ve been recovered for a while now and you’re still just wrong on that front). I fit in without trying, and it was oddly comforting. When I left treatment, my life became as normal as I imagine it will ever be. I worked two jobs, found myself in a relationship that didn’t careen off the tracks (bless Joey’s heart), and then went away for school. It was the Canadian dream, and it was wonderful. I adored it. I mean, my roommates in Ottawa shat on the floors and made hash with my hair straightener, but I was normal! It was everyone else who was crazy - a true revelation.

Fast forward a few years and we get to the point of all this rambling about my life story. I was studying (lol) at Ryerson and I’d met fellow normals who I did normal university student stuff with like the wonderful normal me wanted. Except my one friend kept telling me I needed to get my eyes checked because apparently I couldn’t see well enough. Like, excuse me? I could see just damn fine thank you it wasn’t my fault other people got in my way or things moved into my path or that cars didn’t pay attention to pedestrians or that sometimes it was just too damn dark outside, okay?. “But no seriously”, Mathew said, “you should be able to see more. It’s probably like glaucoma or cataracts or something, just get your eyes tested”. The man works for Lasik MD, so I immediately heeded his words of advice...like nine months later.

It was now October of 2015, and I was normal, god damn it. I sat with patron saint Joey in an eye doctor’s office with a Louis Vuitton print trash can (I couldn’t make this up, I swear) and a poster of Patrick Dempsey on the wall. “MCDREAMY LIVES” I believe was what Joey said to me. This was a real eye doctor, not just some man my mother, bless her heart, was harboring a not-so-secret crush for. I sat through what seemed like a ridiculous number of tests that featured some eye drops that truly made me unable to see - I haven’t sent so many misspelled texts since the drunken lead up to my hospitalization.

My first sign that “whoops, maybe Mathew was right” was when I was doing a field of vision test where I was supposed to be pressing buttons whenever I saw a flash of light - the visual version of a hearing test I’d been doing since I was like four and screaming into a microphone at some poor audiologist who deserved better in life because he wasn’t MY audiologist. I digress. Anyways, the lady running the test kept telling me “so you need to press the button when you see the light. Do you see the light? You have to press the button! So you know to press the button? Press the button!” In my mind I was cussing her out - “GURL I AM DOING THE BEST I CAN I HAVE PRESSED THE BUTTON A MULTITUDE OF TIMES I HAVE SEEN LIGHTS” - but in reality, “yes. I understand. Gotcha. *click*. *click*. Want to feel like an imbecile? Sit in front of a machine with your face in a cage and listen to someone dispassionately remind you that you need to press the button blah blah blah.

Finally at long last, Gentle Male Eye Doctor (GMED) sat down with me to discuss the results of the test I had clearly failed like I had grade 11 chemistry. “So, you see this picture here? That’s your retina. These little lines here are *eye doctor jumble I could not reproduce for the life of me*. Your visual field test reinforces my first thoughts when I looked at these images”. Sure, GMED, tell me all about my cataracts so I can get Mathew to get me a sweet discount and I can get back to my normal life. “It looks like you have retinitis pigmentosa”. Screech. Hands up, y’all, if you’ve ever heard of retinitis pigmentosa before. Zero? Good, we’re all on the same page here.

“It’s a genetic degenerative condition”

“I’m guessing from the look on your face, that’s not a good thing?”

“No.”

“So how do we like, deal with it?”

“There’s no cure”.

“Okay, but like how do we treat it to keep it from getting worse?”

“Well...there’s not really anything we can do. I’m going to refer you to a retina specialist. Don’t google it, okay?”

“Sure.”

So I went to pay, kind of just shell shocked because how exactly are you supposed to fucking process something you don’t know about? Turns out I now get free eye exams because of my condition (it’s all coming up sunshine for #sashagay!).

What’s the first thing I did when I got home? Did I

A) Have a healthy snack

B) Read Great Expectations for class

C) Go for a light jog

D) Google what the fuck retinitis pigmentosa is

The correct answer, of course, is D. (When is D not the answer to everything? - I couldn’t resist) I remained #chill the best I could, because I had not yet seen a retina specialist, which I still wasn’t sure was a legitimate thing, nor had my diagnosis confirmed.

That’s a lie. I was #unchill. Before I’d had my formal diagnosis I knew all about RP and all sorts of fun (read: scary) facts about it. And then they confirmed my diagnosis. I am going blind. Retinitis Pigmentosa is, as GMED stated, a genetic degenerative eye condition. In laymans terms, you start with a loss of night vision coupled with a loss of peripheral vision.

If nothing else, I know now I’m not the only one who hates those damn signs

I wasn’t walking into “caution when wet” signs and TTC station employees and small children and off curbs and into oncoming traffic because of a lack of grace. I had been losing peripheral vision that would have allowed me to see all of the above. Other people didn’t just have superior night vision like some freakshow - they just had normal eyes that saw trees, stairs, and again, small children. (If you take nothing else away from all this, take away the knowledge that small children are the worst). Again as GMED had said, there is currently no treatment. There is no cure. I will continue to lose my vision at an undetermined rate until I am first legally blind, and eventually completely blind.

In many ways, I am incredibly lucky. My visual acuity - the field of vision in which I can see - is pretty damn good. I can see the world around me and as of yet am largely unaffected by my condition. I have no problem reading, walking around my neighbourhood, or doing my job. I’m pretty much as normal as I was before - for now. I will never be able to drive (GMED looked like he might faint when I told him I’d driven to my appointment until I clarified that Joey was behind the wheel). I’ll never be able to see the stars at night, or go to the movies without feeling like I’m in some sort of Survivor challenge. And I’ll become, eventually, more and more reliant on using assistive devices to get around and do the things I can do uninhibited today. At my last eye exam, a different doctor told me that A) I have a field of vision of approximately 50 degrees, having lost about two-four degrees of vision in the last year, and that B) given a continual degree of degeneration, I will be lucky if I make it to 35 before I become legally blind.

So if you look at the above diagram I have so helpfully provided, you’ll see what my vision loss at this point looks like. I have approximately 25 degrees of vision in each eye - so slightly less than the full thirty degrees of ‘near peripheral’ vision a person with no visual impairment would have. Legally blind is 20 degrees of peripheral vision, so about the triangle you see labelled here as macular vision.

Retinitis Pigmentosa isn’t a super common condition - something like one in 4,000 people have the condition, but even that isn’t confirmed. There’s not really a ton of research out there, so the information available isn’t totally reliable. General consensus seems to be that those of us with the condition lose the majority of their vision in their twenties (that’s me!) and 90% of us are legally blind by the age of 40, both of which align with what my doctor told me. So that’s what I’m essentially basing my outlook on: having approximately 12 years until I’m considered legally blind, with a steady (or rapid???) rate of decline in my field of vision until then. It’s a weird situation.

I finished out my last year of university as a “normal”, basically acting as though nothing has changed. Today, I am qualified to tell you I have a bachelor’s degree in English. That’s it - there’s really not much else that degree qualifies you for, in all honesty. Just after that, I finally set up my referral with the Canadian National Institute for the Blind. I’ve taken Orientation and Mobility training where I’ve learned how to use my white cane. When I’m out in the dark, in crowded places, or just unfamiliar places, I use my cane to let other people know I’m a public menace (that’s not meant to be a jab at other visually impaired people; my condition truly manifests itself in me being a danger to children and those little wire baskets at Shoppers Drug Mart) and to help me navigate more effectively.

I should clarify a few things. I’m not ‘normal’ any more, and I won’t be any time in the future. You win some, you lose some, and I’m pretty much okay with that right now. I can still see. I’m not legally blind. If I’m out with my cane, it doesn’t mean I’m 100% blind. I will, sir, be able to see you pulling out your fucking polaroid at the subway station to take a picture of me from three feet away. (True story. I looked damn cute that day, though, so can we blame him?). I’m visually impaired, so I do walk into a lot of things and people. I will miss you waving at me from five feet away, since I can’t see to either side of me and I’m usually focused on trying to see what’s in front of me. I can still beat my face like a RuPaul’s Drag Race reject, but I can’t ride a bike by myself. I can still go to work and do my thing, but I can’t see you handing me something. I can still text, use my computer, put together a cute lewk, and be an internet sensation, but I can’t find anything to save my life. Where’s my hearing aid? Where’d I leave my phone? What did I do with my lighter?

Trying to help me find something? Keep this in mind so I don’t hulk out on you

Game over. It takes me forever to find anything, because my eyes don’t scan the way someone who isn’t visually impaired would be able to. My boss likes to play a game on her iPad that has her looking for objects in a dark room with a flashlight that only lights up a small bit of said room- it would be a fun game to try out, except that’s my life. Poor embattled Joey and I went to Mexico last summer and he wanted to try out a ‘eat in the dark experience’ - except that was every dining experience I had, because “ambient lighting” really means “#sashagay comes mere millimetres away from impaling himself and/or giving himself a second-degree burn”.

So, I’ve never been normal. I’m relatively used to being different - it’s just on a bigger scale now. My friends are all graduating university or working their way up in their respective fields; they’re building careers and establishing themselves. For me, that’s a weird thing to think about, because how do I go about building a career when I A) don’t know what exactly I want to do with my life, and B) don’t really know how long I’ll have enough usable vision to work in that career? 80% of people who are legally blind are unemployed - and to me, that’s not unbelievable, because it’s hard to imagine what I’m going to do when I’m blind.

None of this is to say poor pitiful me, give me a pep talk about how I can do anything I can put my mind to. I’m not giving up on my life or any hope for the future. I consider myself a realist. If 80% of people who are legally blind are unemployed, there is a very good chance I will be in that percentage. If my vision is continuing to degrade, the likelihood of my life changing in a dramatic fashion is pretty damn high. People who say “you can do anything! I know a blind person who’s curing cancer, who’s an astronaut, who’s a grammy-award-winning singer” (hey Stevie Wonder!) are trying to be positive and uplifting. But those people are the exception to the rule. Telling me, unprompted, that I am going to be a force to be reckoned with and that nothing will stand in my way, is not helpful. I’ve never had astronomical aspirations for myself - all I wanted was to be normal. If I wasn’t going to win a nobel prize before, I really don’t see it happening anytime soon. It’s not defeatist, because I know I’m going to be okay. I’m going to work on my goals as they come. I’m going to do volunteer work when I can’t hold down a job. I’m going to be a fucking fabulous uncle to my nieces and nephews when they come around. I’m going to raise awareness and fight for the causes I believe in. I’ll just be adding a splash of Helen Keller realness to anything I do.

It’s just a weird situation to be in, to be in your early(ish) twenties and know that you’re going blind. How do you plan for that? How do you build a life around that? I said before: I like to be in control. I’m not. It’s scary. But I’ll be okay. I have an amazing family who would move hell and earth for me. I have Joey, who isn’t going anywhere so long as I can dangle a handicap parking spot in front of him. I have incredible friends and colleagues who would never leave me dangling on my own (except when they forget I can’t see them and turn and walk in a different direction than me - oops). I have new friends I’m making in the community - hey Mara! - who show me that I’m going to be okay, that retinitis pigmentosa isn’t game over.

I don’t have a super cute way to end all this, so I’ll just end off by saying I hope I’ve brought some awareness to y’all with all these words since it is retinitis pigmentosa awareness month. Here’s to not being normal!

#retinitis pigmentosa #RP problems #RP #retinitis pigmentosa awareness month

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