#'oh i feel so bad for him' way but in a 'my own grandfather weighs less than me i really should kill myself this time'

[widevibratobitch]

also my grandpa was fat his entire life and now he's at my goal weight that i never quite managed to reach even at the worst point in my ed. guess we're back to envying people their cancers lol

[awordsmith]

where you came from 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you receive a letter detailing the death of your grandfather, head back to your hometown, and wonder if you ever should have left.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s8 category: angst to fluff (comfort) content warnings: proofed! not much sad angst (more sad angst if that makes any sense), death of a family member/funeral, reader's hometown is in Europe (purely for aesthetic), more plot than spencer (kind of idk) reid with warmth word count: 11.2k a/n: this was my one of my first ideas when first posting on tumblr so i really do hope you enjoy it! there are a few words not in english, but sometimes when writing in english it's easier to say something in another language because english can be really...corny sometimes...anyway ily cari !!

The loops and curves connecting the words in that elegant font you grew up learning stuck in the back of your mind like a non-removable tumor. You could feel it. You had a time limit–but not to live. Two days. In two days you would go back to Europe, back to a continent you had thought you’d left behind years ago, a place you had thought you held no attachment to… no emotion.

Maybe, though, it was the fact that you had been gone so long, had not once gone to visit in all your time in America, and now–now your time had run out–or rather, another, no longer invisible hourglass had lost the last of its sand and someone had flipped it again, setting a new timeline in motion.

Your grandpa, your beloved nonno*–oh how you just couldn’t believe it. 

It had hit you so suddenly, your mother normally sent you letters, you didn’t mind her old ways, she was raised by the man who taught you cursive and calligraphy–with craft you thought ancient, and technology was still rather new, and she wasn’t one to conform to change.

You sighed, shifting in your seat as Hotch and the rest of the team gave the profile. The lights were too bright; you stared at the floor, one leg crossed over the other, and your arms folded. You tried keeping your focus. Yes, you were dealing with your own problems, and yes, you had just gotten the letter yesterday, but these children needed you now–and if you couldn’t be at your best with a personal issue weighing on your shoulders, could you even call yourself an FBI agent?

Emily had just left the team a month ago and her replacement wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t Emily. You desperately needed your friend right now, your soul sister. She could tell you what to do and how to handle things like this, she’s been doing this a lot longer than you, has more experience–and she understood you, at least where family matters were concerned.

“You okay?” Spencer whispered as the officers went back to their desks or collected in groups–some even leaving–probably to talk about the best course of action. This guy was going to strike again, every indication of it was there on the board.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling your stomach growl.

He furrowed his brows, “when’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhm,” you stood, rubbing your wrist, “I’m not sure, but I’m fine, really,” you gave him a tight smile walking over to the board, “We know he’s targeting school busses on their drop off, he’s insecure about something, his physical strength? That’s the only reason he’d subdue the bus driver in a blitz attack.”

Spencer called your name–almost as a whine–and you paused. “Look,” he said, “I don’t think the rest of the team’s noticed, so if you eat, I won’t say anything…”

You frowned, rubbing an eye, “fine.”

You’d think a look of triumph came over him, but you’d be wrong. He looked resigned, but not indifferent, it was more of a soft relief. Spencer had no idea what you were going through, you hadn’t told anyone–and you weren’t really planning on it. You liked to keep your personal life separate from work as much as possible, that’s one of the reasons you and Emily had clicked so well–you were nearly identical in that department, and, well, you both could agree Clyde was a little bit of an ass. You’d never worked directly with her during her Interpol days, but when she left, Clyde became your team lead, and–well, actually, that’s, pretty self-explanatory.

A few years in, you were able to transfer to the BAU, you’d performed considerably well and Clyde had recommended and vouched for you and–well, Emily knew Clyde, okay perhaps your connections helped a little, but was it really your connections or your skill because without your skill, you wouldn’t have been recommended now would you have?

Regardless, you had known how massive the opportunity was, which is why you’d said yes without a second thought. You joined the team two years ago, when Emily had shown no sign of leaving. You sighed, rubbing your hands together, they were sweaty and you felt sick, maybe you should try eating something.

“Alright,” you affirmed again, “come on you’re driving.”

You threw the keys that had been lying on the table next to the board at Spencer, he’d been close to Emily too, you assumed they still spoke sometimes when they got the chance as you did with her. Your mutual bond was probably–at least you considered it the most probable–reason for why you grew so close in such a short amount of time.

You were close in age, too, which you assumed added to the comfort.

Spencer took you to the closest fast food and you ate in the car devouring each bite. He asked for coffee and “real” sugar on the side, and then he sat there and watched you eat, and when you were finished he drove you back to the police station. 

The case took you to Santa Monica, California. Penelope had ushered you all into the room as soon as you’d got into the office this morning, honestly, you were expecting it, and with the hurriedness she had, you knew it couldn’t be anywhere near good–though you considered none of the cases you received “good”, this one involved children, and it seemed they were the prime target, but what you couldn’t figure out was why.

He didn’t kill all the children–in fact, in both cases, the unsub only killed three kids; it seemed as if he was targeting specific children, but they all came from relatively different backgrounds, and both schools–when considering the environment and looking at it from a geographical perspective–weren’t at all in near-to-similar neighborhoods. Even the two kids that were killed on the same bus had no connection, they weren’t friends, the witnesses said the boys stayed away from each other unintentionally, they just never seemed to cross paths and it just did not make sense.

You wanted–no needed–to figure this out, for the next potential victims–but the team had no clue as to which school he’d hit next. For this reason, Penelope was emailing schools at the masses to keep them on high alert.

“He’s targeting school buses,” you said, taking a sip of your water. “Not schools…” Spencer nodded and you asked, “Why?”

“Perhaps something happened to him on a school bus?”

“It’s important,” you agreed, “but wouldn’t that make him–like–fifteen?”

“No,” Spencer shook his head, “a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t have this much time, he’d have been caught by now.”

“The survivors say he wore a mask, he called the students by name–”

“But not their name–maybe he’s living in a delusion?” Spencer’s speaking sped up, “maybe he’s not fifteen but he’s reliving his teenage days. Maybe he was bullied and now he wants revenge?”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain going after high school kids now. Why not just go after the people his anger is directed toward?”

“Because he can’t? Maybe they’re substitutes?”

“We need to tell the others.”

Spencer nodded, you rushed out of the car and into the police station, catching Morgan, Hotch, and JJ leaning over a phone, talking to Penelope. You explained your theory and funnily enough, Penelope had just found school records that supported it. Each victim had been suspended within the past year, accused of bullying or inflicting some type of physical or mental pain on another student.

Complaints about the victims were filed by students, so now you knew your unsub had access to all this information, the question was what title did someone need in order to garner this details.

“That has to be how he’s choosing his victims,” Morgan said.

Hotch thought for a second, then nodded, “All alright, call Rossi and Blake, tell them to get here, Penelope, are you still on?”

“Running and ready, sir,” she confirmed, “All alright, give me a list of the next potential targets, all kids who have been suspended or complained about in the last year due to bullying, narrow the search to males, fifteen older.”

“Sir, do you want me to narrow the search between the two schools?”

“No,” Hotch sighed, looking each of you in your eyes, “I want the entire city–”

“Hotch–” 

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but Hotch cut him off, “you really want to sit around waiting for another body?”

Everyone went silent and Spencer’s eyes flitted to you for a moment, almost as in reassurance.

“He’s right, Hotch,” you stepped forward, trying to push away all thoughts of what was to be expected of you in two days.

“You,” Hotch narrowed his eyes as if just now suspecting something was up with you. 

A silent staring contest ensued, though it was quickly broken when an officer burst into your makeshift bullpen. “Another body was discovered.” Your heart sunk and you glanced to Spencer for comfort, his eyes drifting to yours for the same thing.

It always just seemed a little bit more painful when children were involved. Your stomach lurched and you felt sick, wanting to throw up the food you’d just eaten. You just wanted this all to be over so you could focus on your family issues. It might have been selfish, but wasn’t that your right? You couldn’t think about this right now, you needed to find this guy before he murdered another innocent kid.

“Give Garcia the geographical point and have her narrow the search.”

Hotch directed at Spencer, turning to JJ, “Stay here, help him and Rossi figure out what career our unsub might have. Morgan go Blake to check out the new crime scene, and,” he turned to you, “Come with me.”

You turned to Spencer one last time, not wanting to leave him. You were always together, working together, that is. Hotch never split you up so you thought there must be a reason for it now, but why, well, you couldn’t know for certain. You shook your head and followed him out the door. He seemed to wait for you with pause, his expression unreadable, almost like he was analyzing you. You tilted your head in warning and he finally relented.

“Let’s go.”

From that point forward, there wasn’t really much of a struggle, it just sucked you had been called in so late, and that another kid had died before you caught the guy. Four kids in total, three crime scenes. The ride back on the jet was tense.

Everyone seemed to need their own space whenever you dealt with a case like this, you, well, you’d play with Spencer’s hair, if you were really tired, he’d let you lean against his shoulder or use his lap as a pillow and sleep. This time, though, you were restless and you couldn’t find the need to sleep anywhere. You knew you probably should,but…it was just too much.

You couldn’t stay seated, you paced back and forth, your mind fleeting from the case to the letter you’d received yesterday. You’d brought it with you and you hesitated only for a second before pulling it from your bag and sitting in one of the empty rows. You could feel eyes on you, though they were trying to pretend they weren’t looking.

You wanted to say you could see them, say you weren’t in need of monitoring, but you were the youngest on the team, and despite your closeness, with Emily particularly, they all cared for you, which is why when JJ slid into the seat across from you you resisted rolling your eyes.

“Are you okay? You’ve been kind of… not yourself.”

“I’m fine, JJ, thanks.” You returned your eyes to your mother’s letter.

“You sure?” she asked, “is it your mother? Has something happened?”

She motioned toward the letter. They’d gotten accustomed to seeing you read over the renaissance looking artifacts throughout the day. That wasn’t the unusual part, no JJ was talking about how you weren’t attached to Spencer’s hip, how you avoided them all almost the entire day, and how you had been so focused on the case as if you were trying to make something else dissappear.

“We’re all here for you, you know.” She reached her hand out, rubbing her thumb over it.

“Yeah,” Morgan motioned for JJ to scoot over, “we’re a family, you know.”

“Aww, I wish I was there,” Penelope said from the other side of Morgan’s phone. You wanted to scoff, but a sad smile pressed to your mouth instead. They were cornering you as if they’d planned it.

Your eyes flitter over toward Rossi and Hotch who were pretending not to listen and Blake, who was evidently really not, then they landed on Spencer’s who stood suddenly from his normal spot in the front of the jet and began walking toward you. “See, even pretty boy’s upset.”

“I am not upset,” Spencer scoffed, sliding into the seat next to you. But then he held your gaze as if trying to communicate with his eyes, “but we are here for you, you know I’m always here, and…I’m sure if you called, Emily would be too.”

You took a breath, and when it came out it was shuddering, and that was the first time crying had crossed your mind. So, you said–first in general, “My grandfather just passed, I’m supposed to leave in two days for his funeral.” You let them take it in, then, “I need time off, Hotch.”

A snort came from Rossi and the team frowned at him, but you smiled, why was he so unserious all the time? You rolled your eyes, but then Penelope spoke up from the phone in Morgan’s pocket, “if you need someone to go with you, I’d be willing.”

Your eyes swelled at her offer and you opened your mouth to say ‘Really?’ but Spencer said, “I’d go too–you know, if you wanted that is,” before you could open your mouth.

“Thank you,” you nodded, “I’d like that…and you know…it wouldn’t hurt if the rest of you came as well,” your admission scared you, what were you doing? This is the exactly the opposite response Emily would have given, but maybe you weren’t as strong as Emily, and maybe…maybe that was okay.

“When are we leaving again?” Rossi sighed, pulling out his phone, “I’ll have to check my schedule.” And with that you let loose a snort, appreciating the kindness of your team.

“Jack, Will, and Henry are welcome to come as well.” You said, “And that girlfriend of yours, Hotch,” you added, “I think I’d be able to brave my family again if I had the Guardians of the Galaxy with me.”

“What about Strauss?” JJ suddenly asked, “What are we gonna tell her?”

“Oh you let me worry about her,” Blake smiled, though you had been sure she wasn’t even listening.

“You’re from Europe right?”

You huffed a sigh, “Yes, Rossi, I’m sure we’re not cousins.”

A few chuckled as Rossi responded with a nod and a smug grin,  “Just checking.”

You claimed the window seat, forcing Spencer to sit in the middle, though you had to climb over him multiple times to use the bathroom, you didn’t care, and neither did he…much. You thought you’d be able to sleep, but just like on the jet, you found yourself restless, and Spencer, well, he couldn’t help but ask.

The first question was simple, “how do you feel about going home?”

You laughed, a bitter expression framing your face, “I don’t know.” You were lying, though he wasn’t sure if you knew that fact yourself as you seemed genuine. The only way he knew for sure your response wasn’t what your subconscious truly thought was was by the way your lips pressed together right before you spoke, that was your tell.

He didn't know if you knew you did it, but he’d caught on to it pretty quickly when you’d first met, it had been something small, but he remembered it as clearly as if it were playing out right now in front of him. It had to do with your favorite food. Morgan had said he’d overheard you talking to Emily about how you wanted a certain order from this new restaurant because it tasted like the one you had back home, and to surprise you, he had brought it in one day and set it on your desk, brimming with energy to see your reaction.

You were confused at first, but when you saw him, you’d grinned, prying to box open, then your eyebrows had shot up and he’d asked you if it was your favorite food. You’d pressed your lips together and nodded, grimacing with the first bite, “I love it, thank you.”

Later on, he’d smacked Morgan for the first time upside the head, running away quickly after, Morgan had chased him for some time until Hotch had told them to stop acting like, “idiots,” and thst, “Jack acthas better self control than you two most days.”

“Do you have any pets at home?” He asked, watching you stretch out your arms above your head, deflating against your seat.

You smiled, “I used to have a dog, but she died before I left for university.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned.

“Don’t be, she wasn’t really mine, but my sister’s.”

He nodded, it was early morning, everyone had gotten up way before they’d wanted to, except him. He was ready to go a bit too early, and when he’d picked you up at your apartment, it seemed as if you hadn’t slept much either.

“Hey, Spencer?” You suddenly whispered.

“Yeah?” He stared down at you as you began to move, causing him to shift until his body aligned with yours and your back hit his chest.

“Do you want to hear a boring story?” He quirked a brow, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. To the normal eye, you seemed incredibly close, strangely close–a couple kind of close, but to the team and between the two of you, it was more like the relationship Penelope and Dereck had, although instead of heaty words, it was comforting gestures like this, that, and you were always attached at the hip, you were partners with each other before anyone else, work partners that is.

“What’s a boring story?” He asked and you didn’t know if he was trying to be poetic, but it brought a smile to your face.

“My grandfather,” you focussed your eyes on the window, finding warmth in being pressed against him, his arms acting as a blanket that wrapped around you. “He was old in age, I mean, I knew that even when I was a kid, but there were times,” you shook your head recalling the moments in your mind.

Spencer kept quiet, listening intently as he rubbed circles on the exposed inner corner of your elbow.

“He would take me on adventures and back then, he seemed so young, so exceptionally immortal. It was otherworldly,” your voice got quieter as you continued, “I don’t know how to face him,” you sighed–God it seemed like all you could do for the past 45 hours was sigh.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me about the adventures.”

You paused, turning your head slightly to see him, you’d done this countless times, but for some reason, it seemed more pertinent now. More….significant, “my grandad,” you murmured, “he was my captain. That was the game. We’d go to the pier sometimes, or the forest, and he’d always have these elaborate scavenger hunts set up in advance. He really–” you blinked and breathed, “...he was really good at things like that.”

“Setting up games?” Spencer asked incredulously, but you knew it was good-natured, meant to bring the smile that had so evidently fallen off back to your face.

“At crafting and cultivating imagination.”

“Ah,” Spencer nodded, “yeah how did I miss that?”

You smacked is chest playfully.

“How do you feel about seeing your family, how long has it been?”

You gazed out the window again, there was low chatter around the plain, it was dark, the lights were off, and most people were asleep. You pondered briefly about why Spencer was still up and deigned to ask him when sunlight shone through the window, blinding you momentarily. It wasn’t a lot nor was it as bright as you were used to, and it was quickly hidden behind the clouds once more, but you smiled at it anyway.

“A new beginning,” you raised your hand, blocking the slight sunlight that filtered in now and then, not really sure what you meant.

Spencer chuckled, reaching out to grab your wris. He held it, waving it around as if you were casting a non-verbal spell.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he whispered, “but whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“I know you will,” you replied as easily as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “You always are.”

And again, for a moment, you pondered why that was, why Spencer always seemed to be the only person–other than Emily–who was always there for you when you needed someone, why he was the only person you wanted there when things went wrong. 

It was a question that had bubbled up over the last month since Emily had left. You’d begun to lean on him a lot more, yes, but you could very well just have as easily called Emily. Spencer wasn’t lying, you knew she would pick up no matter what, but oddly, you found you didn't want to call her because–you already had the person you needed with you. And he would always be there, even if you stopped working together, Spencer would always be there.

You were sure you could call him in the middle of the night and he’d come running. But why would you want to? You shook the dangerous thought away. 

“It’s sunrise,” he said, pulling your attention back to the window. Slowly, he brought your hand to once again rest on your stomach.

“We still have about 5 hours,” you sighed, noting the time.

He leaned back, shifting in his seat, “Then we better get comfortable.”

You wondered what you’d do first when you landed, would you have so much jet lag you wouldn’t be able to see your family for some time? Would you be able to sleep? Finally? Where would your grandpa be? Probably at the funeral home. Would other family members be traveling into the city for the funeral? If they were they’d have to stay at the main house, there wewould be no other space available in the others.

You were only staying three days, and if Stauss called you in early, you’d have no choice, but to leave before that. You were able to solve one more case before you left, though you had still strained for sleep, everyone else seemed to be a little overly excited. Blake stayed to help other teams, she was new and you weren’t that close, though she didn’t seem to mind.

She was like Rossi in that department, unable to take days away from work as she ran on catching these guys. But for you, and everyone else on the team, you were sure, you couldn’t wait for your days off.

They were the closest thing you got to normalcy, that and time with Spencer outside of work, it was time in your world, one where bad guys didn’t exist, one where you could escape into the realities of a Charlotte Bontë novel, one your grandpa had gifted you before you could remember a life without it.

You wanted to thank Spencer, but you didn’t know how. You wanted to thank everyone, really, but Spencer most of all, and instead of thinking about why, of letting it plague your thoughts, you leaned further into him, rubbed your face into his soft sweater vest, and closed your eyes.

Penelope threw her head back as she grabbed her suitcase, “where to now?” Spencer pushed her sunhat out of the way. She was in for a rude awakening, it was winter in Europe, and though most people were on holiday, that only meant the airports would be extra lively.

“First, let’s make sure we have everyone.” You began counting of heads, narrowing your eyes, “where’s Hotch?”

“We’re here!” Jack came running, Hotch sprinting after him. It was not too odd a sight, for you to see Hotch in dad mode, he normally had that look on when Spencer did something stupid or Penelope said too much on speaker–but this, oh this was gold.

Rossi snapped a photo with an old camera he’d brought along, chuckling when Hotch glared at him. “Alright,” you nodded, noting Hotch’s girlfriend slowly filling the space beside him. “Now, my immediate family isn’t that big, but the rest of the family does live in the same town, so you’ve all been assigned housemates.”

“Housemates?” JJ raised a brow.

“I’ll,” you checked the time, “explain on the train, come on.”

You were honestly surprised everyone had come, you’d invited them because you truly had thought them being here would lessen the pain, but to think that they all wanted to be here for you as well, even Rossi had come–and he hated taking vacation time. Though, the most surprising had to be the fact that Blake had actually succeeded in getting Straus to let you all come.

You stayed together, it was easy for some, though others kept getting sidetracked. You stopped a few times to look at a few shops and monuments, though you kept explaining to Penelope she’d have more than enough time later to go on her mini explorations.

You supposed it was normal though, that was how you were your first time in America–your first time in any new country or state, really. Most everyone had never been to Europe, even for you it felt like stepping into a storybook. You hadn’t been home in so long, it was like a lost memory.

Though afternoon, the day was getting dark already, and people were milling about, readying for Christmas–your heart lurched, and though you tried not thinking about him too much, you couldn’t help but wonder if your grandfather had been alone during his passing, what were his last words? His last thoughts? Rainclouds not only drew to the sky but your mind as well.

You felt more than guilty, that was the only way you could describe the horrid emotion twisting in your gut ever since you’d received the letter. You hadn’t seen your parents–your sister–face to face in a long time. It was part of the guilt of moving to America without giving them a heads up and for leaving when you knew they wanted you to stay.

Your older sister had stayed, why couldn’t you have? There really was no explanation other than you just couldn’t. It felt small, suffocating. You loved your hometown, but eventually, you knew there had to be something more out there, something more calling your name, and the longer you stayed, the more you buried that feeling, the less motivated to do anything you got.

So, you saved up during your uni days and took the first position in America you’d found, which is how you ended up at Interpol, climbing the ranks slowly but surely and eventually working with Clyde.

You reached the train station, the cool weather making everything around you a tint of blue. The benches that sat in front of the train tracks were taken up by Jack, Henry, and Will, who’d been carrying a ton of baby supplies. You paused, checked your watch again, nodded, and turned your face toward everyone again, “Alright people, here’s the plan. My family knows you're coming, one of the reasons they were okay with it is because we own a few properties and can house you all, hence your housemates, or if you prefer, hosts.” You glanced at JJ, “You, Will, and Henry will be staying with my sister and her husband. She has two kids so she’s used to the noise.”

You had thought about letting Hotch stay with your sister, but that would have just been too weird. No, instead you’d paired Hotch up with one of your cousins, who was married, but had no kids. Jack was older, no longer in diapers, and had a controlled temper, so it seemed perfect.

You relayed this information and moved on, “Penelope and Morgan, you’re staying with my aunt and uncle on my dad’s side, trust me, you’ll be thanking me–and Rossi, you’re with my aunt an uncle on my mom’s side Is that everyone then?” You looked around, nodding.

“Hang on,” Rossi held up a hand, “I don’t like the way you said that last part.”

“That’s everyone then?” You ignored him, “All alright, the train should be here–” You cut off your sentence as the train pulled into the station, “...right on time.”

 Waiting your turn to step onto the train as people made their way off, you felt around in your pocket for the letter one last time, sighing in relief when you it was still there. You grabbed your suitcase and began pulling it aboard the train when Spencer grabbed your arm and held you back. You glanced at everyone else boarding the train, making sure you had time before turning back, “Uhm,” he frowned, looking awkward, “where am I staying?”

“Hmm?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at your watch again, “with me and my parents.” You said it so simply, as if it were an afterthought–as if it was so incredibly obvious that you didn’t think you had to mention it.

“Oh,” he didn’t know how to feel, he was a little embarrassed, but there was something else…sick? He didn’t know, but it made him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Come on,” you latched your hand onto his wrist and yanked him onto the train, “before it leaves without us.”

You honestly wanted to go straight to your parent's house, but you knew you had to introduce your co-workers/friends to your family so when you left it wasn’t so weird, though the only one who complained was Rossi, you couldn’t blame him, but at the same time you found it funny. He swore up and down you had put him in this position on purpose and he didn’t find it funny–“Not one bit,” he’d said right before you left him in his room. “I’ll get you back for this,” he’d warned.

Once you’d left JJ, Will, and Henry at your sisters–she hadn’t been home, thank God, as you didn’t think you could face her just yet–you and Spencer hailed a cab and had all but drifted off to sleep during the ride to your childhood home. Your mom had been the firstborn, so she’d gotten the main house, though your grandparents never left. They had kind acted as your second parents growing up and you were incredibly close, especially you and your grandfather…and now he was gone. You bit the inner corner of your cheek, feeling like you wanted to cry but just couldn’t find the comfort to do so.

Spencer noticed, of course, that you were leaning on him, and had been the entire cab ride. When the it came to a stop in front of a large, three-story Victorian house, he hesitated before shaking you awake. He wouldn’t have done it if he knew what to do, but this wasn’t his house and this was the first time he was going to meet your parents, though it excited him, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

You were like–his platonic soulmate, nothing had ever happened between you two and just because you were going to be sleeping in the same house, probably a few feet apart, didn’t mean anything was going to start now. Morgan slept at Penelope’s all the time and though Spencer always suspected they were more, nothing had ever happened, which meant it was possible for a guy and a girl to just be friends–and yet, here is was, palms sweating, mind running, mouth drying as he walked up the trail leading to the front door of your parent’s house.

A knock, and hushed whispers, and then the door opened, your mother standing in the doorway with a bright smile on her face. She called your name and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You wondered if your grandpa was at the funeral home still, if he was cold, which was a stupid thought, he couldn’t feel anything, he was gone, no longer here roaming the earth, telling his outdated jokes and taking you on secret journey’s, and you were no longer that little girl who laughed at his outdated jokes and believed in the magic of his secret journeys.

When you pulled away your mother, with her now thinning, grayed hair pulled into a tight ponytail and the wrinkles lining her frail face–said, “Oh, let me get a look at you.” 

She took a step back and that’s when your father came into view, “Dad,” you smiled, the feeling almost overwhelming.

He pulled you into another hug, and just when you didn’t know if you could handle seeing one more relative you hadn’t seen in ages, your grandmother shouted from somewhere on the first floor, “Is that her? Is she here?”

Your heart seized itself and you took a step back, unknowingly stepping into Spencer’s personal space. You turned to apologize, but your grandmother had already wobbled in on her two dainty legs, as quickly as she could have if in her prime. Her old crone eyes narrowed, “nice of you to grace us with your presence.” She sprinkled salt on the floor as she glowered.

“Mom,” your mother groaned.

“What?” She crossed her arms and turned her head as if she had things better to do than welcome the granddaughter–who’d left everything behind–back into her life.

“It’s fine, Mom,” you reassured as your father went to close the door behind you’d walked in, Spencer gled to your back.

Your grandmother stomped out of the room in old lady fashion. “How are you dear? Have you been getting my letters?”

You cringed, “Yes,” though you never sent one back, you did always text a message, thanking your mom for writing you, she’d only heart it, though, which left you wondering if maybe you should’ve picked up a pen and paper. “I keep them all secure in a drawer.”

She nodded, a placid smile falling to her lips, “Well, you must be tired and–” she glanced at you, then at Spencer, then at your father and held his gaze for a moment before returning her eyes to you, “who’s your…”

“Oh, this is Spencer,” you patted his chest as if that was explanation enough.

Your mother nodded, not really sure how to take it, she turned to Spencer, hoping he’d offer a little more information, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer stared at her hand, contemplating and you were just about to say something about it when he reached out and shook it. Slack-jawed, you eyed him suspiciously, turning away in a huff. When you’d first met him, he’d refused to shake your hand, sure he had come a long way since then, but it still annoyed you for some reason.

“Come, let me show you your rooms.”

Your mother led you up the starcase than faded into a small stairwell, leading up to the second floor. The wood was old mahogany, though you weren’t paying much attention to it. At the end of the left hall was another staircase that led to the third floor, but even half awake you knew it was probably locked. It always had been. 

You recognized the wallpaper, a deep, forest green and you half wondered if the wallpaper in your bedroom had changed, if it had been converted into a guest bedroom. Your mother gave Spencer the guest room down the hall. You waved goonight to him before heading into your room. He paused his eyes taking in your childhood home.

It was so incredibly different from his, but it also felt…small. You were this giant, bubble of energy and a quiet town in Europe just dind’t seem to add up to your personality. He sighed and pulled open the door, you weren’t a few steps away like he had hoped, but you were close enough. He stopped himself–this was completely bizarre, even for him. This was more up–well, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t up his alley.

Tired, you’d turned in for the night, though your eyes caught on all the things you’d left behind, you told yourself you’d look at it in the morning. You were glad everyone was here supporting you, you were especially glad to have Spencer–were glad he came, but then of course he came, that was just the kind of person he was.

You turned off the lamp on the bedside table, burying your face in the sheets, finding yourself still unable to cry, but whispering, “You would have liked him a lot, nonno*.” Which was madness, firstly, why did it matter if you grandfather would have liked Spencer or not. Secondly, your grandfather was gone, and the whole reason you were here was because of that fact. Maybe you just couldn’t accept it yet and that’s why you were thinking all these weird thoughts, why you couldn't cry.

You sighed, shutting your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t dream; to face tomorrow, you would just need sleep. Sleep and a lot of quiet.

You cracked open one eye, light trickling in through the curtains though it wasn’t bright. You left your door ajar as you headed toward the bathroom. There was soft chatter on the first floor, and you were sure your grandmother and parents were awake. The faint aroma of coffee wafted through the air and you wondered if Spencer was up too.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out as he stepped out of the bathroom just as you went to open the door. His hair was wet and he was wearing a white collared shirt under a brown sweater vest. He smiled when he saw you, though your eyes were drawn to the water dripping down his forehead. He was holding a towel, you assumed to try and dry it, though it looked if he hadn’t had much success.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Good morning,” he echoed, stepping out of the way. “You’re parents said I could,” he motioned behind him, pressing his lips together when you raised a brow. He nodded, “hurry? I am kind of nervous.”

You snorted and shook your head, “sure thing, piccolo*.”

You shut the bathroom door behind you, feeling an airy sensation float through your body as you began pulling your clothes off.

Half an hour later, you found Spencer in his room still trying to dry his hair. “You should just let it air dry.” You voiced, tucking a lock of your own wet hair behind your ear.

He looked up when you opened the door, sighing, and setting the hand towel to the side. His hair was nearly dry, though he was trying to get the wet bits in the back. 

You huffed, climbing on the bed and sitting behind him on your knees, “let me see it.” You began massaging the now-damp towel into his hair, trying to use the little dry parts it still had left. He chuckled, jerking his head slightly when the towel rubbed a sensitive spot. You smirked, “that tickle?”

He huffed another laugh, “stop,” he called your name in warning, “I’m serious.”

You laughed, running the towel teasingly up and down his neck. He jerked and eventually jumped up, pushing you backward on accident. He launched a tickle attack, fingers jabbing at your sides, your neck, under your arms, and when you thought he couldn’t get any worse, he sought your feet, your sockless feet.

“Okay!” You snorted, “Okay, you win!”

“What?” He asked, staring down at you with triumph.

“Oh, don’t be an ass.” 

He grinned playfully, but relented, “Alright, come on, your parents probably want to see you.”

You huffed a sigh and threw your head back, the pillows coming to its rescue as you let your hands come to rest on your stomach, “do we have to?” His grin eased into a gentle smile and you gave in, jumping up, “Yeah, fine.” 

You headed downstairs, passing picture frames from past relatives. There were so many ancient trinkets that your generations had left behind, Spencer said it was like walking through time, and it honestly was. Not just because the house was built in the middle 1800s, but because everything from the wallpaper to the furniture, and right down to the people still living in it–had that reminiscent aura about them.

“Nice of you to join us.” Your grandmother said as you walked in, “And who’s this, a boyfriend?”

Your mother sent hers a warning glare before turning back to you, “good morning, please sit,” she motioned toward the breakfast table.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Spencer said taking the seat beside you, “again.”

Your mother laughed and waved a hand, “There is no need for formalities, but I do want to thank you for coming.” She glanced at you momentarily, but you avoided her eyes. You knew you would eventually have to speak to everyone again, but you weren’t ready for that yet.

“So, how long have you been dating my daughter?” Your father asked. You would have choked on the tea had you drunk any prior. Your eyes widened instead and you turned to Spencer apologetically, but he didn’t seem at all fazed, “we’re just friends.”

His smile seemed content, but your grandmother scoffed. You turned to her, almost already fed up with the little attitude that’d been present since your arrival. You knew she had always preferred the company of your sister, and she detested you for leaving without a word–not to her, but to your grandfather.

You frowned, wanting to ask about it, but you couldn’t find words that would bring the least amount of sadness to the room. 

“Are you going out today?” Your father changed the subject, turning toward Spencer. He seemed to catch on to the fact that you were uncomfortable, so he directed all his questions at your beloved pretty boy.

Spencer answered them with ease–to which you knew you’d be in debt. An hour went by and Penelope was blowing up the team group chat, asking when you were meeting up. Eventually, you knew you’d have to take her around town and to be honest, you could use a little distraction from the looming presence of being around the rest of your family when they got in this afternoon.

“When will you be back?” Your mother asked

“Not sure,” you replied, more clipped than you meant for it to be.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her,” Spencer reassured, trying to ease the tension.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” your grandmother poked her head out of nowhere.

You shot her a glare and said, “Is this your way of seeing me off?”

Shocked by your reply, she tutted and jerked her head away, with closed eyes and crossed arms. You rolled your eyes, whispering, “see you later,” in the softest voice you could manage.

“That was…”

You huffed, wrapping your arms around yourself, “tell me about it.”

“So…your grandmother…”

“She hates me because I left, deep down they all do.” You frowned, but no tears came, they seemed to evade you.

Spencer pressed his lips together, normally he had the perfect response for anything you said, but you never spoke about your family. You were always sure to draw a boundary, you were very much like Emily in that sense, or at least he thought so.

You took a cab to the pier, agreeing to meet at the beach seemed simple. There were a few people, mostly locals though, your hometown wasn’t a place tourists normally visited. The main reason this town was able to survive was because a lot of the residents were wealthy, and that wealth stayed in the family and–well, the families stayed here.

“Woah,” Penelope yelped at the fourth store you stopped in, “we have to look around,” she said, eye-widening. Jack and Henry were milling about together, looking at little trinkets. You recognized the shop, it was an antique toy store–your grandfather had bought all your gifts over the years from this one in particular, some were secondhand, but they were sentimental to you and you had taken a few with you when you’d moved to America. 

“Babygirl, calm down.” Morgan laughed, following her down an aisle.

“How’s everyone settling in?” You asked, turning to Rossi when he huffed and muttered something under his breath. “What was that?” You leaned in, grinning.

Spencer pulled you back just as Rossi glared and called you a sadist. “We’re doing fine, your sister is nice.” JJ smiled, “she was asking about you,” she paused, waiting to see if it was an alright topic of conversation. When she realized you were waiting patiently for her to continue, she did, “she said she was sorry for not being home when you dropped us off. She wanted to catch up.”

You took a breath, your cheeks seemingly hot in the cold weather. “I know it’s not my place,” Will started, catching your eyes, “...but I…I think you should talk to her…”

You frowned at him, contemplating, then you nodded, sigh slipping past your lips, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Oh!” Penelope shouted, “Gelato, my phone says there’s a gelato place right around the corner!” 

You noticed Morgan walking up behind her when a laugh–though it sounded more like a croak–rang through your ears. “Your phone would be correct,” an old woman rounded the counter, short as could be. Her eyes bounced from face to face, settling on yours, “I told your old wench of a grandmother you’d come back. Were it for anything it’d be for him.” She sighed, “Come here, let me have a spin, my God how long has it been?”

You wanted to say eight years, but you neglected that subject and instead focussed your memory on figuring out who this woman was. 

“Hmm,” she hummed after a moment, taking a step back, her arms so incredibly bony they looked as if they might snap with the slightest pressure. Her pallor was somewhat tanned, and there were a few black spots up and down her exposed skin.

“You’re nonna’s old classmate.” It clicked, she was always stopping by the house in your earlier days, and she’d sometimes sit on the wraparound porch, sipping wine with your grandmother.

“Did you forget me already capretta*?” She chuckled as if she’d made a joke.

The rest of your group had deemed the conversation not there’s to listen in on, so they’d taken to wandering around the shop, the only one who stayed–partially because he wanted to and partially because you’d grabbed his wrist when he had tried walking away–was Spencer.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” you murmured, “you shouldn’t call me that.”

“Oh, you’ll always be capretta* to me, you and all the others.” She smiled, her beady eyes watching you for a moment, as if expecting you to do something brash. Eventually, she said, “his funeral is tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah,” saying it brought out a wave of pain. Your mouth felt heavy and your stomach dropped to your feet.

She nodded, “have you decided what you’re going to say?”

You shook your head, “I won’t be speaking.”

She paused, disappointment flashing across her face, “well, I’m sorry to hear that.” You pressed your lips together and began turning away, ready to get out of this uncomfortable situation, but she wasn’t finished, “you know, I’m sure he’s happy you’re here.”

Spencer watched you close your eyes, take a deep, shuddering breath, and open them carefully. He watched them gloss over and without thinking about it, snaked a hand behind your back, as if holding you to this earth would help you in some way, unbeknownst to him, it did. His touch grounded you, and you thought, another debt to be owed.

“You’re amante*,” she said right before you walked back outside.

“He’s not my–” you waved your hands but your your words faltered as she shook a cloth at you, a knowing smile adorning her face.

“Maybe not yet, capretta*.”

You sighed, yanking Spencer outside. “What did she say?” He asked as if he couldn’t use damned context clues.

“Nothing,” you responded, but Rossi raised an eyebrow, holding up his hands when you shot him a look, your eyes flashing in warning. 

The other’s finally joined you outside and you spent a few more hours acting as a tour guide. When you deemed it time to go home, you told everyone to be ready in formal attire around 8, the rest of your family would be coming in, staying at the main house as it was the last place that still had room, and a small party would ensue. Everyone only came together for weddings and funerals so they tended to make the most of it.

You weren’t really looking forward to seeing the rest of your cousins, hell you could barely face your immediate family, extended seemed a little too much too soon.

You thought about hiding up in your room, you hadn't had much time to take it in yet and you thought it might help.

Relatives started arriving around 7:30. Spencer had wandered down to your room and knocked, though you could hear the hesitation in it. “Come in,” you said, sitting up.

He walked through, shutting the door softly behind him. “So this is where I find all your secrets.” He chirped, an easy smile settling on his face as joined you on the bed, leaning back. “It’s pink,” he noted.

“Hey,” you said, “the wallpaper came with the room.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes catching on a few blankets stacked neatly on a shelf linear your bed, “are those your baby blankets?”

“No,” you laid back down, the lamp at your side dimming slightly. “I think I stole those from my sister.”

He smiled, “I wonder what it’s like to have a sibling.”

You smiled, recalling all the idiotic fights you’d get into, how your parents would send you two to your room until you, “learned to love each other”. “She’s older by a few years,” your voice carried through the silent room, though it was lively on the first floor. You suddenly remembered you had a third, but you couldn’t recall a single memory of you being allowed there as is had always been locked.

“Do you want to talk about her?” He asked after a while.

You debated, on one hand, it might be good practice for when you spoke to her, on the other hand, what would you even say? You had no idea how she’d been these past eight years, what her life was like. What could you say and so you said, “ask me about her.”

He hummed for a moment, falling on, “why’d you steal the blankets?”

Your lips pressed together and you tried piecing together an accurate depiction of the event. “Well, she’d got them on a trip with our grandmother. My grandfather and I had been on an adventure, I think we were in the forest, I can’t remember,” you sat up and pushed yourself off the bed, walking over to the dresser and bending down to the shelf that held the blankets.

Spencer sat up, letting his eyes follow you, he felt warm, not anxious. Though his mind was working slowly, he found he didn’t mind. You seemed to calm everything down for him, it was a sense of comfort he hadn’t known he’d needed until you came into his life, and his headaches from before had slowly ceased the closer the two of you got.

“This one,” you held up, “was originally hers.” You brought it to him as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, his feet sprawled around you. You didn’t think twice before stepping in between him, but you had never done that before and it caught him off guard. You had never been in such proximity when you were both wide awake, and you certainly had never faced each other like this.

Nevertheless, he didn’t mind–in fact, he was finding it increasingly obvious that he preferred you to be as close to him as possible. He ran a hand over the smooth ruffles of the white blanket. It was pleaded with light pink embroidery. “You should give it to your daughter.” He heard himself say, though his throat went dry right after. 

“You think so?” You found yourself wanting to be closer to him–as if I’m not close enough, you scolded yourself.

“Yeah,” he looked up at you, and gosh–it looked like he wanted you, and gosh–you felt your heartbeat speed up.

Your body moved on its own, stepping forward, loving the way his legs close together to entrap you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping the blanket down beside him. You lifted your knees onto either side of his waist and sat in his lap, his arms snaking around your hips. “Hi,” you murmured, a nervous–almost hesitant–expression falling over your features.

His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes, but he managed to force out a, “hi.”

You bit your lip and it drew his gaze instantly, you could feel his heart palpitate in his chest, almost as fast as yours. His eye fluttered close and his head fell back when you ran your hands through his hair. You didn’t know what you were doing, you told yourself multiple times, unsure of why this was happening–now of all times, oh your sweet nonno! Forgive me, you pleaded.

You angled your head forward, ready to do the one thing you’d knew your subconscious had been wanting for God knew how long, but then a knock sounded on the door and Spencer’s eyes opened once again.

“Who–” you cleared your throat, “who is it?”

“Uhm,” a nervous chuckle came from the other side of the door, “it..it’s me.” Your sister. You cursed, glanced at Spencer, then with an apologetic look, unraveled yourself from his embrace.

You walked toward the door, trying to fix your nettled clothing in the process. You took a breath and paused, then opened the door. Your sister stood there, tall, lean, and elegant, as you remembered her to be. “Hi,” she smiled, tilting her head.

You smiled back, trying your best to not give away what had just been going on–what the actual hell was just going on? You wanted to contemplate it more, wanted to ask yourself what the hell you thought you were doing–but refrained from doing so in the moment.

“Can…can I come in?”

You tensed, your eyes darting behind you and Spencer stood, throwing you an understanding glance. Your sister took a step back as he left the room, eyes following him as he disappeared somewhere down the hall. You swallowed and shifted out of the doorway, “come in.”

She raised an eyebrow but kept quiet upon you lifting a hand. 

“How have you been?” She asked once you shut the door. 

You thought about your answer, settling for, “good,” because you had been good, you had been very good, up until you got that letter.

“That’s good,” she responded, looking around the room, smiling, “you know, mom kept it just the way you had it when you left.”

You nodded, yes, you had noticed that, but you weren’t sure how you felt about it just yet.

“What’s this?” She walked toward your bed, where Spencer had been not a minute ago. She picked up the dainty blanket and sat down, steering clear of the part that had been undoubltey rumpled by Spencer. “Oh,” she said as if just recalling, “it’s the blanket I gave you.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, you distinctly remember you stealing it from your room and hiding it when she had come asking if you’d seen it.

She laughed, apparently recalling the same thing, “I knew you had it back then,” which came as a surprise to you. She bit back a smile as she began folding it again, “nonna told me to let you keep it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “did she?”

“Yep,” your sister popped the ‘p’.

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“What?” She asked, setting the blanket aside.

“She’s become batty.”

Your sister’s eyebrows rose, “how do you mean?”

“She’s been nothing but brutal to me,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

Your sister’s eye crinkled like she was about to laugh, “wow,” she said instead, “you’ve been gone so long you must have forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” You scoffed.

“That’s how she’s always been,” your sister shook her head, mumbling your name and something else incoherent before turning to look back up at you, “I hope you visit again, that this isn’t some one off thing.”

You pulled away, your walls instantly going back up and your sister sighed, clearly noting the mask of an expression. “You always did that when you were a kid, you know.”

“Did what?” You furrowed your brows.

“Fold into yourself,” she waved her hands, “I don’t know how else to explain it.” She huffed, “you know, we really miss you, everyone. My kids,” she started, tears thrreatening to break loose, “you nieces and nephews–they don’t even know you.”

You looked down and for a second you weren’t sure what she was talking about, but then you remembered that yes–you were a zia*, your sister had children, three of them, and you hadn’t met them once.

Guilt wrapped itself around you like a veil, “I’m sorry,” you heard yourself saying, your face contorting as if you wanted to cry, wanted to express how remorseful you felt, but didn’t know how to.

“You’re just like her,” she threw her head back as a few tears ran down her cheek, “I think that’s why you were closer to Nonno*. You and Nonna* are too alike, you’re both so damn stubborn.” She huffed a laugh and for a moment, a sliver of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“I think love my best friend,” you found yourself admitting, maybe it was your way of trying to reach out, to tell your sister you were still you.

“That guy that was just here?” She grinned at you, “yeah, the family has been talking about it, Nonna* said to expect a wedding within the next year.”

Your face fell, embarrassment taking over, “what? Why? That old bat!” You scoffed, standing, “I can’t believe her, I’ve only been here–what? Two days? If that? That crazy old woman,” you marched toward the door, “Well?” You called to your sister, “are you going to back me up or what?”

She stared at you for a moment and then slowly, but surely, an calm smile crept onto her face, but her eyes were ones of storybook villains,“yeah, sure.”

The day started gloomy, though when you met Spencer in the hall, it became just a little less than that. You weren’t feeling like yourself, though you weren’t actually sure what self you were referring to. 

JJ had messaged the group chat that she’d be late because Henry had an accident right before they set off to leave. You thought about messaging your sister, but it felt weird, you weren’t used to initiating conversation with your family, so you didn’t, although you did plan to speak before the funeral.

You wore simple black attire, as did everyone else and you caught yourself holding onto Spencer’s hand tighter than usual, almost as if he’d leave you too, and you couldn’t have that. Your heart studded in your chest once you saw the coffin, it was closed, of course. It had been open for the hearing, but that had occured before you’d landed.

You couldn’t move forward. You told the others to go on and after making sure you were okay, they did, “but you’re not allowed to go,” you’d whispered, almost to yourself.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, whispering back, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your family gathered around the casket and the sacerdote* stepped forward, reading off a few of the retellings your grandmother had no doubt written down with the help of your parents. You noted a few other, non-related spectators, probably friends.

A few of his favorite songs were played and then your mother said a few words, followed by your grandmother, and finally your sister. “Are you okay?” Spencer pulled you closer by your arm.

You pressed your lips together, watching the coffin being lowered into the grave. “I don’t know…” and when you swallowed, you found your throat dry and for the first time since the letter, you not only found yourself wanting to cry, you found it was almost within reach.

The ceremony ended and relatives began dropping dirt into the grave, you thought to say one last prayer before leaving, but you didn’t want anyone to see you. You turned to Spencer and let go of his hand, “I just…” you turned away, pressing your lips together as you eyed the fresh grave.

He smiled sadly, but he nodded; he always seemed to be able to understand you no matter how silent or how loud you were. Maybe that’s why you loved him, you couldn’t be sure. There were so many things you loved about him–gosh you loved him. The revelation was like a wish from a birthday candle being answered.

You stepped away and Spencer watched as you pushed through the crowd. Hotch and the others surrounded him, questioning stares ever-present. “We should give her some time,” he said after seeing you hesitate, then sit near the makeshift headstone.

“What’s she doing?” Penelope frowned, watching you shift in your spot on the wet grass.

“Saying goodbye,” Spencer was the only one to respond–he was also the last one to retreat.

You didn’t know how to begin, you hadn’t spoken to him in eight years. You were scared that he was angry at you, but then again, you knew that couldn’t be the case, yes you knew he was gone, but what if his spirit was still here? What if he couldn’t move on because he had unfinished business and it was your fault?

You stopped yourself, since when did you believe in superstition? That was your parents…and Rossi; not you.

You sighed, running your hand through the grass, deciding to start as if he were still there, trying not to sound too guilty.

Nonno, you began, I–I’m sorry, you shook your head, I know, I know I should have visited. I know– a single tear fell down your cheek and you paused to wipe it away, shocked by your own emotions. “Forgive me,” you whispered.

“You sound like a crazy person,” you jerked your head to the side, eyes landing on your grandmother.

You huffed, eyes narrowing as you sniffled and wiped another tear that had fallen. “You’re one to talk.”

Your grandmother shifted, as if uncomfortable, and then she moved forward, more brittle than you had noticed the first time. “I’m not going to sit down,” she said after a moment, “don’t let my looks full you, I’m not how I once was.” She grunted as she stood beside you.

“Yeah, well, your looks aren’t fooling anyone, so.”

“Ouch,” she laughed, but it sounded like a wenches cackle. “Oh nipotina*,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a complacent smile making its way onto her wrinkled face.

You sat in silence, comfortable or not, you were glad she had stopped talking, you didn’t know what to say to her. In your opinion, you had never really gotten along with your grandmother, this wasn’t reconnecting with your parents or sisters or even your zia* and zio*, this was…new territory altogether.

You frowned, “listen, child,” and you did, you perked up, you could listen to her talk, that would be easy, you just hoped she didn't expect a response. “Your grandfather loved you, he never stopped talking about you.” You smiled, but then it faltered. You had abandoned him, hadn’t even deigned to visit because of how guilty you’d felt…

“He knew,” you whispered, heart racing. 

You heard your grandmother sigh. “I thought as much,” she frowned, staring at her husband's grave as if she could bring him back by will alone. 

“You did?” You hadn’t left without saying goodbye, not to him at least, that was one thing everyone had gotten wrong, your grandmother knowing had never occurred to you because you were sure your grandfather kept it a secret. Why else would the entire family have blown up when they’d realized you had left? When they’d realized it was too late to stop or convince you otherwise–because by the time everyone else had found out, you were halfway across the North Atlantic already.

“I always thought it was strange how he never said anything about it.” A grim smile tugged her at her red-painted lips.

“Nonna*, did I make the right decision?” You asked, surprising even yourself.

She sighed and you thought she might say ‘I can’t tell you if it was right or wrong’ or something a normal grandmother would say, but your grandmother wasn’t normal, she was an old bat, probably the same one you’d turn into at her age and she said, “You’re damned right you were wrong.”

Your mouth dropped, taken aback, and then you burst into laughter, throwing your head back as you tried wiping your tears, “oh you’re such an old bat,” you sighed.

“I knew you always called me that behind my back,” she harumphed, jerking her head away and crossing her arms like a child.

“Oh come now, Nonna*,” you stood and reached out the touch her shoulder.

She huffed and dropped her arms, eyes darting around your face in what seemed to be concern. “You were wrong for not telling the rest of us, you had your parents worried sick, and your sister too.” Her frown deepened, “even me.”

You nodded, “I know, but nonna*,” you sighed, wanting to explain yourself, but she held up a hand. You raised a brow, almost saying huh, so that’s where I get it from, out loud.

“Your grandfather always said you were meant for something greater, that your heart wouldn’t allow you to stay in this town the way ours allowed the rest of us.

“No, no nipotina*, you were not wrong for leaving. This town, this family? Yes, you come from here, but there,” she nodded her head toward your co-workers, (or friends, you were honestly still deciding), “with them, that is where you belong now.”

You smiled, finding acceptance in her answer.

“And your friend,” she rolled her eyes when she said it, “well, I expect the wedding to be here.”

You huffed a laugh before turning, catching Specner’s eye, and when he waved your heart swelled. “We’ll see,” you started walking away.

Your grandmother trailed after you, throwing her hands up and shouting, “incovalato*! You insolent child!”

a/n: ahhh i can't wait to write my next fic because i already know waht it is. i don't want to give spoilers, but just know you're going to see dad!spencer !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[artist-issues]

I HAVE LISTENED TO THE FIRST ALBUM. THANK YOU FOR OPENING A NEW WORLD FOR ME. GONNA DO VESSEL SOON.

also, happen to have any breakdown posts/stuff you really like about the first album or any songs? :) I would say Oh Ms Believer, Addict With a Pen, and March to the Sea are my favorites <3

I am so happy right now!

Addict With a Pen is my all time favorite twenty one pilots song. I just don’t know why people say it’s their favorite but I never see anybody talking about why. The concept captures that feeling, that headspace, perfectly. And it resolves the way that headspace always should.

The verses alone make me want to cry, but again, they’re the Romans 7 Cycle. He’s saying, “hello, we haven’t talked in quite some time, I know I haven’t been the best of sons,” and you get the feeling that even though they haven’t talked in a while, this state of things, this trying and failing to be “a good son,” has been ever-present in the back of his mind.

When I’m living my day-to-day life, even when it’s full of religious things and responsibilities, but I’m not in the habit of…stopping and talking to God, and living according to the fact that He’s right there, and just generally searching for what He thinks about what I’m doing moment-to-moment, and finding out what He wants and even more importantly, asking Him to help me do it because I can’t, and focusing on the fact that He calls me “beloved” the whole time…this is how it feels.

It feels like He’s a homework assignment I’ve been putting off. It feels like He’s the grandfather I’ve been avoiding checking in with. It feels like He’s the dad I’m always conscious of desiring closeness and approval from, but forever unable to make it happen, so I avoid him, too. But however much I avoid and put off, He’s hanging over me, and so’s the failure that’s making me avoid a one-on-one with Him in the first place. That’s the way it feels. And that first line says it perfectly.

And then it goes deeper. Because while I’m avoiding a one-on-one with just me and God, where I actually listen to Him, what else is my inner world occupied with? What am I doing instead?

“Hello, I’ve been traveling in the desert of my mind.”

Me. I’m just circling around inside of myself. It doesn’t matter how much God is the topic revolving around my brain. Whatever. I can write a seventeen-page essay analyzing Walter Elias Disney and his life and his works and his legacy—doesn’t mean I know the man. Just because I think a lot about God doesn’t mean He’s the one talking, in my brain. It’s just an echo chamber. It’s just me, because that’s all I’m focused on.

When I’m spending endless nights rehearsing all the experiences I’ve had that could be proof of His existence, and weighing them against other possible explanations to try and see if I can deduce whether or not any of this is real? That’s not me spending time with God. That’s me, spending time with me, and God happens to be the topic, the bone I’m letting my mind gnaw into splinters.

When I’m thinking through everything I’ve done during the day, during the last few years, during that last interaction, during my life, and polarizing the good from the bad, sorting out my motives, testing to see if I’m doing it all right so I can root out the bad? That’s not me letting God show me what’s right and what’s wrong. That’s not me spending time with Him. That’s me, spending time with me, trying to figure me out.

And I end up whatever church words you want to use. “Burnt out, empty, in a dry season,” or whatever psycho-babble you want to use, “depressed, anxious, overthinking.” All it really is is self-focus. But I get so deep into it, even when “God is the topic,” that I can’t even see straight anymore. I realize I don’t know myself, and what little of me that I think might be real is despicable. I realize I can’t know much of anything in a way that satisfies my craving for complete understanding and control. I realize that I can question anything—even things that are beyond question. I can deconstruct anything—which is to say, nothing. That’s how insane I can get.

I can keep rephrasing this dark sort of headspace any way you want. But the point is, it’s a headspace that begins and ends with me, and I convince myself it has something to do with God while actually submitting no part of it to Him. And the secondary point is: I don’t need to rephrase it, because “I’ve been traveling in the desert of my mind, and I haven’t found a drop of You.” is the perfect way to sum it up.

No Him. No life. No water.

So it’s simultaneously a cry of doubt—he’s examining the inside of himself to see if that “saved,” sparkly, dramatic, all-important feeling is there to push aside his suspicion that none of this Christian stuff is real—and at the same time, the song is not just a cry of doubt. It’s a description of what’s wrong, how you get into the doubt, and how to get out of it.

Because:

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.”

“As it is written: “None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.”

There isn’t anything good in here! (Imagine me pointing inward.) There’s nothing in this 3-pound gray-and-white-matter thing between my ears, and nothing in my soul, the eternal part of me, that is good—the only good comes from what is not me. The only good, the only sanity, the only life, comes from Jesus. The Way, The Truth, The Life. The Living Water.

And the more I try to figure it out on my own, with no trust, no childlike, “I can’t do it, if You don’t do it it won’t get done,” with no, “I don’t get this, but I’m going to do it anyway purely because You told me to, and doing it is trusting You,” the drier and more maddening the inside of my own head becomes.

That’s why “the sand will slow me down and the water will drain.” The whole concept is that even the idea of God that he’s mulling over can’t save him. Because again, he’s not relying on God and trusting God. He’s just analyzing God, as an idea, and calling it “all that I need.” Well, that’s not reliance on God. That’s reliance on your own reasoning, to figure God out, as if your ability to understand God will bring you life.

No. It’s God who brings life, not because you thought it all through and jumped through His hoops exactly right, and got all your answers about how He works—but just because you threw yourself at His mercy and said, “I can’t figure any of it out, I can’t make myself believe more or have more faith. If You don’t give it to me, I don’t have it.”

He’s an addict with a pen who is constantly trying to figure himself and life and God out. And writing helps him to do that. But at the end of the day, writing out your feelings of doubt is no better than puzzling those feelings out in a never-ending loop in your own mind. It all leads to the same place: “I don’t know anything, except how helpless I am to get any of this right. If there’s a good, I can’t measure up to it.”

“My trial was filed as a crazy suicidal head case.”

But then—oh my word, if only everyone would not stop there. If only everyone would quit parking on the tragedy and misery of “suicidal headcase.” If only everyone would move on from “we’re broken.” The whole point of realizing that you’re broken is that that’s when you finally look outside yourself and ask for help.

“But You specialize in dying. You hear me screaming, ‘Father!’ And I’m lying here just crying, so wash me with Your water.”

See the change? It’s not “the water.” It’s not “what’s left in my hand.” It’s not abstract; it doesn’t come from himself, either. It’s God’s water. And he is calling God his Father, whether he has felt like it or not. He’s not even focusing on his half of the relationship—the ‘son’ part from the first verse. He’s focusing on God’s half of the relationship—‘Father.’ He wasn’t even focusing on God enough to address Him or introduce their relationship as “Father-and-Son” during the first verse—just isolated to his own part in everything.

But then at the end, it’s an abandonment of self. It’s just saying, “I don’t know what I don’t know, I can’t fix any of it, I can’t even think or see straight—all that’s left is to beg You to help me.”

And He will! And He does! That’s what’s so wonderful. That He’s there the whole time, waiting for Tyler to stop running around his own head and look at/for God. Instead of looking for his own understanding of God. If that means Tyler has to reach the point of exhaustion and just be facedown, crying for help, and that’s the only way he’ll stop, then that’s where God will help him. That’s the grace in darkness and pain.

It’s like Peter, seeing the waves, starting to sink, being in a moment of terror, and doubt, specifically doubt, and crying out anyway, “Lord, save me!” and then the Bible says, “immediately,” Jesus reached out and grabbed him and saved him. Immediately. No delay. No long pause while you squirm and fear. Immediately, as soon as you actually abandon yourself to ask for His help.

And speaking of waves, I forgot to mention it because I think it’s the most obvious part of the song and I’ve mentioned it elsewhere: he’s quoting James when he explains that he’s addicted to the wind, getting blown back and forth in an endless cycle of doubt. A “double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.”

Anyway, I think this song sums up almost the whole band. Or at least, the problem. The problem is getting hung up on feelings of doubt and insecurity and worthlessness, but also getting hung up on self-focus and leaning on your own understanding. And the only solution is to find out how empty it all is, and how unable you are to escape it on your own. So in that way, acknowledging the darkness is good. Because it leads you to that conclusion: I need God. Not just to get me out of Hell. But to get me out of me.

I don’t know how to communicate how impactful this song has been on me, particularly. I admired and leaned on all of the twenty one pilots songs I heard before this (Clear, Save, the non-Addict Self-Titled songs.) But this was the one where I felt like I could’ve written it. Not like I could’ve picked the perfect words or the melody or anything so perfectly like Tyler Joseph did—but I mean, I knew this concept inside and out because I’ve experienced it. If experiencing this headspace we’re all that was needed to write this song, I could’ve written it. But this screaming guy from Ohio wrote it, and something about that, the ironic fact that this song, the experience of doubt and brokenness leading to self-abandon and faith, was suddenly not just in my head anymore, but outside of it, helped bolster my faith. It didn’t make the Bible more true. The Bible already said all of this perfectly. But this was like a signpost, pointing me back to the Bible every time I wandered.

You know, a sign in the middle of a wasteland is important for more than one reason. It points you in the right direction, but if you’ve been lost and alone for a long time, a sign reminds you that other humans once stood where you now stand, and got out. They don’t make the water. They just point you back to it. That’s what this song was for me.

That’s all I can do for tonight. Thank you for asking! What do you like about Oh Ms. Believer?

[alaknog]

About Perseus and his training. Another bits from Perseus' Grandosn

Small note - Perseus was drunk in this scenes

-The priestess taught me her craft. Hymns, prayers; dressing the statue in a new peplos… I still remember that peplos. Yellow, like onion husks. I was a bad student. The priestess was angry. She beat me with a wet cloth. And then Athena appeared. The priestess wet herself with fear at the sight of the goddess. And I threw a rock at my sister. I said I would never be her priest. And if she tries to force me… Gods, how she laughed! "Who do you want to be?" asked Maiden.

—A hero! — The boys shouted in unison.

—You guessed right,— Perseus nodded. There was a sadness in his voice that the children couldn't understand. — All right, — Athena said. Dad wants you to be a hero too. And she hit me with a spear.…

—With a spear?— The guard gasped. He was looking at his own spear as if he were Athena, and any minute now he was going to attack the Gorgon Slayer.

— The blunt end. I fell to the ground. It was very painful. Get up, she ordered. If you don't get up, you'll be a priest. I stood up, and she hit me again. "You should see the punch! Not a weapon, not an enemy. Blow!" And so it went on day after day. She hit, I fell. It's continued until I haven't figured out the main thing yet.

— That the gods always win? — The guard sighed.

Music was pouring from the palace. This is how Chios wine, redolent of mastic resin, pours into the darkness of the crater. The "Art of the Muses" was heavily diluted with drunken hubbub. The nasal avlos of reed and bone was echoed by the stringy rumble of a lyre. A pipe was cooing faintly. Someone clattered bronze cymbals at random. Laughter was the answer to a fool. And again — aulos, lyre, pipe.

Breathing, fingers, breathing.

— No. That I always get up. The next time, I didn't dodge. As soon as Athena swung, I rushed at her. I was everywhere, like rain. Like A Golden Rain. Is it possible to strike the rain? Is it possible to stay dry? Since that time…

—She didn't hit you anymore? Yes, Grandfather?

— No. Since then, she has been hitting me with the sharp end of a spear. At first, holding back. Then — as it turns out. When my rain turned into a downpour, and later into a thunderstorm, the Crafty One came.

—Did he beat you with a staff?"

—I was the one who beat him. With a spear, a sword, a fist. I threw javeilins at him. And he disappeared at the last moment. And he laughed at me. Damn, how he could laugh! Every sound is like a pair of pincers tearing at your ass. One day I freaked out. I've forgotten who he is. And he threw a stone not at god, but at the target. A stone split his cheek. The wound immediately healed, and he laughed again. It was a completely different laugh. Remember, he said. Stop seeing the impact. Learn to see movement. Feel it, hear it, absorb it with your skin. Reject the very idea of a miss. Any thought goes to Tartarus! Strike like a father with lightning — without thinking. A year later, I fought both Athena and Crafty One at once.…

***

from some chapter little later

—Everyone must fight with their weapons,— Perseus intervened. — Spear, trident, water… Your own! You can't take a weapon that an enemy puts in your way. Fate give it to you? Refuse! Know which weapon is yours.…

—Oh, come on! — the grandson was indignant. — you need use any weapon!

—Any?

—Whatever comes up, use it to strike!

—Give him the spear,— Perseus told the guard. —Now!

Amphitryon, perplexed, took the spear from the guy. It was heavy and too long for his height, and it weighed down his arms. The tip glittered dully, reflecting the disk of the full moon.

—Strike! — Grandfather barked. — Hit me!

The boy took the spear at the ready, point back. He pointed at Grandpa slowly, looking at Perseus with apprehension. The shaft stopped at the elbow of the Gorgon Killer's chest. Perseus did not move.

— I said: strike!

The boy struck.

—Hey! Stop it! — the guard yelled. —Are you crazy?

When Amphitryon swung, the spear almost stuck the guy in the stomach. Grandfather laughed offensively. The audience backed away, just in case.

—Strike!

Is it possible to spear the rain?

—More!

Rain doesn't come drunk. Even if wine is gushing from the clouds.

—Strike!

The spear came alive. The tip of the tip was pushed forward. A predatory laurel leaf, forged from bronze, tossed in the twilight. He screamed with hunger. He was looking for a victim, forgetting who was the grandson, who was the grandfather. With each blow, the spear became heavier. Zeus' thunderbolt; Olympus, stretched into a string.

—Strike!

The spear flew at the grandfather. It's like throwing a stick to a laughing friend — with two hands, gripping it across. Weapons are thrown differently. Mechanically, amazed by the strangeness of the throw, Perseus grabbed the sudden gift — and his grandson, taking advantage of a moment of respite, took off running. With a run, he jumped on the big Triton — obeying not reason, but animal instinct, the Tyrrhenian put his palms up like a step, pushing Amphitryon forward and up onto the nearest column. Wrapping his legs around the "trunk", grabbing the carving of the capital, the boy climbed higher. A desperate tug, fingers clinging to the ledge of the ledge — and now he was on the roof of the temple. Running, on all fours, thundering with bare heels on slabs of marble, pitted by the weather, on terracotta tiles, further, on the other side…

—It's a shame! — The guard shouted cheerfully after them. — Shame on you!

—Idiot,— the Gorgon Slayer said, and the guy shut his mouth, not doubting at all who the idiot was. — My grandson has learned his lesson. Running is also a weapon. You chose it yourself, and the spear was offered to you. The one who screams: "Coward!" is a fool and tomorrow's dead man.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Sorry if this one is a bit shorter. I didn't want to make part 7 insanely long so I just split the story in a way that made sense to me. Y/n lets Hannibal take care of the mess and narrowly avoids a mental breakdown in a CVS.

Trigger warning: blood, violence, gaslighting, ⚠️emetophobia⚠️

You stood up from your seat, your brain refusing to process what just happened.

"Oh look." You said, pointing down. "Her face landed in the glass and there's blood everywhere."

Hannibal casually glanced over the table. The ends of his mouth turned up slightly. "So there is."

The reality of the situation was just starting to set in. You took a deep breath in, expecting to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, you finished your glass of wine. 

Noticing your distress, Hannibal crossed the floor and took a knee beside her. He pressed his fingers against her neck. 

“She’s alive.” He assured you. “For now.” 

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, and the indecision made you panic even more. “So what do we do now? What do I do now?” 

“Well,” Hannibal stood up. “She’s pretty severely concussed and losing a lot of blood. We could call an ambulance. With proper medical care and immediate action, she’ll probably live.” 

You froze in your spot and stared blankly off into the distance. You didn’t feel overly compelled to call for help. You were too overwhelmed with emotion to move much, anyway. You felt your soul leaving your body. 

“...But I take it by your inaction,” Hannibal piped up. “That you’re open to an alternate plan?” 

“Huh?” You snapped out of your trance. 

Hannibal closed the space between you. He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb running comfortingly along your cheek. “Do you trust me?” 

You didn’t fully know what you were agreeing to, but you didn’t care. “Of course I do.” 

“Then listen to me very carefully, [Y/N].” Hannibal’s voice hardened with severity. “Go upstairs and change back into your day clothes. Then, I want you to drive to the pharmacy and withdraw some cash from the ATM. Then stay in the store until I call you, understood?” 

You nodded. 

“Go now.” He ordered, pulling away from you. 

You sprinted up the stairs, tore off your gown and pulled the nearest pair of pants over your legs in one fluid motion. You grabbed a shirt and a hoodie hanging over a chair and snatched up your car keys. In a moment, you were out the door and behind the wheel, speeding away from the crime scene. 

The pharmacy was the only place open so late at night. You pulled into the parking lot and selected one of the many vacant spots. You took your key out of the ignition and prepared yourself for an onslaught of emotion. But it didn’t come. 

You sat in the driver’s seat, replaying the scene in your head over and over again. One second, the bottle was in your hand, the next, it was breaking every bone in Theresa’s face. You could have very well taken a life that day. But it wasn’t an innocent person on the road, it was Theresa. The same Theresa that put Nair in her sister’s shampoo and lobbied against child labor laws. And she died the way she lived; running her stupid mouth, waiting for someone to shut her up. 

You were more terrified of Hannibal's response than anything else. He seemed too enthusiastic to cover your tracks for you. Like he was returning to some favorite game he hadn't picked up in a while.

You shuffled across the parking lot to the ATM. Why did Hannibal need cash? Was he going to pay someone off? He didn't specify how much he needed. Was $100 enough to bribe the police? You settled on $100.

The bright fluorescent lights scalded your eyes. You needed to look like you were there for a reason. Grabbing a basket, you tried to distract yourself by going through the shopping list for your apartment.

Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and body wash. Pilar is allergic to coconut oil so we need to check the ingredients. You found yourself narrating the shopping list in your head, even though it was one you ran down hundreds of times. You knew which brand of body wash to get Pilar, but you were grabbing random soaps and thumbing through the ingredients anyway.

On your way to the cough syrups, you felt a terrible pain in your stomach. You caved around the pain, regretting devouring that pot-au-feu so quickly. When you opened your eyes again, you saw them: the pregnancy tests.

No. You said to yourself. I am not going to keep Theresa alive by letting her get into my head.

As if on cue, another pang of pain reverberated from your core. It was bad enough Theresa had you doubting your memories, now she had you doubting your own body. She couldn’t possibly know your own body better than you, and she was out of line to suggest so.

But, whether you wanted to accept it or not, Theresa had planted the seed in your brain. You wanted so badly to claw it out with your bare hands. The most painless route, though, was to purchase one of those tests and prove her wrong.

In the meantime, you assured yourself she was wrong. You hadn't missed a day of birth control since the tenth grade. Regardless, the pregnancy test in your basket weighed a ton.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, sending you flying out of your skin. The lone cashier took notice.

"You okay, miss?"

You nodded, though you were so clearly not okay. With a trembling hand, you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hello?"

"It's safe now, darling." Hannibal said. "You can come home."

He said it so candidly, it was obvious that he'd done it before.

"Okay, baby, I'll see you at home." You answered, a little too loudly. As the words left your mouth you felt stupid. You'd never once called Hannibal 'baby' and you sure as hell weren't gonna start today.

You brought your items to the cashier, the pain in your stomach worsening. You made a point to waddle back to the medicine aisle and grab some painkillers before the cashier could finish ringing everything up.

By the time you were back behind the wheel, you were fighting the urge to drive off a cliff. The pain in your stomach was unbearable and you had no idea where it was coming from. It had to be psychosomatic. Your body was compensating for the shortcomings of your brain. You knew you were supposed to feel guilty but you just didn't, and your body was punishing you for it.

At home you were clutching the toilet, vomiting your guts out. Hannibal was at your side, gently stroking your hair. Again, acting as candidly as if he were nursing a hangover.

"I'm so sorry." You croaked, lifting your head from the toilet. "I don't know what this is. I didn't even drink that much."

"Don't apologize." He said, calmly. He stood up, filled a glass with water and offered it to you. "You're overwhelmed. It's natural."

"You say this like you've done this before." You joked, though you knew you were right. You clutched the glass with both hands, the coolness feeling good against your hot skin.

Hannibal took a knee beside you. His finger found a blade of your hair and tucked it behind your ear. "Now, we're not going to tell anyone about this, are we?"

He was fully aware of how intimidating he really was.

"I would never." You traced an x over your heart. "Swear on my grandfather's grave."

"Good girl." He traced your jawline with his finger. "Your intuition is as sharp as ever, I see."

You took a long sip of water. "Huh?"

"Don't insult your own intelligence, you know what I mean."

"You've hidden bodies before." You inferred, sitting up.

"I've done more than hide bodies, love, and I think you know that." Hannibal corrected.

Your first instinct was to stand up and get more wine, but moving too fast made you dizzy. "...so did it hurt?"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"When Theresa died." You said, quietly. "Did she hurt at all?"

This pleased and surprised him to hear. "No. She was so heavily concussed, I doubt she felt anything."

You frowned. "Damn."

"Did you have something else in mind?"

Theresa's last words rung over in your head. 'I didn't think you had it in you'. The thoughts flooding your mind, about how Theresa would go were it up to you, assured you that you did in fact have it in you.

"I would have liked to see her suffer a little." You muttered under your breath.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." He smiled and offered you his hand. "Come on, love. Let's get you cleaned up."

[hyenahunt]

Werewolf - 6

Writer: Nishioka Maiko

Season: Summer

Proofreading: 310mc (JP)

Translation: Bella & hyenahunt

Hiyori: This is truly worthy of some super sleuthing! As the great detective that I am, you should just leave it to me, Natsume-kun!

[Location: Seisou Hall Common Room]

Hiyori: Jun-kun! Aren't you so glad we got to see that just now?

Jun: You mean the cat sittin' all cozily out in the courtyard, right? Yeah.

It was real cute... though it ran away when I tried to pet it. Wonder if it got lost and wandered in?

Hiyori: If it was a lost cat I would have loved to welcome it into my home...

But I can't do something as irresponsible as that, what with all the unpredictable travelling we do for work.

And besides, we can't have our Bloody Mary getting jealous, of course!

Natsume: ......

Hiyori: Hm? If it isn't Natsume-kun! Right as I was thinking I could feel some despair in the air!

Jun: Oh, you're right. Heya~

Hiyori: What's the matter? You shouldn’t be spreading gloomy vibes all over the place, you know? They'll just infect everyone around you, you see.

And I was in such a good mood, too! What a foul weather!

Natsume: I’m in an extremely bad mood right NOW. Leave me ALONE.

Jun: Hmm. Well then, wanna play some game again? Pick something fun and maybe your mood'll clear up a bit, whether you win or lose.

If you'd like, I can let you win, too? You could even pick something you're a pro at if you want — wouldn't bother me.

Natsume: I'm not in the MOOD. I won't feel like playing games for as long as I have all these worries weighing on my MIND, you KNOW.

Hiyori: Oh, that’s no good now, is it? If there's something troubling you, you should come have a heart-to-heart with me! How fortunate you are, to be blessed with advice from me of all people ☆

Natsume: ...Are you joKING? No way. You're not the least bit reliaBLE.

I don't approve of you inserting yourself into other people's affairs in the first PLACE. We call that "meddling," you KNOW?

Hiyori: Heheh. Tweak the meaning slightly and even meddling can turn right into care!

Everyone would be so much happier if they'd look instead at the bright side of life ♪

Not to mention, I'm always the one who soothes Jun-kun's woes. So knowing that, you should just kick back, relax, and tell me everything!

Jun: You're usually the source of my woes to begin with, Ohii-san.

Hiyori: Feeling bashful, are we, Jun-kun? You're so cute when you are ☆

Jun: Bashful's the last thing I am, actually....

Natsume: HonestLY. I don't understand how you can stay so needlessly optimisTIC, Tomoe-senpai.

Hiyori: Yes, yes. You see, this is what you'd call an adult's composure. I'm on a different level entirely when it comes to experience — after all, I'm basically your senior in life!

Jun: Well, putting Ohii-san and his advice aside...

If you're at your wit's end over something, Sakasaki-san, it might help to ask around for opinions, y'know~?

In times like these, you could totally have some kinda breakthrough just by looking at it from a different angle.

Natsume: A breakTHROUGH…?

(It is true that asking Sora hasn't gotten me anyWHERE, and I don’t even have an inkling of what the problem is in the first plaCE. I'm well and truly STUMPED.

Hrmm… These two were with me when Sora started acting strangeLY, so perhaps they might know someTHING...)

But it literalLY, physically pains me to rely on the two of THEM...

Jun: Sakasaki-saaan? You kinda said that out loud, y'knooow~? Please keep stuff like that to yourself.

Natsume: I'm sooo sorRY. That was on purPOSE ♪

Jun: Man, both you and Ohii-san are such pleasant people, huh.

Natsume: But it's exactly as you SAY. I feel completely and utterly STUMPED.

You SEE, it's because of Sora that I'm so glooMY.

We met him in the kitchen some time ago, RIGHT?

Jun: Yeah. We did, now that you mention it~

Natsume: Since THEN, Sora's been acting oddLY. He's been aloof for some reaSON.

As you might exPECT, it's worrying ME. He ran away in the blink of an eye when I went to visit his room just NOW.

Hiyori: Hmm~ Are you sure it's not because of you, Natsume-kun?

Like maybe you said or did something to upset him. That's my deduction, anyway!

Natsume: I'm sure it isN'T. Sora only acts like this at the dorms; he's his usual self when we're doing WORK.

He's not the kind of person who does a total 180 between his public and private life eiTHER.

If I'd really done or said something to HIM, then it'd be strange for his attitude to change only based on where we ARE.

Jun: Mmm... It does sound like a real mystery...

We're not gonna find any answers standing around thinking about it, so why not just straight-up ask Harukawa-kun why he ran away that time?

Natsume: Absolutely NOT.

Jun: You're practically pulling your hair out over this, so why not? Isn't hearing it straight from him the quickest way to get a guaranteed answer?

Natsume: I certainly could force him to tell me exactly what's going ON...

But that wouldn't be FAIR. Sora doesn't belong to ME. He's his own perSON.

If he doesn't want to talk to ME, then I'm not going to corner HIM.

Hiyori: Ah-ha~ ♪ I can see right through you. You're trying to put up a front, aren't you! You don't want to let your adoring junior see you looking lame in the slightest, correct?

Natsume: God, you're so annoYING...

AnyWAY, that's THAT. If Sora's decided he's not going to talk to me about IT, I'm not going to make him, BUT...

If I could just figure out what's going ON, then I might be able to do something about IT.

You two saw him that day too, didn't YOU? Did you notice anything OFF? Anything's better than noTHING… I'm not expecting that much from you, anYWAY.

Jun: Easier said than done.... Nothing really happened that day, right? I can't think of anything that could've been—

Hiyori: Heh heh heh.... Interesting.... Reaaally interesting!

Natsume: What? Did you figure something OUT, Tomoe-senpai?

Hiyori: Nope, not in the slightest! But I do believe Sora-kun's hiding some sort of important secret!

Hiyori: This is truly worthy of some super sleuthing! As the great detective that I am, you should just leave it to me, Natsume-kun!

In the name of my dear old grandfather, I'll solve this mystery for everyone! After all, only a single truth prevails ♪ [1]

Natsume: ...Just what is he so obsessed with this TIME?

Jun: The detective mangas I've been lending him, I'm guessing?

Ohii-san, I'm just saying but you got things a little wrong, y'know?

Natsume: (Sigh) I feel like reaching back into the past and punching myself for even trying to talk with THEM...

✦✦✦✦✦

Translation Notes:

[1]: Hiyori references two famous detective manga series in this line — the first is a reference to The Kindaichi Case Files, where the main character's catchphrase is "In the name of my grandpa!". The second is from Detective Conan, with "One truth prevails!". In both cases, he gets them slightly incorrect, hence Jun's comment: お爺さま instead of じっちゃん (a more formal way of saying grandfather), and 真 相 instead of 真実 (both meaning truth but pronounced differently)

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[the-slasher-files]

Hello, can i request Chromeskull with the Prompt 23: “ Why did you spare me? ”

YAY! my first chromeskull request!! So with this being the first story I am writing for him I wanted to try out some backstory elements and character ideas I have for him, so I hope you enjoy my start up of Chromeskull and look foreword to more of him :) A wee bit of warning this is pretty fluffy and leads into some smut... enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

CASANOVA

WORD PROMPT:  “Why did you spare me?”

There he was. Right across from the large black stained wooden table. The man that flipped your world upside down and made you his.

His good little girl. His sweet little kitten.

The question weighed heavy on your mind tonight of why. Why you. It was almost a year to the date since Jesse had taken you away from your boring life and whisked you into a life of torture and luxury. It almost made you question yourself and think of what was wrong with you to fall in love with your kidnapper. Chromeskull, the deadly killer had stalked you and almost killed you. Holding you for months before you would listen and started to feel a strange connection with the murderer. You felt a strange sympathy for him, and wondered what his life was like outside of the mask. That's when Jesse appeared from behind the chrome skull. He trusted you, and must have felt the same burning connection you had. A bad case of stockholm syndrome you were sure, but he was all you had.

A slow sigh fell out of your lips, unaware to yourself as you held a bit of salad on your fork.

"Everything taste ok love?" Jesse signed bringing you out of your thoughts, blinking a few times.

"I'm sorry Jesse, what did you say?" you asked shaking your head and putting down your food. His large hand reached across the smooth table to meet your one small hand, rubbing it reassuringly with his thumb.

“What’s on your mind kitten?” Jesse signed with his free hand. He was always so watchful of you, and could pick up on the subtlest of emotions or difference in your body language, there was no point in hiding from him, that would just cause problems later.

With a large sigh you closed your eyes, praying this wouldn’t upset him or be your demise, but you gathered up your courage. Meeting the one rich brown eye and the other scarred grey, you spoke. “Jesse... Why... Why did you spare me?”

With intensity between gazes, he broke almost in a silent chuckle making you tense in confusion. “Oh, sweetheart... look at you” he signed towards you as if that should explain everything “You’re fucking gorgeous. Any man would want you, so I needed to have you... momma said to me I always wanted want I couldn’t have; from businesses to money to women.”    

Of course, the spoiled boy needed everything he saw and liked, at least that is how it was now. Jesse had told you in a moment of vulnerability, sharing his story to you, he had worked his way up from a higher middle-class family to CEO of his own company. Yes, it wasn’t necessarily a rag to riches story given the fact that his grandfather gave him $100,000 from his medical practice to start up the company, but you appreciated Jesse opening up to you and you admired his work ethic. Anyone could say a lot of bad things about him but no one could say he wasn’t hard a worker.

You felt yourself flush from his endearing nature but you knew that wasn't just the only reason. "Jess, come on" you huffed a silent laugh yourself. "I know that is just on the surface level... why me?" You questioned again, watching his intensity return to the scarred face and he rose from his chair, releasing your hand and walking around to you. The sheer size of him always made you a little nervous you weren't going to lie, he could kill you in a matter of seconds. "Jesse" you whispered, either trying to calm him or stop him, you weren't sure.

Keeping your eyes locked until the man was right behind you, placing his large hands upon your shoulders, gently but always with a hint of wicked intent. Your breath stilled and your heart raced, Jesse hooked his fingers under your chin, pulling your head back as far as it could go resting near his waist. His other hand gently stroked a few stray hairs away from your face as he bent down capturing his rough lips with yours. Jesse always seemed to leave you breathless; his kisses were addictive, he was hungry, passionate, gentle but with enough of a rough edge to leave you wanting so much more.

Pulling from your soft lips he started to finally answer your question by signing. “You’re my everything little dove...” Kissing your forehead while one hand moved it’s way to your throat, not enough to cut off any oxygen but just rest there as a symbol of the power he had over you. “Such a strong, beautiful dove...” Jesse swiftly kicked the out from under you but expertly caught you and lifted you on the table as if you were nothing but a toy, this made you yelp and this made him smirk, you were so small compared to him.

“A dove that could never have her wings clipped” That one made you giggle and himself silently laugh. Yeah, you were the one girl that actually gave him a bit of a run for his money; you did everything from kick him in the balls to biting to scratching to even at one point getting loose and stabbing him. Even in this fucked up relationship Jesse respected your independence and strength, allowing you more and more freedom as time went on.  

A deft hand ran up your inner thigh making you shutter and pulling your head back as Jesse came closer, grinding against you so slowly “I saw you struggling.. in a dull boring life, barely making rent, wearing those cheap clothes... no dove as gorgeous as you deserves that life, so I made you mine” even though Jesse didn’t talk the word mine rang through your head and went straight in between your legs. Anything he wanted you knew you couldn’t say no; at least sexually. Jesse knew that too. “My baby girl, my little diamond... I let you shine to your true potential”

You didn’t know if that’s what you would call it but he was right, Jesse made you so much more than you thought you could ever be. However, it would be nice if you earned the luxury things yourself, maybe had a good paying job to afford at least half of what your lover could, but nonetheless, he was your everything too.

“Ok Casanova” pulling on the lapels of his suit you made him lean down to whisper in his ear “I’m yours”    

[god-of-entropy]

sorry this is my first time doing a req, but since you like iida tenya, i was wondering if you had any knight iida tenya headcanons?

So I was re-enacting a bakuiida hurt/comfort scenario I made up for exactly 2 hours since I started during 10:00 pm and it is 12:00 AM

gist of it: bakugou’s inferiority complex acts up and so he doesn’t take care of himself bc he’s too busy training and iida tells him how much he (Katsuki) means to him, (Tenya) and that there aren’t enough numbers that exist that could tell him (Katsuki) how much he (Katsuki) meant to Tenya

and then I remembered my tumblr account and one of the asks I got was “do some knight Iida Tenya headcanons this is my first time doing a req” and I was like oh wow I am v blessed that I am the person who took anon’s req virginity so here we are

CW: few times of cursing, mention of me talking about a car kink

Knight Iida Tenya Headcanons

Part of the King’s guard no I do not. Take criticism

If he isn’t he’s most likely in a very high position of knight rankings in the fantasy AU

His chivalrous spirit could rival canon Kirishima’s

But since Kiri’s a dragon hybrid here,,well

Did I mention

He’s TALL

Like. Bumping his head on every single fucking doorway kind of tall

He is a staggering 6”6

HES TALLER THAN MY BEDROOM WALLS JSJSJ

anyways so like bc he’s so tall he learned the very hard way (literally) that you should not wear a metal cone hat while sliding down ladders

Was this inspired by that one (1) video on YouTube where this guy’s character slid down a really long ladder wearing a golden metal cone hat

I will not agree nor will I deny this accusation

So bc he’s so tall he grudgingly cannot wear a fancy Iida helmet from the prestigious and noble Iida family line

ofc his brother was a knight before him, it’s so obvious

(Speaking about Tensei, his brother wore it anyways even though his brother is taller than him because he was always on horseback anyways, but having to patrol the streets of the kingdom on a daily basis trailing after the King or Prince or whatever he can’t let a helmet hinder him from going after people

Anyways so like because he is So Tall people often make jokes about his height and how rectangular his body was

So poor bby got insecure about his height and prefers not to talk about it, stays silent when someone thinks he can’t hear them whispering and making jokes about his bulky stature

speaking about bulky things his canon costume is lightweight in design because if speed and leg strength makes up 100% of your quirk you can’t have stupid accessories and additional weight.

But of course since what he’s going for (the Ingenium title) is pretty much set in stone, there’s a heavy emphasis in visuals (in canon) so like 90% of his fucking costume is for Decor

And I hate him for that

Because TENYA FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE 100% INGENIUM YOU CAN BE YOUR OWN INGENIUM

Even if you were put the pressure on yourself to become like your brother, don’t feel burdened to make sure your hero career is 100% like his

OK I kind of swerved away from topic but since we’re talking about hero costumes and knight armor

Since this is fantasy and most fantasy-ish things are set in a European medieval style because of fucking Hollywood and not in a more traditional Japanese style since apparently fire spitting dragons are cooler than Kitsunes with ten tails, power over nature elements and are literally considered deities—

Knight armor is made of metal, right?

So in that case..his armor would really weigh him down.

But because this is FANTASY and science and physics can go fuck themselves here,

It’s possible that there’s a chance magic could make his armor more lightweight, like Uraraka’s quirk

but like there’s a chance that his armor is ALREADY lightweight because again, canon Tenya really went after the design of his brother’s costume

And his brother’s costume was inspired by his parent’s and grandfather’s own costumes, which kinda looked the same since it had the white modern accents and holes in the helmets kinda aesthetic

SO ASSUMING THAT THE IIDA FAMILY LINE IS V NOBLE AND FAMED FOR BEING IMMERESED IN THE KNIGHTHOOD SHITE FOR A V LONG TIME

And his brother did copy whatever his parents and ancestors’s armor was or whatever

And they’re noble, right—so they’re rich. Because magic exists, plenty of wizards mages and other magic people for hire also exist

Enchanted lightweight metal armor

there’s a reason why you shouldn’t trust knights in shining armor and that’s because if their chest plate is too pristine, that means they’ve never went to battle

Here’s a rule for all you y/ns: don’t trust a knight in shining armor if it’s not enchanted

what I’m saying is if you wanna date Iida, the knight in shining AND enchanted armor, go for it bestie TT

Also His Boots

Assuming he doesn’t have his sexy engines on his calves in this AU

(Or perhaps the sleek, modern looking engines are replaced with steampunk ones O.O)

OK SO WE’RE GOING WITH THE STEAMPUNK MUFFLERS

Because holy shit that’s such a cool fucking concept??

Oh you bet your y/n messy buns that steampunk iida hcs are next

so since fantasy usually goes with at least one (1) “primitive” tribe with their own kind of technology centered around weapons and battle

And that one (1) “”tribe”” that’s an entire fucking kingdom/city like the Carja in the game Horizon Zero Dawn

Speaking of Horizon Zero Dawn, the “primitive” tribe with their own kind of technology centered around battle and more battle are the Banuk

They’re hardcore fam

They give me Bakugou Katsuki vibes because those people would literally rather die than say a challenge is too big to overcome

again going back to the topic: Steampunk

In “”fantasy”” medieval AUS there’s always that one steampunk inventor that’s a Mei Hatsume ripoff (Tangled The Series I’m looking at you)

And of course the Support Students need their time to shine too, so like — Steampunk City let’s gooo

(The closest Horizon Zero Dawn’s “tribe” got to steampunk is whatever the hell the Oseram are doing.)

So now Tenya has sexy, sexy steampunk mufflers that are very well taken care of

<SKIP THIS PART, I TALK ABOUT RANDOM EVENTS AND BAD CHOICES I MADE IN MY LIFE>

god I’m so sorry but me talking about mufflers like they’re a full course meal is reminding me of the time where I joked to my friends that I had a car kink

and not that I had a kink to have sex inside the car, but to be fucked BY the car itself

like your ass being just wrecked by a fucking shalon poofa

if you get that joke get off this site

one of my messages was very specific

It read:

“I eagerly lick car-senpai’s oil of his exhaust pipe”

And Yeah

unsanitary and a health hazard

While discussing about simpable men one of my friends were like

my man has a CAR your man, Tenya Iida, doesn’t

And I just stared at her

Because bitch MY MAN IS THE CAR

anyways if you actually read this may god have mercy on you

<DON’T SKIP THIS PART BECAUSE I CONTINUE>

Because I make the rules

Wouldn’t they be a hindrance to him bc of his metal boots?

So Let Me Tell You A Story

you know the Ingenifoot (the boots in canon Iida’s costume)

It’s special since it has holes punched into it for the mufflers to retract out of

Who says Ingenifoot can’t be steampunk as well?

I DON’T

But it can’t be steampunk bc this is a Knight Iida hcs and not Inventor Steampunk Iida Hcs

:<

So it’s plain boring white carved steel or smth with a small section where a part of the boot flexes for the mufflers to stick out

Speaking of carved steel, Knight Iida’s armor def has intricate details and shite on it

Maybe even his family crest

OK so it is 12:45 AM rn I am gonna sleep

Goodnight

[chuckbass-love]

hi! i wanted to request a smutty fic w prompt 100 with ransom and reader. maybe they were at a party and someone was hitting on reader and touching her and ransom got mad. 🤗

Hi love! Again, to everyone (including you) that has sent in a request, i’m sorry it’s taken so long. I feel bad for making people wait but i never wanna upload work that’s anything short of great in my eyes. I always want to be at my best. This didn’t quite go the way i wanted it to but i really hope it’s still good. Everyone reading, please feel free to leave feedback. It helps and is very appropriated.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Prompt #100: “Call me selfish, but i don’t ever want anyone else touch you”

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, swearing, smut, sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, slight ownership kink (if you squint) and daddy kink. 18+

Word Count: 3,563

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @kylosrehn go check them out💜

Over My Dead Body

When making plans for the weekend with Ransom, going to a party full of stuck up rich people wasn’t exactly on your agenda. But, seeing it’s part of his lifestyle, you made an exception and besides it was yet another party hosted by his grandfather Harlan. 

You never used to attend these parties since Ransom never invited you. He preferred to keep your interactions strictly bedroom related, nothing more, nothing less. It was beginning to confuse the hell out of you because sometimes on a rare occasion, he’d let you meet his friends and family.

But as previously stated, it’s rare.

When the two of you first met, sparks flew instantly. Your friend had introduced you, she was on a date with her boyfriend, her boyfriend brought him along just like she brought you along.

Their way of setting you two up. And it worked.

A solid 2 hours after meeting the man, he was balls deep inside of you making you forget your own name and turning you into a moaning mess underneath him. Since then you’ve been hooked. Whenever either of you are horny, you fuck.

But like any other fuck buddy relationships, there’s a catch. You two have a clear love for each other, one that neither of you will ever be brave enough to admit. Mostly because Ransom is a huge commitment phobe. The thought of only being with one girl for the rest of his life scares him and you just don’t admit your feelings because the thought of being rejected weighs heavier than the optimism of it working out in your favour.

 Although he’s scared of settling down, Ransom sure did seem keen to bring you along with him to this party tonight which now you come to think of it, he’s been like that the last few times he’s taken you out.

Maybe he’s changing his mind.

“Red wine?” you hear, turning your head to see the man himself holding a wine glass for you and a tumbler glass for himself, no doubt filled with whiskey on the rocks. He does love his whiskey after all.

“Thank you, so tell me again. Why am i here?”  you ask before taking a rather large sip of your wine, you certainly need liquid courage if you’re going to talk to these people.

“Who else would i have brought?” he responds, voice monotone, almost as if he’s bored and very uninterested. So all this time you thought there was a possibility of him changing his mind when in reality, he’s just been bringing you along to all of these lavish parties to keep up appearances.

No doubt to keep that controlling mother off of his back.

You shrug, continuing to look around as Ransom greets some of his grandfathers guests. One of them looks at you before looking at Ransom who eventually introduces you two, attempting to strike up some small talk until he’s being dragged away to talk to a group of men who no doubt are a lot older than him. Leaving you stood all alone.

That’s when you spot a guy across the room. He looks around Ransoms age. Tall, expensive suit, blonde hair and blue eyes. Plus he seems friendly. He raises his hand to wave and you reluctantly strut over, greeting him with a shy smile which he reciprocates.

“So, what’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing stood all alone?” his compliment has you flustered and unsure how to respond but still, you find the words “thank you and i’m not alone, i came here with Ra-”

“Ransom Drysdale, yeah i saw you with him, where did he disappear to?”

“I have no idea, off talking to random strangers” you chuckle nervously, feeling slightly embarrassed about his absence. Little do you know, Ransom can see you with this mystery man, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw at the sight of you laughing.

Surely he can’t be that funny, he thinks to himself. But he is. He’s hilarious.

“So what do you think drew her to him then?” you giggle, gesturing to the couple next to you, a woman who’s dressed up to the nines with her husband who looks a lot older than her “oh obviously his looks, what makes you question her intentions?” he smirks and you shove him playfully.

“Oh of course. What was i thinking? Silly me” you wink, downing the rest of your drink in seconds before he takes another flute of champagne off of the waitresses tray for you.

“If i didn’t know any better i’d say you’re trying to get me drunk sir” you say using your best posh voice. Unbeknownst to you though, Ransom can hear your whole conversation, every single thing you’re saying to this man.

But can he really be mad? You’re only talking to, right? Besides he’s not exactly your boyfriend so you’re free to talk to whoever you want. Not that you want anyone else.

What he won’t admit now though is how jealous he is right now, he’s had just about enough of another man making you laugh the way that he’s supposed to make you laugh and now the only way this man is taking you home is over his dead body. But for now, he’s gonna make use of his best poker face, side eyeing the two of you on the sly as anger starts to build.

You start to look around the room yourself, trying to find Ransom and as you do, you spot him heading over to the drinks table so you decide to take that as your opportunity to excuse yourself, joining your date.

“Hey you” you bump him, a cheesy grin plastered across your face, one that fades as quickly as it appeared thanks to Ransoms straight and unimpressed expression.

You stand in front of him, blocking his access to the drinks “is everything okay?” but instead of an answer, you get silence. No response whatsoever. Why is he ignoring you?

“Ransom?” 

“What?” he mutters, evidently agitated “what’s wrong?”

He chuckles in response, shoving past you to get his drink and lifting the tumbler to his plump pink lips, practically gulping it down without even so much as a flinch “oh don’t worry, everything is fine. Hey why don’t you go back to your little conversation with Mr Perfect will you” and just like that, he’s storming away from you and up the stairs to the second floor, instantly regretting sending you back to that man.

What could have gotten him so wound up?

If seeing you with that guy is the problem then maybe he shouldn’t have left you.

And without a second more to overthink and fester over his random outburst, you return to the other gentleman. One who knows how to treat you with respect as opposed to shutting you out.

“Hello again” he beams “i was about to say your name but then i remembered we never exchanged those”

“I’m Y/N”

“Jack”

“Nice to meet you Jack”

“Likewise”

The two of you shake hands as another conversation sparks up, pushing all Ransom related thoughts to the back of your already full brain.

Whilst Ransom is sat in the bathroom. Flustered, angry and ready to blow his lid at something so small. A situation that means nothing. That man means nothing to you, surely. You’re just being friendly, after all he did leave you to go and socialise. What did he expect you to do? Stand in the corner away from everyone?

You don’t want this guy though. Jack is just a friend you’ve made here. You want Ransom and he wants you too but his pride is in the way.

God what is wrong with him?

Evidently a lot.

One minute he’s all over you, taking you to parties and the next he’s giving you the silent treatment and acting like you’ve done something wrong.

And the only reason for his odd behaviour is because of the plan he made for tonight. Anyone who knows Ransom knows very well about his thoughts on relationships but with you, things are different and they always have been. You force him out of his comfort zone, you challenge him and you make him better. He was so nervous for tonight that the second the two of you arrived at the party he was drinking and acting strange.

As much as the thought of settling down scares him, he knows that it’s much better to tell you than watch you leave and find someone new. Seeing you with that guy only confirmed that. 

After spending who knows how long in the bathroom trying to talk himself out of kicking up a fuss, he heads back down to the party, maybe he should go and spend more time with you but as he walks down the stairs, he instantly spots you and that same guy again. His hand is on your arm and you’re way too close for his liking. Close enough to make his skin crawl and his jaw clench even tighter. 

He storms over, hearing his voice as he does so.

“So i know you came here with Ransom but i was wondering if i could maybe get your number?” he asks, scratching the back of his head as he anxiously awaits your reply.

Jacks nerves are abundantly clear until Ransom cuts you off, stopping you from opening your mouth to respond. He tugs on your arm, pulling you back “the answers no, prick” he snaps, dragging you through the crowd and out into the cold night air, barely giving you a chance to say goodbye to anyone and causing goosebumps to form all over your bare arms and legs.

“Ransom what the fuck?” you yell, trying your best to yank your arm from his tight grip “just get in the fucking car” he demands, opening the door for you. How chivalrous of him. His raised voice made you jump a little, cowering slightly and leaving you with no choice but to do as you’re told.

The second he gets in too, he’s shoving the key in the ignition and speeding off away from the party. Jack and all of the crowd long forgotten not just out of sight but out of mind too. Now all you can think about is Ransom and what’s got him so angry all of a sudden as he was pretty happy on the journey here.

You daren’t speak though, god forbid. Your words will only wind him up further.

Knuckles start to turn white as he grips the steering wheel like never before, his fingers tapping frantically which is an obvious indication of his need to get home as soon as physically possible.

You honestly can’t remember if you’ve ever seen him this angry in the whole time you’ve known him and that’s quite literally the scariest thing about this.

Eventually you reach his house, or should you say bachelor pad and he barely waits a second for you to exit the car before he’s storming off into the house without you.

Once you get inside he’s nowhere to be seen until you hear a loud slam of a door coming from upstairs. You head up and into the master bedroom instantly to find him undressing and discarding his clothes across the room. 

“Ransom” you approach him with caution, worry filling your soft and caring voice but the moment you’re a few inches away and about to touch him, he shoots around, scaring you.

“Would you have given him your number?” he questions, his blue eyes looking deep into yours almost like he’s looking into your soul.

“Who? Jack? No, of course not. Why’re you even asking me that?” you protest, hoping he’ll believe you but now you come to think of it, you probably looked way too close for comfort.

“Lies” 

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because it sure seemed like the two of you were getting awfully cosy tonight, laughing, drinking, touching each other” he explains, closing the space between you and making you gulp.

“Well maybe if you hadn’t of treated me like i was invisible all night then i wouldn’t have needed to make friends with him. You forget that you barely said a word the whole time” now you’re the one that’s angry as you step back after your outburst, watching him carefully. His next actions shock you though as he just laughs, turning away and speed walking across the bedroom to the en suite. But before you can even follow him, he slams the door, making you flinch and then as you thought he would, he locked it.

Why can’t he ever be mature enough to talk about things. All he ever does is avoid confrontation. You don’t really like it either but at least you’re trying to sort whatever issue has him all in his feelings and angry.

Rather than sitting and waiting for him to leave the bathroom, you decide to go and get ready for bed in the other one, showering before getting dressed into whatever you can find. Which just so happen to be a shirt of his.

He dries off, wrapping a towel around his waist before unlocking the door and walking out to find you sat on the bed.

“The answer is no and that’s the truth” 

“Oh yeah? Then why was his hands all over you like you were there with him tonight?” 

“That was nothing, we were just laughing. What about you though huh? Snapping at me all night, leaving me and then deciding at the very last second that you want to spend time with me. Felt a lot like just another one of your games” it doesn’t look like he believes you and now you’re over trying to prove yourself.

“I left to talk to people and i was acting funny because going to those parties never end well, i wasn’t playing games with you” he stalks towards you, closing the gap.

Okay, now that makes sense. It explains all about how his behaviour changed when the two of you entered the actual party.

“You know, seeing you with that guy wasn’t easy. I got angry. All this time i thought you knew that you belonged to me, clearly i was wrong” his fingers graze your arm before settling underneath your chin and tilting it up, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

“Maybe you need a reminder” he’s so close to you now, his hands are all over your waist, moving down agonisingly slow towards your ass. He smacks the backs of both thighs as a signal for you to jump and you do. How can you resist?

His lips attack yours in a brief and passionate kiss before he throws you down to the bed “i’m gonna make you forget all about him” he then removes the towel.

You furrow your brows watching as he lifts your (his) shirt up, revealing your laced panties. His favourite on you. He spreads your legs with his hands as he tugs you to the edge of the bed, kneeling down to press a firm kiss to the inside of both your thighs.

That’s when he does what he always does, turns you into a moaning mess by devouring your pussy like a man starved. Sucking, slurping and flicking his tongue all over your sex effortlessly like your body was made for him. Just how you felt the first time he ever touched and tasted you.

“Mhmm, just like that” you run your fingers through his styled locks, messing them up without a care. “I’m the only one for you" he mumbles and it vibrates onto your clit making you giggle.

“You’ve always been the only one” you whisper and he looks up at you with lustful eyes but also a look of love. One you’ve not seen before or maybe you’ve never noticed.

The way he looks at you isn’t new but all this time you’ve assumed it’s because of his attraction to you, that he’s only looking at you that way because of his uncontrollable lust.

“Only i am allowed to touch you like this, taste you” his lips wrap around your clit, sucking like his life depends on it as his thick digits tease your dripping entrance “s’wet sweetness”

You tug a little harder as you lift your bum off of the bed, grinding yourself on his face with a burning desire for that sweet release, the one only he has been able to give you “that’s it sweetness, cum all over my face, cum for daddy” his low and raspy voice spurring you on and talking dirty sends you over that edge as you cum with a loud moan. Quicker than usual.

You try to push him off as you scrunch your eyes closed, seeing stars. All you can focus on is how sensitive you are but he’s cleaning you up with his tongue, clearly can’t get enough of how you taste.

“Always so sweet” he gets back up, moving you further up the bed and parting your legs as he hovers above you with his fingers making quick work to slip your panties to the side. The tip of his cock rests at your entrance as he dips his head to capture your lips with his tongue pushing past them and into your mouth to battle with your tongue.

You can taste yourself on him and that alone arouses you leading you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his torso “i need you, now” you plead, urging him to give you what you want, which he does. He pushes in slowly at first, seating himself deep inside before really moving. 

His pace gets going, rocking his hips back and forth, making sure to fill you up all the way as you claw at his back, your mouth hanging open in the perfect O shape “fuck, daddy it feels so good” you groan moving with him in his thrusts.

“Feel good baby?” he pants, resting his head in the crook of your neck, placing open mouthed kisses to your weak spot “tell daddy how good it feels sweetness. Use your words” he growls and you lift his head up so you can kiss him, cupping his face with one hand “it feels incredible, please don’t stop”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Wanna feel that pussy cream all over my cock. Give it to me sweetness” he licks his index and middle fingers before pressing them down on your clit hard, rubbing aggressively as his pace turns animalistic.

He’s ramming into you with such vigor, his breath fanning your shoulder and the noises he’s making are a far cry from just moaning. No he’s not moaning, he’s upset too or at least bothered by something.

“Can feel you squeezing me sweetness, you close?” he kisses your shoulder but this time he’s more gentle, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking you.

“Yes, oh my god i’m gonna cum. Please, keep going” 

The two of you move more frantically. Desperately chasing a joint release.

Grunts, growls and the sound of skin slapping together fills the room, the sound bouncing off of the walls as you both near closer. That’s when you turn the tables around, kissing his neck this time, biting too.

“I’m gonna cum daddy”

“God i love you so much, cum with me” 

3.2.1

And you’re legs are shaking in the air, his cock starts to twitch before he coats your walls with his hot seed.

“I love you too”

As he looks back into your eyes, you see it, the tears brimming and threatening to spill but he quickly kisses you, knowing full well that it’ll distract you but not this time. You pull back to look again but he only moves.

“You know i don’t think i was ever angry at you” he starts, standing up to retrieve the towel “it was him. Seeing him flirting with you only made me realise what i wanted” you get off of the bed now, approaching him “call me selfish, but i don’t ever want anyone else to touch you” he rests his forehead to yours, his hands resting on your waist “you’re mine, plain and simple”

“You never were one to do things the easy way” the two of you laugh before he kisses you “the easy way is boring”

Although you’re shocked about his confession, you daren’t pry more right now on his feelings. For now you just want to enjoy this moment. The two of you feel the same and that’s enough for you.

-----------------------------

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferous @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @kaminorogers @yassspose @randomsevans 

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo @evansphnx12 @whxre4cevans 

LMK if you wanna be added to my tag list.

[rune-writes]

One Date

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

@zerith-week » Day 1: Church

Word Count: 3178

Rating: G

Summary: Zack visits the Sector 5 slums church with a mind to ask Aerith out on that date he promised, but when rambunctious kids are involved, nothing goes as he planned.

Chapter 1 of Of Wishes and Promises: Zerith Week 2021

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

When Zack visited the church that day, he’d already had a mind where to take Aerith out. A date filled with excitement, he called it. He’d bring her to the Upper Plate as he’d promised. It’d be a surprise—one he planned not to tell until they boarded the train heading for Upper Midgar. He’d show her the cute cafes Kunsel told him about, then the flower shops that might interest her to invest more in her own business. They could visit boutiques, and he’d buy her all the dresses she wanted; threw in a couple of shoes and maybe a hat too. His SOLDIER salary could afford it. He’d checked. Then, they could go to the food plaza with those sweet, fluffy crepes with an overabundant of cream. They could even visit the theater at Sector 8, if that was more of her thing. But one thing he knew was that at the end of their date, he’d bring her to Midgar Tower—the highest commercial tower in all the metropolitan city, bar the Shinra building. With no other skyscrapers to block their view, he’d show her the sky, stretching as far as the eye could see.

She’d love it—he knew. So bright, so blue, so deep. It was the most beautiful place to witness it in the entire Midgar. So when Zack reached the Sector 5 slums church and pushed open the heavy double doors, his entire being brimming with enthusiasm—

A sharp jab to the center of his stomach; Zack doubled over, clutching his abdomen as tears sprang to his eyes. Gleeful squeals filled his ears. Kids, around six to eight years old, ran back down the aisle to the flower bed at the church’s other end, where Aerith sat next to a girl making crowns from her lilies.

“Oates!” she called, stern, but even from the distance, Zack could see her suppressed smile. “You don’t jab people on the stomach.”

The smaller of the two kids running from him skidded to a halt, mumbling “aww, shucks” or something of the like, though he didn’t look apologetic at all.

“Now go back and apologize to Zack.”

Zack remembered the kid now. He was the one who'd stolen Zack’s wallet the first time Zack was here. Oates, was it? He'd never gotten the kid’s name.

Oates reached his side a moment later and, eyes downcast, mumbled a half-hearted apology. Before Zack could say anything, however, the kid had rushed back to where his friends waited, leaving Zack staring after him. His mouth quirked up into a little amused smirk.

“Sorry, Zack,” Aerith said later when he reached her flowerbed. Brows drawn back; her face split into an apologetic smile. “You know how he gets.”

He knew. At least from their brief encounter before. Proud. Cocky. But with a good heart. Zack couldn’t help softening as he watched the boys wrestle.

“So.” He turned to Aerith, who offered him one of those bright, inquisitive looks. A soft little “hm?” that tugged at his heartstrings. Zack fought to contain his bursting emotions as he addressed the issue at hand. He nodded at the children playing at the church. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, Leaf House is having some renovations today, so the teachers asked me to watch over them for the time being.”

The explanation was short and simple, yet it was as though the sky—or, well, the steel sky here in the slums—had crashed down on him.

“Babysitting?”

She met his question with a giggle. “They’re not exactly babies, but, yes, something like that.”

There went his date-with-excitement plan out the window, ripped and blown into smithereens until not a speck of it remained. The tower… The sky…

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Zack shrugged. Well, what could he do if Aerith was already preoccupied? They could save that date for another time. Meanwhile… He sat down next to her, stretching his legs in front of him. A date at the church with a handful of kids in tow wasn’t bad either. Right?

Beside him, Aerith tilted her head to the side. Zack grinned, then noticed the loose hair coming out of her braid. He reached out and slipped it behind her ears. It had been a reflex—the way his hand moved. He only realized it when he spotted the blush coloring Aerith’s cheeks. Even the girl at the flowerbed gasped, quiet. He glanced at her; she ducked her head.

“Hey, Mister.” A bump on his head; Oates stood behind him in that self-important way. The kid should really learn some manners. “Are you going out with Aerith?”

With that question alone, all eyes turned toward him: the wrestling boys, the girl making flower crowns, and a couple others playing with the abandoned piano. The off-key tunes that had filled the church ground to an abrupt halt.

“It’s Zack, Oates,” Zack said into the sudden silence. “I thought we’d introduced ourselves to each other.”

Oates frowned, the way six-year-olds frowned when they were being told off, and folded his arms. “I don’t remember telling you my name, Mister.” Zack struggled to maintain his composure. “Well, are you or are you not?”

“I am.” More gasps, mostly from the girls. The boys only stared, some wide-eyed, some skeptical, including Oates.

Oates looked over his shoulder at his friends. Determined nods from all around. Zack had a bad feeling about it.

When the boy's gaze returned to him, he pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Then we challenge you! Come on, guys! We need to see if this Mister guy is right for Aerith or not!”

The air split as cries erupted everywhere—boys and girls and even the kids at the piano. Before he could prepare himself, the little rascals had leaped from all sides, tackling him to the ground.

***

Aerith jumped when the children pushed Zack to the ground. Muffled sounds came from that squirming pile of bodies. They pinned him around his waist and straddled him on his chest. A couple climbed up and held his arms to the ground, maneuvering their way around that big sword hilt behind his back.

“Got it!” one of them yelled. A small square object held high in his grasp.

“Hey, you little, that’s my wallet!”

They squealed and shouted and laughed, jumped away when Zack tried to get up. “Spread out!” came a voice louder than the others, and they did, spreading out to the benches and the fallen beams and the room behind the altar. Zack pushed himself off his back, leaped to his feet, then put his hands on his hips. He scanned the church, a little frown playing across his lips.

“Lost something?” Aerith couldn’t help but ask. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from giggling.

“My wallet,” Zack said under his breath. “I know they’re good kids and it’s got nothing much but…” He stopped, glanced sideways at Aerith on the flowerbed. “Nothing,” he muttered.

It was unusual to see him blush, but there it was, the pink shades on his cheeks. She took a picture of it in her mind then saved it in her heart, shifting her attention back to the flowers by her knees, only to feel a stare at the side of her head. Leila, who'd been making crowns, was looking at her. Aerith arched her brows in a silent question, but before neither of them could say anything…

“Look!” Another call came. One of the older boys—Basil—waved a piece of paper in the air. “I found something!”

In the blink of an eye, Zack had disappeared from her side and crossed the church’s length. "Give that back!" she heard him say, and when Basil refused, running to the other side of the church, leaping over benches and hiding behind pillars, Zack quickened his pace. He caught the boy from behind and wrestled for his wallet. Soon, the other children had crowded around them, helping Basil keep his hold on the paper. Aerith snorted. Never had she thought she would see the day when Zack Fair wrestled with a child. That paper had to be very important.

“Are you really going out with that man, Aerith?”

The voice was soft; Leila looked at her with big, brown eyes. Curious, wary.

“I am.”

The frown deepened. The girl looked back down at the crown in her hand. Almost finished, Aerith noticed. Just a little more touch. Behind her, Zack shouted, “A-ha! Got it!” She glanced back just enough to see the fluttering paper caught between his index and middle fingers, before another boy—Finn—leaped from the nearest bench onto Zack’s back and grabbed the paper from his clutch. “Brat—!” Zack swung around trying to catch him, but Finn only clung to his back, laughing with glee.

“Isn’t he from the upper plate?” Leila asked again, pulling Aerith’s attention back to her.

“He is.”

“Aren’t they scary?”

Aerith blinked and stared, before the realization hit her. Like many people of the slums, the only things Leila knew of the upper plate were prejudice and discrepancy, hate and violence. Having to scrap for a living, only to be kicked and shoved by the so-called securities the people they called their government had stationed there; then watching the news and ads on the big monitor at Central District, only to realize how big a difference their lives were. Leila's father was taken to the war, and when they'd refused, those securities had almost crippled her grandfather.

“Zack’s not scary, though.”

“But the sword…” The girl lifted her eyes and looked at the massive sword on Zack’s back.

“He uses that to protect people.” Aerith's smile was warm. “He protected me before. I’m sure he’d protect you with it too.”

The nine-year-old still didn’t look convinced. Maybe there was something, anything, Aerith could use to show the girl that Zack was harmless. A thought just occurred to her mind when, suddenly, a weight pressed itself on her back.

Oof!

“Aerith, look!”

Oates had climbed onto her back, arms dangling down from around her neck. He waved a small piece of paper in front of her, where she glimpsed her face, smiling, on it.

“Got you!” The weight disappeared; Zack stood behind her, holding Oates on both arms as though the boy weighed nothing more than a sack of rice. “Stop squirming and hand over the photo.”

“Does the photo worth more than the wallet to you!?”

“Yes! Now give it—“

The photo lay on Aerith’s lap, now crooked after having so many hands wrestling for it. She picked it up and turned it around. Her own smiling face looked back at her. Hair braided back; a little smudge of dirt on her cheek; she'd crouched before her flowers as she'd tended to them, eyes crinkling at an ear-to-ear grin. When did Zack take this?

“Why would you put a picture of me there instead of your parents?” she asked the first question that popped into her mind. Zack had left home when he was thirteen without ever telling them. She’d thought they’d be foremost in his mind. But she knew the answer, even before she looked up and saw his beet-red face.

“And why are you blushing?” Oates asked.

“Oh, shut up!” He finally let Oates go. The children had gathered around them then, their expressions ranging from bemused to mischievous grins.

“You’re blushing too, Aerith,” Leila noted beside her.

She believed she was. Her cheeks felt hot. She met Zack’s sky-blue eyes, and as she beamed, he started beaming too.

***

Aerith asked Zack to tell the kids about his adventures—adventures, because the kids shouldn’t hear about missions or wars; adventures where he went to all corners of the world to protect people and their homes.

“Who wants to hear about my adventures?” Zack asked then. Silence…

“I wanna know more about your sword,” Oates said. “Why is it so big?"

Another voice asked, "Is it real?”

“Of course it’s real!”

“Can I touch it?” Zack didn’t realize a kid was standing behind him, and when he reached out to touch the steel blade, Aerith and Zack shouted at him to stop. The kid jumped, retracting his hand as quickly as it’d come.

“That’s dangerous, Finn!” Aerith said from her seat.

“But it looks so cool!”

“And also very heavy and sharp,” Zack said. “It could easily cut your arm off if you so much as touch it wrong.” Gasps and grunts and nervous gulps. Despite the glare Aerith was shooting him—maybe he should have toned down the gore, though he’d only spoken truth with it—he thought that was enough to scare them away. But then a voice spoke up:

“But you can use it.” It was the girl who’d played the piano before. Jet-black hair tied in twin tails.

“That’s because I’m trained in combat.”

“Show us!” she said, prompting the others to chant yeah, show us, show us.

At the urging, Zack broke into a grin, wide and proud. He told them to give him a bit of space, and they stepped back. Then he reached over and behind his back and curled his fingers around the hilt. He’d show them. Yes, they would see that he was the coolest guy they ever saw.

Pulling the Buster Sword from his back one-handed was an easy feat. He gave it a wide swing in the air before landing it, tip-down, on the church’s wooden floor. Oohs and ahhs greeted his ears. Even Aerith’s emerald-green eyes were wide, joining the children’s cheer. Then he lifted the sword with both hands and bent his knees in his battle stance.

“Want me to show you some battle moves?” he asked them, and they did, so he obliged.

The “show” ended with a series of claps, thrilled cries, and jumps. What skepticism and mischief he’d seen in their eyes were now gone, replaced by nothing short of awe. Zack couldn’t help the smirk that he’d somehow won their hearts.

“What do you do, Zack?” the oldest of the boys, he’d heard Aerith called him Basil before, asked.

“I’m—“ Then he stopped, and he remembered how Aerith had talked about SOLDIER and Turks and Shinra when they first met, and figured he should omit that part. “I’m a mercenary,” he said instead. “I help people whenever they need me.”

“Like how?”

“Finding lost items?”

“Rescuing a cat?”

“Yeah… And, like, bigger schemes.” The kids looked at one another. “Like protecting people from monsters.” More oohs and ahhs. Zack felt proud of himself.

But then, someone said, “I wanna have something like it.” It was Oates. He turned to his friends. “Just imagine: we can be our own Protection Squad! Defeating evil and helping people around the slums.” The idea immediately appealed to everyone’s minds. Before Zack could do anything about it, they’d already crowded around him and begged him for a sword of their own.

Zack broke into a small, weak smile as he tried to figure how to handle this new onslaught. He looked at Aerith for help, but her features reflected the resignation he felt. She offered a shrug, a silent permission to do what he thought best. In that case…

“Want me to make you wooden swords then?” The children’s eyes sparkled at that. They nodded, crowding closer that Zack had to step back and raise his hands, shoulders shaking in a chuckle. “Well, if you can find a good chunk of wood and some sawing equipment, I think I can make some.”

They'd bolted out the church’s double doors before he realized maybe he shouldn’t have told them to grab a saw. But Aerith was laughing, and she patted the spot next to her. Zack sat down with a loud sigh.

“You think they’re okay handling a saw?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, the carpenters won't let them hold it that easily,” Aerith said.

Zack wondered about that. Seeing how the kids had been, it wouldn't be a stretch to think they'd find some way to bring a saw there. But he was too tired to go look for them, so he hoped the carpenter would be so kind as to bring it himself. He sighed again, feeling the tension rolling off his shoulders. Who would’ve thought babysitting was even more exhausting than going on a mission?

Warmth enveloped his head. When he looked, Aerith was patting him, a bright smile on her face. “Great job today.”

And Zack would have broken into a grin, would have leaned in and rested his head on her shoulder and claimed it as energy recovering, if he had not noticed the girl on the flowerbed still weaving flowers into a crown. Aerith seemed to notice his line of sight too, because then she introduced the girl as Leila. In a whisper, she added that the girl had lost her family in the war, so she was a little taciturn around armed strangers.

The reason Aerith had suggested for him to talk about his adventures finally dawned on him. Zack scooted to the girl and peeked beneath the brown bangs. Big, brown eyes were focused on the flower crown in her hands. He noticed she’d braided her hair to match Aerith’s.

“You’re not going with the others?” he asked.

Leila shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was small. “I’m not really into those sword stuffs.”

“What are you into then?”

She lifted her flower crown, then continued weaving in more flowers. Zack fumbled for more topics, but before he could, Leila had risen from her seat. She walked over to him, then plopped the flower crown over his head. Zack blinked.

“That glow in your eyes—I’ve seen it. They took my dad away to the war, and he never came back.” Leila pursed her lips. “But you’re a good guy, Zack. At least, I think so. Everyone likes you. Aerith, too. And, you know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh so hard like that before.” Zack blinked again, and this time, the girl softened her features. “She really likes you.”

With that, she turned toward Aerith and plopped another flower crown on top of her head.

“Well, I’m off. Think I’m going to catch up with the others and make sure they don’t hurt themselves.”

Her footsteps disappeared behind the double doors. The silence that followed stretched awkwardly. When Zack turned his head, Aerith was still staring at the church's entrance, half in daze.

“You really like me, she said.”

She jerked, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. A frown formed across her lips, even as a deep shade of red tinged her cheeks. “She didn’t emphasize it, you know.”

Even so, that was not a denial. A slow grin split his features. Zack crawled to her side, then gazed at her scarlet face.

“What?” she asked.

His reply was a soft kiss to her cheeks that rendered her speechless. “I really like you to.” He beamed at her stunned face. It wasn't much of a date, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

~ END ~

[imlostinsantacarla]

@beaming-ben:  hey! i just wanted to say i’m enjoying your lost boys posts :) was wondering if i was able to make a request with Y/N (so others can enjoy it) x Marko? it would be where the reader is new to santa carla and they are at the boardwalk looking at the stores and stuff. Marko notices them who turns out to be his mate and he starts talking to them. the reader would be quite shy in this but eventually opens up and Marko would be really sweet to them. Thanks for your time :) x

(a/n: heya love, sorry that this took so long for me to get around to! i hope you enjoy what i’ve come up with, i really tried my best! thanks for your request as well. - admin kat 🌙❣)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Title: You Don’t Talk Much Do You? (Marko x Reader)

Summary: Moving out to the Murder Capitol of the World and into the home of your eccentric grandfather after a divorce between your parents has you longing for a night of fun. When your two brothers accompany you onto the infamous Boardwalk for the night, their teasing ways get under your skin and you feel the need to break away and cool off. Doing this means that you run into a particular blonde-haired boy that isn’t just trying to chat you up to win you over for the night, but for eternity.

Word Count: 2,269 (lmaoo 69)

Warnings: mentions of parents divorcing, angsty teenager stuff?, nothing else really.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Being new to Santa Carla had an overwhelming pressure as nighttime rolled around and the Boardwalk was filled with the static buzz of teenagers having a blast of a time whilst the flashing lights of the fair rides busily illuminated the night air. There was a charge of excitement in the atmosphere which had you practically bouncing on your heels, a grin spread wide across your face. It seemed as though it had been an eternity since you had even stared fun straight in the face.

Currently you were situated between your two brothers, Michael and Sam, whom were bickering like school children over the topic of Sam needing and not needing babysitters to accompany him.

“I’m not a kid any more, Mikey! I can find my own way around here no problem.” Sam sassed with an exasperated tone, total offense clouding his countenance as he looked up at his older brother indignantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael rolled his eyes, giving a hasty shake of his head, “tell that to mom after you get lost for the fifth time today.”

“Hey! The first time was my fault but the other four were your terrible sense of direction. Right, y/n?” Sam blabbered enthusiastically, though his face was heating up due to embarrassment.

“Huh?” You hummed, eyes averting from the roller coaster and landing on Sam who seemed even more offended that you hadn’t exactly been paying any mind to his side of the argument, never mind Michael’s point. “Sorry, what did you two losers say?” You inquired with a quick scratch to the back of your neck.

Michael grinned silly at you before staring down at Sam. “Jesus, and I thought mom was bad.” to which Sam laughed at, their brotherly bickering having become a thing of the past and your fleeting attention span now the main focus.

“You’ve seen plenty of rides before, I don’t see what the big deal is, y/n!” Sam stated matter-of-factly, his bright eyes illuminated with mischief.

“Yeah, I know. But when was the last time us three got to have fun instead of being stuck between mom and dad arguing?” You sassed, a tint spreading across your cheeks. Your statement was nothing more than sincere. Being in between two parents going through a divorce was messy and heartbreaking for everyone involved, but it seemed to have taken it’s toll on you the most. You’d assumed the role of keeping what was left of your family intact, like human glue, and it was the most exhausting job you’d slid into for awhile now.

“Jeez you make it sound like you’re the one going through the divorce yourself.” Michael scoffed mockingly, no doubt attempting to get under your skin as he usually did.

“YoU mAkE iT sOuNd LiKe YoU’rE tHe OnE GoInG ThRoUgH tHe DiVoRcE yOuRsElF.” you did a pretty bad imitation of his voice, throwing your hands up in the air as you did so. “You sound like you don’t give a shit.” you spat, pushing past your older brother.

“Great! Now she’s gonna go tell mom you were an ass to her and probably blame me too!” You heard Sam practically shriek behind you. You didn’t care, you just felt like you needed to get away from them, they were practically suffocating you.

___

Parting from your brothers had lead you to only dig yourself deeper into your own thoughts. You went from store to store that littered the Boardwalk and scanned the shelves of them absentmindedly with a lot weighing down the theme of your train of thought. Moving away from Phoenix had been challenging for you, especially parting from your friends, and your parents going through their divorce was hard, - even if your mother had managed to do it with little mess -. The change of moving to another state made you almost weak with nausea. When summer was over you’d be going to a new school with new people and the thought alone made you want to spew. Making friends back in Phoenix had been challenging enough as it was...

You missed your friends desperately, you knew you were gonna miss your old school even once summer was over here. Everything here was daunting and weird. I mean, your Gramps didn’t even own a TV! He had Taxidermy swarming around his whole house. The thought of that beaver he’d given Sam sent shivers down your spine as though The Angel of Death were tickling it. You were genuinely living with a crazy old man and your somewhat dysfunctional family. The odds of enjoying your time here didn’t look so hot. I mean, you were living in the Murder Capital of the World.

The exhaustion you felt seemed to morph into sore legs from having walked around the pier several times. You’d even walked past your brothers ten times, ignoring them whenever they’d called on you. They knew that when you were in a bad mood to just let you walk it off in order to cool down. Besides, they were the ones who’d agitated you in the first place. The least they could do was give you time.

The whole intention of coming to the Boardwalk was to have fun, engage in excitement: You’d wanted to go on every ride you saw, eat till you were so full you’d spew and watch the live bands play. You hadn’t bagged on miserably idling around a comic book store until the two kids behind the register eyed you all funny till you left.

Now you were at one set of stairs that lead down to the actual sand of Santa Carla’s beach. Your eyes scanning the scene before you with dull eyes of envy. The moon was strikingly pale against the velvety black night sky, tiny specs of stars dancing to the music of the local teenagers guffawing and fooling around on the sand beneath. The waves of the ocean were a velvety black, the moon casting an eerie silvery glow onto it, it’s reflection warbled as the salty water lapped onto the sand and retreated. There wasn’t just total darkness, on the sand, where there were teenagers, there were also oil drums glowing orange with dancing flames in the center of the group, providing warmth and light to their shenanigans. There were hundreds of oil drums littered all over the beach, like small beacons of light attempting to break through the darkness of night.

A sense of desperation to join them left your stomach jumping and twisting apprehensively, making you miss Phoenix all the more. You’d do almost anything to get out of the funk you’d sunk into, even if that meant doing something stupid and getting yourself grounded for all eternity by your mother. You weren’t astray to rebelling against her in the past. She knew that plain as day, which is probably why she had told your brothers to head out with you.

You climbed halfway down the stairs until you sunk down onto them, deciding you didn’t have enough courage to just throw yourself into any one of the orange circles that scattered the beach. Anyone of those groups could be filled with nutters and weirdos. You weren’t looking to get yourself into anything you couldn’t get yourself out of. But you observed the people your age, maybe even a little older than you, dancing and singing, - clearly both drunk and/or high on something -, with curiosity.

“You just gonna watch all the action go down from here?” You heard a voice clear as day in your ear, causing you to jump straight out of your skin, a yelp being pulled from your throat. You whipped around to find a boy your age with the dumbest grin plastered straight on his face, like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. “Whoa! Easy.” His voice came out husky as he placed his hands up by his head, partially gloved, palms facing you.

You were stunned for what felt like seconds but stretched on for well over a couple of minutes. The guy was stunning, blond and wore the most peculiar jacket of gold and red that possessed patterns, faces, pictures... You weren’t even aware that you’d been staring till he chuckled again. “You know, you might wanna close your mouth before you drool everywhere.” He teased, his nimble and icy fingertips coming under your chin and forcing your mouth closed with a soft tap. He had his head tilted to the side, blue orbs penetrating yours like he was staring straight through your soul.

“O-Oh, s-sorry.” You cleared your throat, tearing your face away from him and looking out over the beach once more. You were grateful that it was dark where you were, so the blush that consumed your face now was well hidden, - at least you thought it was -.

“Nah, it’s all good. I’m not complaining.” You heard the grin forming on his face as he spoke. Suddenly the space on the step beside you was occupied and you could feel his gaze on your face now. “You new here? I haven’t seen you around before.” He inquired, leaning closer to you in a non-intrusive way. There was curiosity in his eyes as you met them.

“Yeah.” You hummed, nipping your bottom lip between your teeth. This felt odd, no guy, - especially this attractive -, had ever really spoken to you. You always thought it was because you weren’t attractive, but you knew the biggest part of it was because your older brother Michael (by one year) wouldn’t let any guy get within twenty feet of you. So the fact that this guy was sat here chatting to you made you wonder where in the hell Michael was at.

“Cool. Where’re you from?”

“Ph-Phoenix.” You muttered softly, eyes dipping down as you spoke. The way that he was looking at you made you feel a little unsettled.

“Cool, cool.” He mumbled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, plucking a smoke out and placing it between his lips before lighting it. The flame from his lighter made it possible for you to fully see his face, which almost made your jaw slack open once again. He was definitely attractive. He laughed again. “What? You want one?” He offered the opened carton to you, to which you declined and he chuckled once more. “Alright. You’re not much of a talker are you?” He quipped humorously to which you felt your ears redden and you shook your head.

“I’m Marko, by the way.” He mumbled around his cigarette, puffing smoke in your direction.

“y/n” you smiled softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you watched him.

“Michael’s sister?” Marko inquired with a quirked brow.

“How’d you know that?” You were baffled and slightly terrified to say the least.

“Me and my buddies met your brother, we’re friends. He told us about you.” Marko clarified with a puff of smoke flowing from his lips as he spoke.

“That’s funny, he never mentioned you...” You hummed thoughtfully, “Oh God, what’d he tell you about me? That I’m a Monster Bitch from Hell?” You rolled your eyes indignantly.

“Somethin’ like that.” He simpered, eyes skimming up and down your body with interest as he spoke. “With the way he was describing you, I thought you’d look like a Demon of something.”

“I’m so gonna flatten him when I get home.” You muttered under your breath to which he laughed at. You turned to look at him once more with creased brows. “Then what do I look like to you?”

“Hot.” You laughed when he said that, shaking your head as you tipped it backwards. “I mean that in a non-demon kinda way.” He added.

“Well, that’s good I suppose.”

“You think so?” Boy he was a flirt, you could already tell. He was definitely funny also, which you liked. Funny guys were always more interesting to you. They were better than the hotheaded types, at least in your opinion they were.

“I dunno, would you prefer that I looked like one?”

“Nah, not really! I think you look great as you are.” He flashed his pearly whites at you with a confidence you’d never seen before and it spurred the pair of you into a conversation filled with flirtatious comments. You swore you’d never spoken to someone this much in your life - even with your very own family -.

Speaking with Marko seemed to flow naturally between the pair of you, which made your heart gallop a million miles per hour. However, even though he was nice to talk to, there was something about him that caused a spark of suspicion in you, like danger lurked around the corner if you continued to converse with him. But there was something else that was pulling you towards him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on because you’d never felt this before. It was like a rope was tied across your midsection and Marko felt it too. The more either one of you resisted the tighter the pull felt, forcing you in his vicinity. 

And sure, you’d talked to cute guys in the past before your brother intervened, and there was always a sense of giddiness in your gut as you did so. Yet it didn’t compare to the warmth that seemed to spread through your muscles as he inched closer and closer to you with each question and answer that flowed from both of your mouths. Something about this seemed natural and destined, like nothing could get in the way of or break it apart.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

[valeriethepussycats]

Deleted scene of Assemble Queensbridge Park.

Y/n has taken a little detour to Time Square so she could show Steve all he miss from being under ice. I know what your thinking why would Y/n do that well that how Gambit taught her how to swim.

Throw her in the deep end if she drowned save her if she don’t let her swim.

When they got there all he could see shoppers weighed down by bags, older women dragging a dolly for their groceries, dog walkers, and students with backpacks. You could smell the cooking oil from fast food fryer vats. This was not the New York he remembered. The old New York was never this lively.

“What happened?” Steve thought.

“Time.” Y/n answered. “Everything is different now.”

Steve looks over at Y/n shock.

How could she know what I was thinking.

“Welcome to New New York I came early so I could show you some sites.” Y/n beamed. “And maybe I could show you somemore after we're done with whatever Shield wants us to do.”

Steve looks over at Y/n and smiles. “I'll like that.”

“Now come on let's go get something to eat.” Y/n said as she pulls Steve away from time square.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n and Steve walks in a Pizza joint it’s the kind where they have the red and white checkers and the pictures of all the the famous people that came and ate here like Al Pacino(‘Say Hello To My Little Friend.’), Robert De Niro(‘You Talkin' To Me?’) and Leonardo DiCaprio( do I need a quote.). Anyway, to other people it’s just your average pizza place but to Y/n it’s was the place her father would take her every other Friday and they would eat at the table in the middle of the restaurant so she’s pretty famous.

“This is Castle's pizza the best pizza in Brooklyn.” Y/n broadcasted.

Upon hearing those words the store owner Francis David Castle Sr. looks up and sees his favorite customer. “Stop it Y/n I’m gonna have to star paying you the publicity.” Francis said as he walks from behind the counter and up to Y/n to give her a hug. “Y/n, how you been?”

“I’m good Francis, I need ya best pepperoni pizza for my friend Steve here.”

“For ya friend uh?” Francis said in a smirk.

“We're just friends sir.” Steve said in a courteous manner.

“And he haves manners Y/n you gotta keep him.” Francis proclaimed.

Robin laughs while Steve just looks anywhere but Y/n while rubbing the back of his neck.

“For here or to go?” Francis asked as he pulls out his notepad and pen.

“To go please.” Y/n replied.

“In arrivo la pizza ai peperoni di Sam per Y/n.” Francis said to Sam Guthrie in Italian. (coming right up Sam pepperoni pizza for Y/n).

“Come sei stato Sam?” Y/n asked. (how have you been Sam?)

“Sto bene. Com'è la doppia vita?” Sam said in a curious tone. (I’m good. How’s the double life).

“Same old same old.” Y/n answered.

“You can speak Italian?” Steve wondered.

“Ya Sam and I would come here after school and help out around the restaurant and in exchange Francis son’s Frank would teach us.” Y/n told Steve.

“It was the only place us mutants felt save.” Sam said put forth. “Any who, I’ve been meaning to call you and see if I could become an agent.”

“Mutants? What are mutants?” Steve thought.

“What you tried making pizza?” Y/n said with a broad grin.

“Something like that. My code name could be Cannonball.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You know Frank is still single.” Francis announced to Y/n as he walks into the kitchen. “He has such bad luck with women.”

"Mamma non voglio non voglio uscire con Andrea ho 26 anni posso trovare il mio appuntamento.” Frank proclaimed to his mother.(Ma I don’t want I don’t want to go on a date with Andrea I’m 26 I can find my own date). “Y/n!! How ya been?”

“I’m Good.” Y/n answered with a smile.

“Who’s the stiff?” Frank asked.

“Oh it is Steve Rogers .” Y/n said declared. “He’s new in town and I’m showing him around.”

Francis walks out of the kitchen and hands Y/n her pizza. “It’s was good seeing ya.”

“You two Francis.” Y/n said with a smile. “Arrivederci!” (Goodbye)

“Arrivederci!” Frank,Sam,and Francis said at the same time.

As Y/n and Steve walks out the restaurant she looks over at Steve like an idea just pop into her head. “I know the perfect place to eat this.”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n is sitting on the rim of the bench with her feet on the base of it while Steve is sitting on it,overlooking the a river. Steve goes to take his first bite out of the pizza.

“Oh man this is good!” Steve exclaimed.

“Told ya.” Y/n said covering her her mouth.

“I never really had pizza everything was boiled.” Steve told Y/n. “So this Queensbridge Park.”

“Ya. This is my favorite spot mainly because they flim an amazing tv show here called Person of Interest.” Y/n replied.

“I'll give it a look.” Steve said biting into his pizza.

“I know everything is still fresh on your mind about being frozen....Steve if you ever want to talk about it I'm here.” Y/n said with quiet empathy.

“Thank you.” Steve said with a smile. “I’ve been meaning to ask-“

“What’s a mutant?” Y/n finished for Steve.

“Yes if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s The label society gives people who are born with powers.” Y/n answered.

“You have powers.” Steve said in a curious way.

“Ya.” Y/n said as her eyes turn white and a hurricane starts to form in the river

“Wow. That's amazing!!” Steve said blinking. “How!?”

“Like I said I was born with it.” Y/n said holding her head high smiling.

“Really?” Steve said still in shock.

Y/n’s eyes turn back to normal and the hurricane disappears. “Here.” Y/n said as he gets off the bench and hands Steve a little book.

“What's this for?” Steve said with a quizzical smile.

“You can write everything you want to catch up on in here.” Y/n explained.

Steve looks at Y/n and start to get this familiar feeling like

“Steve.” Peggy’s voice echoed in Steve’s head.

Peggy?

“Steve? Who’s Peggy?” Y/n asked Steve with a Cocked head.

“An old friend....you of remind me.” Steve answered.

“Was she amazing?” Y/n wondered.

“She sure was.” Steve said with a sad smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Y/n said as she goes to pick up the pizza box. “Now come on we have to get Chinese food.” Y/n holds out an hand and waits for Steve to take it. This time when she looks at him she see a relaxed brow free of frown lines and that her smile mentally. Steve hesitate for a few seconds then takes Y/n’s hand and they walk off together as friends.

A/n- In this universe Frank Castle isn’t born yet so the one in the story is his father and grandfather.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia - Chapter 83: Of Sound and Wings

Continuing my nextgen MHA fic!

Earlier chapters can be found here

To say Toshi was worried was an understatement.  While no one had said anything bad would happen if they lost the relay, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it his all. Which meant he had to make sure he wasn’t going to let anyone else down either.  And he was more than certain that, however the relay worked out, Aizawa and Uncle Kacchan would be using whatever he saw to help format their lessons going forward.  Their teacher would just use any failings to push them all the harder.

He couldn’t allow his differences with Tatsuma to be the reason they failed.  While there hadn’t been any more violence or any scuffles between the U.A. and Shiketsu students (Not even from Katsumi, which seemed to be a minor miracle in and of itself), there was still a strained feeling when some members of the two groups interacted.  And Tatsuma had made a point of avoiding him.

He needed to be able to clear the air with the Shiketsu girl.  Even if there was still bad blood afterwards, he needed to apologize and he needed to make sure that they’d be able to work together.  Plenty of Heroes didn’t get along off the field but could put their differences aside enough to fight alongside each other.  He would have liked to at least get to that point.

They had a few minutes before they had to start getting ready, so he sought her out, finding her standing alone.  The other Shiketsu students looked to have already peeled off to find their respective U.A. partners.

“Ah, hey, Tatsuma,” he began.  “Do you have a minute to talk?”

Tatsuma didn’t budge an inch. When she spoke she didn’t even turn around. “Later than I expected this to happen. The instructors have forced your hand.”

Toshi frowned and swallowed nervously.  “You’re right,” he said.  “I have been putting this off.”  Not very heroic of him, really.  “And the timing makes it look even less great than it already is.”

Best to just get it out there.

“I owe you an apology.”

She turned to look at him now. With her arms crossed and her stoic stance, it made her already tall figure even more imposing.

“For what?” The question is not one of confusion or lack of knowledge, but rather did he understand what he should be sorry about. 

Toshi was of average height for his age, with maybe a few more inches to go, but the way Tatsuma simply towered over most people did nothing to ease the situation.  “I was pretty insensitive when we talked near the beginning of the camp,” he began.  “And didn’t do a good job of listening to what you were actually saying.  It’s been pointed out that I don’t always see the privileged position my family gives me and I trivialized something very important to you.”

He looked up.  “And for that, I’m sorry.”

Tatsuma listened, looking at him carefully before speaking. “Well I can’t find a realistic problem with your apology. So..thank you.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “I’d argue it’s something many Heroes should see as important, but now is a pointless time to argue it.”

Toshi nodded.  It was about as good a reaction as he could have hoped for.  Tatsuma didn’t seem like the type to lash out violently, the way Katsumi might (Though in truth, Katsumi was always more bark than bite), but he’d been deeply afraid of making things worse.  He was a Class Representative.  He was supposed to be a leader, someone others looked to and who helped make things right, not someone who caused trouble with other schools.  

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed.  “I’ve grown up around enough Heroes, not just my family…”   He winced slightly.  A reminder of all that probably wasn’t the best choice of words.  “But a lot of them question if they’re not good enough, if they’re not doing enough.  And their failures stay with them too.”

Dad didn’t talk about it much.  He wanted to keep a smiling face, especially for this family.  But as Toshi had gotten older, he’d been more willing to talk about the lives he couldn’t save, the times he was too slow or too late.  He’d wanted to impress upon Toshi that being a Hero could bring great joy, but that it would weigh you down too.

“I don’t know why the press or the public treated your mother differently.  But she didn’t deserve that.”

For a time, he had had her attention. Maybe he’d gotten this right. Tatsuma was also a Class Rep. and as such she represented her school. As much as she may have wanted to show up UA, she had to know holding grudges like that weren’t good for anybody.  And it was true that in the past, the rankings had led to a lot of damaging and toxic behavior.  You just had to look at Izzy’s grandfather for that.  But things were different now, right?  But when he mentioned her mother, he suddenly felt the situation change, the hairs on the back of his next standing up.

Human life had started long after the dinosaurs had died out, despite what a lot of science fiction would have people believe.  But if a man had been threatened by a t-rex, he was certain it would felt like what he was feeling now.

Toshi would later swear that he saw Tatsuma’s eyes go red. “Because of the damn rankings!” Smoke started to unfurl from her nostrils. “She fell from the all-mighty Top Ten! The heroes of all heroes! You think anyone says anything if someone drops a rank in the 20’s or 30’s? No, no one cares about their efforts. But if someone can’t cut being in the Top Ten-!” Her skin looked like a very thin layer of scales was forming. 

“That's all my mother ever heard! ‘You couldn’t cut it.’ ‘Leave it to the men!’ ‘You weren’t meant to be among the elite!” All because of how the rankings portray what Heroes are supposed to be!” 

She was now towering over Toshi now. “I won’t dismiss what your father has done for this country, or any of the others in the Ten, but if you can’t see how it has also harmed those who have done nothing but sacrificed-!” Her hands clenched. She was very, VERY close, then snarled and turned away. 

“Seung’s worked too hard to keep her emotions in control. I can’t disgrace that effort.” Tatsuma let out a breath, a steaming hot one. “You’ll never get it. You’re too ingrained. I should probably just accept that.” She was quiet for a moment, before finally speaking up again. “What else did you want?”

To his credit, Toshi had managed to stand his ground during Tatsuma’s tirade, only taking a slight step backwards once. As it was, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.  “I’m sorry,” he began.  “This is important to you, I can tell.   And I’m sorry for the pain it’s caused you and your mom.  What happened to her wasn’t right and wasn’t fair.”

He straightened up a little.  Maybe this was too much meddling.  But wasn’t meddling the job of a Hero?  Tatsuma had so much anger in her, it was going to consume if she didn’t find a way to break it.

“And maybe I am too close to see some things.  But I’m also close enough to a lot of things to see some of the details.  When your mother started dropping in rankings, it was a different time.  The world was still hurting from the loss of All Might and wanted its Heroes to be more perfect than they were, than they could actually be.  I don’t know, can’t know, if that was the cause, but I’d be surprised if that didn’t have something to do with it. And none of that would make it right or fair if it did.  

“But while I can’t quote you chapter and verse like Shota could, I can tell you that plenty of people have risen and fallen out of the Top Ten in the last decade or more, and only the trashiest and least reputable ‘news’ sources and commentators are bad mouthing them.  Creati dropped down to Number Eleven a while back.  And you know what she did?  She congratulated Rodeo, who jumped up to Seven and knocked her ranking down.”

He frowned.  “What happened to Ryukyu wasn’t right.  I agree with you on that.  And you’ve every right to be angry about it.  But I don’t think it’s like that anymore.”

He shook his head.  Maybe there was still something he was missing.  But he had to try and bridge that gap.  “But maybe you’re right.  Maybe this is something we can’t agree on.  But can we work together?”

She looked back at him. “If Ground Zero and Deku could learn to work together, it would be embarrassing and shameful if we couldn’t.” There is the vaguest hint of a smile. Maybe he’d said some of the right things.  At least, he hadn’t made it any worse.

Toshi gave her a small smile of his own.  “Oh, the stories I could tell you about that…”

***

The Rookies’ relay course was set up in the woodlands around their compound, virtually invisible from the treetops, but complicated once you got to it.  There were bridges and swings, with complex structures built into the trees.  The tree line itself was thick with trees and other vegetation, making it difficult to see where any attack might be coming from.  Fortunately, their path was pretty straightforward.  

“You got Tomodachi okay?” Inuzaki asked.  He was ahead of Shota, in dog form, pausing every so often to sniff the air.

“Good enough,” Shota told him. The “civilian” they were rescuing was a training dummy, like the kind they used at U.A.  It was about the size of an adult man and loaded with sensors that would tally up injuries and damage.  They had immediately decided that he’d needed a name. Shota had him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.  He didn’t need his arms free to use his Quirk, after all.  

“He’s pretty heavy though!” Shota said.  “Maybe he should run the course too!”  He was in good shape—you couldn’t be in the Hero course and not be—but he wasn’t anywhere near as fit as Toshi, Kirishima-Bakugo, or Shoji.  Even Inuzaki was in better shape than him when he was in human form.  Still, his joke did get a laugh out of Inuzaki, so it was worth it.

Dad always said you had to take care of your body as much as your Quirk.  Maybe he needed to start working out more.  Toshi was always working out.  But he got up so early to do it!

 “Smell anything?” Shota asked.

Inuzaki stopped and shook his head.  “Maybe.  Lots of smells.  I can smell people.  Mostly the Rookies.  They’ve been through here a lot.  Might be trying to make it confusing.”

“Let me try,” Shota said.  He took in a breath then started to unleash one of his sonar-screams, but stopped when Inuzaki started whining.

He cut the scream immediately.  “What, what is it?” Shota asked.

Inuzaki winced.  “Your scream hurt my ears,” he said, quietly.  “It was like a knife through my skull!”

Crap!  His Quirk and Inuzaki’s weren’t compatible?  How were they going to do this?  He had to scream to use his Quirk!  When they got attacked, he’d have to use it!  But if it hurt his friend, then what could he do?  Maybe it was only certain frequencies?

“That’s only when you’re a dog, right?” Shota asked.  “Change back for a second.  I’ll get a quick look and then we can keep going.”

“Okay,” Inuzaki agreed.  He stopped though, his back leg scratching at his ear.  “Hang on, gotta scratch first.”

“Oh!  How cute!”

The girlish voice seemed to come from nowhere.  It could only be Ojiro!  But where was she?!

Inuzaki sniffed.  “Ah ha!  Got you!”  He jumped up and seemed to collide with something in mid-air.  Ojiro reappeared as they hit the ground.  

“Oh, dang it!” Ojiro cried out.  She tried to get up, but Inuzaki’s weight was keeping her down.  “I got distracted!

“Hold her still!” Shota said.  They’d been given ‘capture cuffs’ so that they could harmlessly take their classmates out of the fight, though there was a good chance they’d have to do at least a little damage.  He had some in his pocket, but he also had the dummy!  Crap!  What were they going to…  Inuzaki changed back to his human form in a puff of smoke.  He had capture cuffs too!  Right.  Why was he worried?

Ojiro was quick though, using that moment of transition to act.  She brought her legs up, flipping Inuzaki over her, then sprang up to her feet.  “So close!” she said.  “But not quick enough!”  Meanwhile, Inuzaki changed back to dog form in midair, landing easily.  He and Ojiro circled each other warily.

Before he could help, the ground started shaking.  Shota swallowed hard.  He remembered now, one of Class 1-B had a vibration-based Quirk, didn’t she?  Mio Yamaguchi, a dark haired girl.

The vibrations picked up intensely, knocking Shota off his feet.  He hit the ground, twisting to minimize the damage to Tomodachi, but he knew he took at least a small hit.  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Shota told the dummy.  Carefully getting back to his feet, he looked around for any sign of Yamaguchi or anyone else.  Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Ojiro and Inuzaki fighting.

He wanted to help.  He really did.  But if there was more trouble coming, somebody had to watch.

Doing the right thing sucked sometimes.   But he had to trust that Inuzaki was going to be able to handle it.   “Better hold your ears, Tomodachi,” he told the dummy.  “It might get loud!”  If he kept his powers really focused, hopefully he’d wouldn’t hurt Inuzaki either.

There.  Yamaguchi stepped into view, looking beyond Shota.  “Can’t you catch one dog, Ojiro?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

From behind him, Ojiro called out.  “It’s really hard!  He’s really fast!”

Yamaguchi rolled her eyes.  “Okay, let me just take care of the kid and I’ll help.”  She brought up both of her hands, unleashing vibrational waves that seemed to blur the air in front of her.

Dang it!  Just because he was short and a few months younger, it didn’t mean he was a baby!  Why did everybody treat him like he was a little kid!

“YOU’RE NOT GONNA STOP ME!” he shouted, clenching his fists.  He unleashed his Quirk, turning a shout into a broad sonic wave.  His wave met Yamaguchi’s vibrational blast in mid-air, where there was a small explosion of air as the two different waves hit each other, before his own caused hers to dispense. Somewhere behind him, he heard Inuzaki yelp.  He just prayed his new friend could hold on.

“What?” Yamaguchi said.  “How’d you do that?”

Shota grinned.  “I canceled out your vibrations with my own!”  Maybe not as good as Uncle Shota’s Erasure, but his sonic vibrations could stop hers well enough.

Again and again, Yamaguchi threw her vibrational blasts at him, but Shota kept canceling them out. Her vibrations were at least as strong as his sonics.  Keepings up that kind of pace, matching vibration with vibration, was making his skull rattle. Even without the blasts hitting him, he could practically feel the vibrations in his bones.  Even though he wasn’t used to fighting someone with powers even a little bit like his own, he was holding his ground, but if he didn’t do something, he was sure to lose!

“Okay, that’s it…” Yamaguchi said. A look of annoyance crossed her face. “Guess it’s time to bring down the house!”  Her eyes narrowed and she brought both hands together and pointed them down, ready to unleash another vibrational blast.  The air was practically humming as she charged up her power.  He had to do something… now!

Shota took in another breath and screamed, hitting the ground under Yamaguchi with a carefully modulated sonic pulse.  While he mostly used his Quirk for purely destructive sonic screams, he could do so much more than that depending on the frequencies he hit.  Everything from sonar to force fields to all kinds of other effects.  In this case, he could hyper-agitate molecules causing…

An explosion!  It wasn’t a big one, but the ground underneath Yamaguchi exploded, knocking her off her feet and several feet back.  As she landed, Shota rushed over, unclipping one of the capture cuffs from his belt.  Yamaguchi was still trying to get her bearings when he slapped one end on her wrist and then the other.

“All right!” he cheered.  “Got you!”  

Yamaguchi just stared at him, then rolled her eyes.  “Monoma’s never going to let me hear the end of this.”

Shota wondered why Monoma would give her a hard time.  She tried her best!  

“Oh, dang it!  This is so unfair!  How you can you be this cute and this tough?!  IF YOU WERE CLOSER, I’D GIVE YOU SUCH A SMACK!”

Shota’s attention was instantly drawn to where Inuzaki had managed to corner Ojiro.  She’d climbed up into a tree, and Inuzaki was back in dog form, circling the bottom of it.  

Inuzaki transformed back to his human shape.  “Can you get her down?  I’m not so good with climbing.”

Shota nodded.  “Let me try this one…”   He let lose another scream, shifting the pitch a bit.   This time, when his sonic attack hit the tree, it began to shake and vibrate violently, but it didn’t explode.

“Nnnnnnnoooo  fffffaaaaiiiirrrrr,” Ojiro wailed.  She was struggling to hang on and ultimately lost the fight.  She fell, landing flat on the ground.  “Ouch…”   She held her up arms.  “Just cuff me already.”

***

They’d probably gone another two kilometers, easy.  Shota wasn’t really good with eyeballing distances.  Every now and then, they’d trade off, with Inuzaki resuming his human form so he could carry Tomodachi and so Shota could scan the area with sonar.  But the forest was so thick with trees and everything else, it was hard to see anything that way.  Buildings were a lot easier.  

“How much further?” he asked.  He was pretty sure they’d been told how far they had to travel for the hand-off, but he may not have been paying the best attention.

“About another couple kilometers,” Inuzaki said.  “I think.  Everything looks bigger from down here.”

Not too much farther then.  But there were definitely more of his classmates or schoolmates out there, waiting for them.  Unless they were really dogpiling the other teams, there had to be at least one, maybe two more coming after them.  Even Shota could do that kind of math.

“Do you smell anything?” Shota asked.  It hadn’t worked so well last time, not with all the other smells in the forest, but maybe they’d get lucky.

Inuzaki made a weird face, one which looked even stranger on a dog.  “I smell something,” he said.  “Like ink, maybe?”

“Oh!” Shota said.  He knew who that was!  “Fukidashi!”

“The cartoon girl?” Inuzaki asked.  He sounded a little annoyed, which was surprising, given how well he got on with everyone.  “I tried talking to her a few times, but every time I did, she just kept going on about how cute I was. Just like the invisible girl. It got old really fast.”

Shota frowned, looking around.  Where could she be?  His eyes fell on a strange looking patch of ground.  “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing.

“Is that patch of ground a different color?” Inuzaki asked, curiously.  

Shota bent down and grabbed a stick from the ground.  Getting back up with Tomodachi on his shoulders was tricky, but he managed it.  He gave the stick a toss towards the patch of ground.

The stick hit something, making a small thunk sound.  Instantly, Anime Fukidashi sprang from the patch on the ground, partially covered in leaves and dirt.  “Aw,” Fukidashi said as she landed.  “How did you know?!”

“The ground was a different color,” Inuzaki said.  He bent down low, ready to pounce.  

“Dammit!” Fukidashi yelled.  Her head somehow got larger as she yelled, becoming larger than the rest of her body.  “Betrayed by the drawing on the animation cell!”

Inuzaki looked over at Shota.  “Is she all right?” he asked.  Shota just shrugged.  Even he and Toshi had no real idea how her Quirk worked or how it affected her.  

Before any of them could act, suddenly, something snaked around Tomodachi, yanking him off Shota’s shoulders!  There was Kaminari, coming out of the bushes behind Fukidashi, her Cords wrapped around the dummy and dragging it towards her.  He could even see a few sparks dancing across her Cords and areas of the dummy lighting up as it registered damage.

“Nice job being the distraction, Fukidashi,” Kaminari said.  Her expression turned slightly apologetic.  “Sorry Shinso, but you’re not winning this one.”

He couldn’t get in a good sonic blast with her holding Tomodachi like that.  He was in the way and she could still shock him either way.  “Aw, c’mon, Kaminari,” he said sadly.  “We gotta win this one!  Everybody’s counting on us!  I don’t want to disappoint everybody!  I just…  I just gotta…”

Her face fell as he talked.  There.  There was his moment.  “Aaaaah!” Shota let out a shout, a regular one, and charged, tackling Kaminari about the middle and knocking her to the ground. He hated tricking her like that, but if everybody was going treat him like a little kid, then maybe he should take advantage of that. He landed on top of her, with his head on her…  He jerked his head up quickly!

Kaminari’s Cords reflexively reeled in when he tackled her, but as she soon as she was able, her Cords poked into his back and unleashed a jolt of electricity.  It wasn’t a strong shock, just enough to make him release his grip, but it still hurt.  Shota let out a cry of pain and let go, as Kaminari shoved him off her.  As he hit the ground, he could see Fukidashi trying to hit Inuzaki with a comically oversized hammer.

“Dang it!” Fukidashi yelled when her latest hammer strike failed to hit Inuzaki.  “Why won’t the music change?  Isn’t he a comedy character?!”

Kaminari, meanwhile, was back on her feet, heading for Tomodachi again.  She was too close!  If he missed with a sonic blast, he’d hit the dummy.  But he’d been working hard on his Quirk all through the camp.  And Bioshock helped him figure out some other pitches he could use.  If he could go high, Bioshock had said, he could go low.

Infrasound.

He opened his mouth and pitched his sonic power low, buffeting Kaminari with waves of low-frequency sound.  She stopped in her tracks, suddenly clutching her stomach.  She wobbled on her feet, before falling to her knees, throwing up.   Shota was already on his feet, running past her.  “Sorry!” he called out.  “It won’t last long, I promise!  Sorry!  Sorry!  Sorry!”

As quick as he could, he hoisted Tomodachi over his shoulders again.

Inuzaki had Fukidashi cornered now, growling.   She let the hammer fall from her hands and it vanished as soon as it let her fingers.  “Sure, now the dramatic music plays.”

Inzuki reared up and hit Fukidashi hard with both front paws, knocking her to the ground.  She hit her head on the ground and laid there, stunned, with little cartoon birds floating around her head.

Shota definitely didn’t understand how her Quirk worked.

“C’mon,” he said, moving as fast as he could.  “They won’t be down for long!”

He and Inuzaki ran.  Soon enough, he could see Kocho and Shida waiting up ahead, standing next to a small sign that clearly marked the second leg of the relay.

They’d done it!

***

Shinso and Inuzaki had definitely looked worse for wear by the time they’d arrived and handed off the training dummy (Which they’d named, for some reason.) to Koharu and Shida.  The two had spun a tale of being ambushed twice, but had managed to successfully fight their way through.  It gave her a good idea of what to expect.  There would probably be at least four attackers then, though there might be more.  She’d done the math. There weren’t quite enough students for a totally even split.

At least for now, Shida was carrying the dummy.  With her spider-legs carrying her in a way that reminded Koharu a lot of how Shoji traveled with his own Quirk, she was able to hold the dummy in her arms and remain mobile.  Koharu herself was flapping her wings, floating just a bit above ground level.  That way, if they needed to engage, she wouldn’t waste any time on a takeoff.  The forest canopy, for now, meant moments to fly really high were going to be few and far between, but there was enough space between the trees that someone could still fly under it. 

And flying above the canopy had been strictly prohibited.  Even if it wasn’t against the rules, there were several other students with flight Quirks and it was likely at least one of them would be playing the Villain for their leg of the relay.  And she’d be leaving Shida behind if she did that, which seemed like it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. 

None of which did anything to quell her body’s primary panic at the spider-like aspects of the Shiketsu girl.  Given there were spiders that ate moths, it was a natural reaction for animal-type Quirks like theirs. She was getting better at it than when the camp had started, though.  It helped that the other girl was incredibly nice (and, she admitted with a blush, rather cute), but her instinctive reaction was still just below the surface.

On the plus side, the two of them were going to be incredibly hard to sneak up on.  Between Shida’s multiple-eyes and her own antenna, they had a range of extra-sensory perception.  

“See anything?” Koharu asked quietly.  Her antennae weren’t giving her any good information, unless you counted knowing where several squirrels and more than a few birds were.

“Not yet.” Shida said. If she’d noticed that Koharu tended to keep her distance from her, she didn’t let on but she seemed happy enough to be working with her. Her six eyes glanced about in multiple directions. “I doubt that will be the case much longer.” It didn’t help that she wasn’t sure where exactly to look. Knowing who the “Villains” were would have helped, but Heroes seldom had a heads-up. 

“Me neither,” she replied.  But Shida was right.  Sooner than later was to be expected.

It didn’t take long for that sooner to become now.  There was a great cracking sound and one of the trees fell, blocking the way forward for a moment.  Someone strong then, or maybe Kaniyashiki from 1-B with her scissor Quirk?  But even then, between her ability to fly and Shida’s legs, it would only slow them down for a minute.  So what was their enemy’s plan?

A sound like jet engines told her what it was: a distraction!

Faster than a bullet, one of the Iida twins--Sora, she realized--blasted through the air right towards them.  She was fast enough that Koharu couldn’t react in time to stop her, only to get out of the way.  Iida stuck an arm out as she flew past, grabbing the arm of the dummy Shida was carrying as she tried to rocket away.

Like Koharu, Shida hadn’t seen Sora coming. She’d told Koharu before they’d set out that, while spiders had six eyes, their sense of sight actually wasn’t all that strong. She could see more than most people, but only by volume, not by magnification. There was no way either of them should have been able to see her coming in time. But somehow, Akira’s second-from-the back left spider-leg to shot out in a reflexive strike. 

It was a solid strike, enough to send the Iida girl flying off course, slamming head first into a tree trunk.  She still had the dummy though, which made things complicated.  Already, she was scrambling back to her feet, although quite unsteadily.  Koharu spat a blob of String Shot at her, pinning her to the tree with a mass of sticky strands stronger than steel.

“How did you do that?” Koharu asked, unable to keep the amazement out of her voice.

Shida bowed her head slightly and smiled.  “My leg hairs.  They’re very sensitive to vibrations.  It’s a bit of an instinctive reaction to danger like that.”

“This is excellent tensile strength,” Iida said, as she struggled to break free.  She sounded impressed. Koharu could hear the other girl’s Jetpack engines firing, but for the moment, her String Shot held.  “I would love an opportunity to examine this at a later date! The uses are practically unlimited!”

“Sister!” a voice called out.  It had to be Tensei Iida.  “As much as I am in agreement with you, now is hardly the time for scientific curiosity!”

“It is always the time for curiosity, little brother!”

“I have asked you to stop calling me that!”

“Maybe you two could have this discussion another time?” Another voice asked.   It was Shoji. He sounded very, very tired. Koharu didn’t blame him. The Iidas were very nice, but they could also be exhausting.

Shoji dropped down from between two trees, using his extra arms like spider-legs, free-falling the last few feet to land with a slight thud.  Tensei Iida, meanwhile, dropped down with a series of shot Jetpack bursts to slow his fall.  Both of them were between Koharu and Shida and the dummy.

She shot Shida a quick glance.  “How long can you hold your breath?” she whispered.  Iida and Shoji were playing defense for the moment, watching them.  

“That’s a complicated answer with my mixed body. But I can “hold it” long enough. What are you planning?” Koharu remembered, vaguely, that spiders didn’t breathe in the same way as some animals, but she didn’t know how that applied to the spider-girl.

“I can drop a sleeping powder from my wing scales,” Koharu said quickly and quietly.  Shoji was eying them warily, all six of his arms up in a fighting stance, while Tensei Iida attempted to free his sister and the dummy without success.  “If I can cover a wide enough area, I can knock them out.  Iida’s crazy fast and Shoji’s crazy strong.  Probably the best chance we’ve got.”

“Hmm, I could use my legs to lift my body above the powder. Plus I should be able to use my leg hairs to feel the vibrations of where they might move even if I can’t see them,” Shida suggested. 

Koharu nodded.  These were all Hero students with months of training that she simply didn’t have.  And many of them had even more than that, coming from Hero families.  Neither side here had a full understanding of what the other could do, so evening out to neutral was the closest they had to an advantage. “Let’s do it.”

She flapped hard, gaining height and propelling herself forward towards the boys, already releasing her Sleep Powder from her wings.   Down below, Tensei Iida looked up and let out a cry of alarm, while Shoji moved towards Shida, his top pair of extra arms stretching out to grab at her.

Shida saw Shoji heading for her, scanning above herself with her uppermost eyes. Staying on the ground was a bad idea as she had no idea how strong Shoji really was. She bent her legs, took a moment to look Shoji in the eyes, and gave the six-armed boy a wink that Koharu would have called flirtatious, before her legs suddenly unbent and sent her flying up into the air. Shooting well up past the smaller trees, Shida extended several of her legs to pierce and grab onto the nearest larger specimen.  Others of her legs lashed out at Shoji.

Shoji dodged out of the way of the initial strike, pushing himself to the side with his lower set of arms.  “Good reflexes,” he said, his voice smooth, like silk. He craned his neck to follow Shida, top arms extending out at her, but his maximum extension wasn’t enough to get him close.

Meanwhile, having recovered from his initial shock, Tensei Iida was rocketing into the air.  He was a major threat, though without the armor and support equipment Koharu had seen him use during the final exam, possibly slightly less of one.   And she had the advantage in maneuverability.

She flapped hard as she flew, releasing her Sleep Powder from her wings until the air was filled with the orange powder.   Iida got the worst of it, flying directly into the cloud of it.  He coughed and sputtered and was out almost immediately.  Which meant that his Jetpack cut out and he started falling like a stone.  Koharu cursed and went into into a dive, catching him in midair by grabbing his wrists. She let loose a cry of pain as her jerked to a stop. It felt like her arms were being torn from their sockets!

“Dammit,” she hissed.  Iida was heavy, muscular and compact.  She could just about manage to carry her own bodyweight when flying, but he was definitely heavier than she was.  She dropped down low and released him, letting him hit the ground.  He’d gotten more than enough powder that he didn’t wake up.

Shoji, meanwhile, was still standing. She’d had to stop spreading her powder to keep Tensei from dropping and he hadn’t gotten nearly as big a dose.  His arms lashed out again, grabbing her wrists!

It had been a gamble that she’d be able to drop Shoji, especially as big as he was and as little powder as she’d been able to release.  She was glad Shida had her back. As soon as she’d seen Koharu drop down to save Iida, the spider-girl had already been making her way down the tree when Shoji extended his arms to grab Koharu.

She watched as Shida did her best to land from an angle that she hoped was in Shoji’s blind spot. Her legs made surprisingly little noise when they were in motion, and she sped toward the big, six-armed boy. When close enough she extended her two front legs and brought them in a scything motion toward the back of Shoji’s knees. 

Shoji was a big guy, which made him a pretty big target.  The blow from Shida knocked him down, bringing him to his knees and making him release Koharu.  Looking over his shoulder, he tried to swat at Shida with his Extendo-Arms, but the move was awkward and uncoordinated.  Koharu used the moment to escape, taking to the air again. She swung out with her legs, striking Shoji upside the head.  The blow wasn’t enough to put him down, but it did spin his head around.  He looked back and forth rapidly, now caught between her and Shida.

Shida dodged Shoji’s clumsy blows easily, her eyes and leg hairs giving her incredibly reaction time to his attack. She used her four back legs as a brace as she used them to hold herself in an almost standing position. She launched her remaining arms at Shoji, each attempting to strike at the arm joints of his extended arms. 

When it came to extra-appendages, Shoji was definitely unarmed by comparison to Shida.  Even as he’d been able to turn to face her, her spider-legs struck home, nailing him in each of his Extendo-Arms.  The silver-haired boy let out a cry of pain as his arms retracted, snapping back with a strange, stretching sound that was more than a little nauseating.  

He’d done a remarkable job of staying upright, but between the pain from Shida’s attack, the blow to the head, and the whiff of sleep powder he’d gotten earlier finally making its way through his system, Shoji went down, slowly sliding to his knees and then to the ground.

They’d done it!  Three hero students, and they’d managed to beat all of them!  She’d even managed to take out two!  Of course, Shida was also a Hero student, so that evened the playing field a little, but still!

“Let’s get the dummy,” Koharu said.  It should still be where they left it, next to Sora Iida.  She quickly glanced in that direction.  The other girl was asleep.  She must have gotten enough Sleep Powder too. Koharu stopped, her antennae moving rapidly.  There was something stirring up a lot of air. 

Anything Shida might have said was cut off as something swooped down and slammed into her.  Rough, clawed feet grabbed her shoulders and she felt herself being carried into the air.  It had to be Hizashi Koumori, the bat-like member of Class 1-B.

“Sorry, Kocho,” he said.  “Totally most heinous to do the sneak attack, I know, but we gotta win this one!”

Just before Koumori had grabbed her, Koharu had seen Shida briefly give herself a smile of triumph. That had abruptly ended when Koumori struck. Koharu could see Shida move on instinct to try and help, but she stopped, as though remembering what Koharu had told her. They needed to get the dummy. Shida cursed quietly before heading over to Sora to grab it. With any luck she’d be able to secure it and get back quick enough to help.

But Koharu couldn’t count on that.  She needed to do whatever she could to try and free herself.

It was the element of surprise that had let Koumori grab her.  He was bigger and stronger than her, to be sure, but all he had was his feet around her shoulders. Her wings were still free. And he wasn’t rocket-powered like the Iidas.  He was as dependent on muscle power and flapping for flight as she was, which meant his flight was a lot easier to disrupt.  She flared her own wings out, spreading them wide.  It attacked like an immediate drag chute, jerking Koumori back.

“Whoa!” he cried out.  Reflexively, he released his grip on her as he sailed back.  That was all she needed.  For just a moment Koharu let gravity grab hold, then flapped her own wings, diving back toward the ground.

Just as suddenly, however, she was hit by what felt like a solid wall of force that set her bones rattling and seemed to echo through her skull.  Flailing, she started falling again.  It was hard to think clearly, everything was spinning…

Clawed feet grabbed her again, this time grabbing her legs.  “Sorry about the sonar, dudette,” Koumori said.  He did sound genuinely apologetic.  She knew he was pretty mellow guy most of the time, though how mellow tended to change with how awake he was.  “I’ll have you down in a second.”

No!  She had to prove herself!  She couldn’t lose now!  “No,” she said, “I’m sorry… for this!” With his grip on her legs, she flapped her wings just once, giving herself just enough ot a push to swing upward, slamming both of her fists into his snout!  Koumori let out a cry of pain and released her again.  This time, she flapped and kept herself into the air, but hit him with a blast of String-Shot, pinning his arms--and more importantly, his wings--to his sides.  A pang of regret shot through her as he dropped like a stone.  Koumori was even bigger and heavier then Iida. There was no way she could keep him from falling…

Koumori, at least, was awake. He twisted in the air, trying to break free from her String-Shot, but hit the ground hard, letting out a soft moan, his eyes fluttering.  That looked like it had hurt.  Maybe she’d make it up to him back at U.A. with a fruit smoothie from her stash of exotic fruits.

Koharu landed next to him, bending down to make sure he was okay.  Kuomori was still breathing and it didn’t look like he had any major injuries.  Didn’t look like that had felt good, but it looked like he’d be fine.

It wasn’t the first time she’d had to hurt someone.  She’d sparred with friends and fought in the Sports Festival and trained against others here at the camp.

It didn’t mean it felt good.   Maybe Park had been onto something about children fighting like this…

Shida skittered to a stop next to her, the dummy safely in her hands. “That was amazing, Koharu! I came as quickly as I could, but it turns out you didn’t need it.” Skida smiled, but frowned slightly; she must have noticed the disturbed look on Koharu’s face. She frowned, all her eyes narrowing in concern. “Are you okay?” She didn’t specify if what troubled her was physical or mental, but there was something in her voice that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone react like this. 

Koharu shook her head.   She had plenty of options that didn’t involve hurting people when it came to takedowns.  Maybe she could learn to focus on that.  But she’d have to fight anyway if she followed her dream and became a Hero.  But what did that mean for now?

Maybe those were questions for another day.

“Just thinking about something your friend said,” she told Shida.  “But c’mon.  We can talk about that later.  Let’s get this thing to the next marker.”

These were definitely questions that needed answers.  But for now, she’d faced one of the first major challenges of her Hero training and she’d come out on top.

For now, that was good enough.

[fuwafuwamedb]

From Utu’s Temple Pt 4 (Gilgamesh, Siduri, Hakuno)

Thus far: 1, 2, 3

__

Was it a crime to kill one’s sister?

Maybe not kill, but maybe seriously injure so that her legs no longer carried her all the way to wherever in Ereshkigal’s own realm she’d gone.

Ur-Nungal bit his lip, looking around the temple carefully.

Gula was a pestilence, an absolute monster of a baby sister and there was no better evidence of this than right now. Today he was supposed to spend time with grandfather Utu, learning how the priests held the ceremonies that were coming up, and instead he was lying and roaming around the building like a complete idiot.

His mother had noted Gula was gone and had panicked as he’d gotten dressed.

He’d known that little fool was only going to be doing one thing: getting mom one of her favorite meals for here in the temple.

Ummum’s birthday was coming soon. It was normal for them to want to celebrate it, but they were not supposed to leave the temple. At all.

“I swear to the gods,” Ur breathed, making a show of looking under the pews as his mother passed by, “when I find you, Gula, I’m going to force you to do all my chores for a year. Cleaning the priests’ horses, carrying in the firewood, and I’m going to make you kill the chickens for meals.”

She’d cry like a baby.

Praise Aya.

His mother slipped out of the room, busying herself with helping a few of the temple maidens. Ur slipped around the front doors, grabbing his stashed cloak on the way out.

His sister was going to be beaten.

What kind of idiot went running around outside without telling anyone, anyway? There were laws, rules that they had. If their abum ever found them, they’d be killed because the man was a bastard.

“Sorry, ummum,” Ur murmured, practically sensing the ire his mother would hold for him thinking such a thing.

The bridge was just out of town. He knew it well enough.

The boats were off in the distance still, so that didn’t seem to be a problem. There were a few more people out and about as he meandered towards the waters, but he didn’t…

“Did you hear?”

Ur paused, shifting a little to have his face be seen.

“The king was seen here slaughtering enemies,” a merchant nearby murmured to some companions. “Ended up carrying a body towards the palace.”

“A body?”

“Yeah, I don’t know who it was, but it must have been a child. The figure was quite small. Couldn’t miss the king’s grin though. The person must have been important.”

The king had been near…

Ur moved closer to the bridge, noting the blood splatterings and the gathered crowd. There were soldiers gathered along the waters, checking for something in the water’s depths as a pile of sliced bodies were piled nearby.

But the guards didn’t make him pause, the bodies did.

That poor aim couldn’t be mistaken. Only someone as stupid as the person he was thinking of would slice in that kind of way. Who aimed for the face when the throat was available?

There were other wounds though, deeper, harsher wounds. Several of the bodies there were severed in places, with swords still poking out of them.

Ur slipped closer, glancing to the gossiping fools and the soldiers. He pulled one of the shorter swords out.

Utu hadn’t been kidding about how heavy these were.

He felt the thing almost clatter before he pressed it up against himself and looked around again.

A few people were turning his way, their brows furrowing and their mouths thinning. He could see one preparing to talk to him before the gossip turned back up.

Ur made a show of turning away from the scene by pulling his hood over his face a bit more and slipping back towards the kingdom, but the sword weighed more and more with each step he took. He could open those gates, but…

He bit his lip, glancing up towards the palace.

Ummum first.

Ur picked up the pace as he returned back to the temple, keeping the cloak around himself all the way to his chambers that he shared with his sister. The blood from the sword had smeared on his clothes, ruining them. The blade was so sharp that he’d actually managed to cut holes into the fabrics he had kept between the blade and his person.

There was even a cut on his leg.

“You’re doing my chores for two years,” Ur murmured, “and you’re going to begin every day by bringing me my meal.”

Gula would regret ever bothering to come out of their ummum when he was through with her. First she couldn’t do magic well. Then she ran off and did the gods only new what. Then she had the gall to disappear like this.

“Ur-Nungal! Gula!”

Ur cursed, slipping into one of his plainer robes and stashing the blade and bloodied garments under the bed. He hurried to the door, ignoring his slight leg pain from the cut and smiling brightly.

“Ummum!”

“Ur, where’s Gula?” His mother sighed softly, coming over to the door. “Why are you sweaty?”

“Ah- Gula and I have been playing a hide and seek game that requires you to not only find the person, but to catch them too,” he lied. “She’s too fast, ummum.”

Thank the gods he had his father’s talent for being a lying jerk. His mother laughed softly and knelt down, her brown eyes gleaming a little as she leaned in close enough to wipe at his face.

“Ummum-“

“Utu would like to teach you how to do the priest’s ceremony today. Did you forget about that?”

Oh no.

“Ur?”

“I ah… I think I left the outfit that grandfather gave me in the temple somewhere.” He smiled as best he could, “oops.”

“I saw it in your room last night-“

“Y-yeah, b-but then Gula wanted to see it and she made a hole in it so I had to ask one of the temple maidens to fix it and then I think I may have left it in the main hall.”

“Ur-“

“I’ll go look for it!”

“Find your sister and get some dinner as well! Aya wanted to eat with you while I help with some upstairs cleaning-“

“A-actually, Gula and I already ate!”

“What?”

Ur laughed a little. “Yeah, Gula and I went to eat earlier, but Gula will probably need a bath because you know… She’s not as good at table manners as I am.”

“There is that,” his mother agreed.

“Can you tell grandma Aya for me?”

His mother pressed her lips to his head, nodding. “You and Gula still need to take a bath-“

“We can do it! We’ll spend all tomorrow together! Let me draw our bath and everything!”

She didn’t even try to argue, since someone called for her. His ummum simply leaned in, pressing her lips to his forehead and giving him one of those warm ummum hugs of hers. Before long, she was already heading towards the stairwell to the upper floors of the temple.

And now, he could manage this.

Ur closed their bedroom door, sighing as he put the bolt in place.

His sister was in so much trouble.

Ur pulled the sword back out, focusing hard to open those strange gates and shoving the sword into them. He looked around, grabbing his robes and grumbling as he slipped out the window.

The streets were still busy, still bustling. Despite having his cloak, now there was a slash and he had blood stains on his dark cloak. He could see the palace in the distance, but getting there was another task altogether.

Alleys were only so much help. It was still dark outside when he made it to the stairs.

Stairs that had no guards.

Ur frowned, looking around and hurrying up to the next level of the ziggurat.

There he could see figures. There were some soldiers higher up that were standing around. Going that way wouldn’t work.

He opted for a servant entrance.

Ur pulled his hood down, looking around at the hallway he’d found.

The torches were dying here, like someone had been here and had left a while ago. He could see a few servants pass, but he pulled his hood over his hair again and pressed to the wall.

No one noticed him.

How did this king survive with such poor guards?

What a bastard.

“Sorry, ummum,” Ur whispered once again.

He would have to make his ummum something really nice in return for all the lies and for covering up Gula’s little trip. If she was here, he’d find her and get her home.

“OH!”

Ur felt his body slam into someone as he turned the corner, knocking him from his feet. His hood fell back, his eyes drifted up to the woman who’d stepped into view.

“You- You must be-“

He didn’t even hesitate, sprinting around the woman and running in the direction she’d come from. He didn’t pause, ignoring the cloak that left him as she grabbed it. He had to run, had to hide so that he could find his sister.

“BOY!”

No, he wouldn’t listen to the woman.

The palace was filled with bad people. All of them mocked the gods and ignored all nice things, opting for being behind their terrible king.

He heard armor clanking. He ran away from that.

Higher and higher into the place he went, climbing the stairs and not daring to look back.

A set of golden doors were ahead.

That’s where he’d go.

He could hide behind something or slip around the guards when they entered the room and slam something before the doors to block them from leaving.

Yanking the door with a foot against the other, Ur rushed into the room and slammed the door shut.

There was a pounding in his ears.

There was a pounding in his chest as well, but he couldn’t focus on that. He could taste something metal in his mouth, he could feel himself covered in more sweat. He’d be sneaking him and Gula some food when they got home, but-

“What is this?”

The voice was too soft, too pleased. There was a coldness coming to his veins as Ur turned around slowly, noting the blond man sitting up in the bed. His own face, a bit older bit his face no less, was looking back at him.

“To think you’d come-“

Ur closed his eyes, forcing those strange gates from before open.

He pulled the sword out from before, glaring at the king before him.

“Where is my sister?” Ur hissed.

“Hmm?”

“Where. Is. My. Sister?”

A figure shifted in the bed, the brown hair in the dim torchlight unmistakable now.

Finally!

“You are my son, are you not?” The king rose from the sheets, standing up on tall legs to a towering height. Those red eyes gleamed, glowing as he looked over at him. He was all fine fabrics and glimmering gold.

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t have an abum. I don’t need one!”

“You lie so poorly,” the blond monster teased, that smile flashing as the king stepped forward. His body seemed to jingle as he moved. “You must get that from Hakuno. She’s always been so bad at lying. She never could keep a secret, especially from me.”

“Give me my sister and leave us alone,” Ur growled.

“Put the sword down before you hurt yourself, child. Your hands cannot even hold that thing.”

“I’m highly trained!”

“Liar.”

A series of gates opened. The lights went out.

Ur barely had the chance to react before he felt something slam him up against the wall. His sword was knocked from his hands, clattering away into the depths of the darkness.

He couldn’t breathe!

“You lie so poorly,” the king’s voice murmured. “It seems your ummum was soft with-“

The words were stopped with his head slamming forward, banging into the king’s ugly face. At his surprised yelp, Ur sprung forth, running for the door nearby.

His eyes landed on a garden, the sound of footsteps hurrying after him.

Once the man made it out here, he’d-

Something smacked the back of his head, sending him stumbling to greet the dirt. A figure nearby gasped.

“Siduri, what are you doing here?”

“I called the soldiers to search the palace with me for a young blond boy that was running around,” the woman from before replied.

“It seems my son was eager to join his sister in being here.”

He couldn’t move. His head hurt. His leg was aching.

“My king, his leg-“

“Fetch one of the apsu. I do believe the boy pulled one of my poisoned weapons from the gates just now in an attempt to kill me.”

“Should I-“

“He will be a good boy.” The words echoed around him, the sight of the man’s smile looming nearby as he felt his consciousness fading. “After all, he is the prince of this kingdom.”

[zutaradreams]

Day 4: Don’t hurt her

Part 1     AO3

Posting a day early because I might not have time to post tomorrow, continued from Day 3: Season 4 Zutara

Katara and Zuko look into Azula’s past

On the fifth day, Katara went back to Sazura. She applied more of the burn salve and rewrapped the wound. Katara did some of her own healing too. Already it looked so much better, and she was able to move her wrist without pain. 

“Did you treat the Fire Lord after he was burned?” she asked. She couldn’t get Zuko’s scar out of her mind now that she knew his father had caused it.  

“No, my lady. He was banished immediately. I wasn’t allowed to see him,” the older woman replied regretfully. 

“Oh.” It all made sense to her suddenly, why his wound scarred so terribly when hers was healing well. Even without her own healing abilities, Sazura had some of the best remedies in the world. “What about Princess Azula?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I’m just trying to understand.” 

The older woman finished wrapping Katara’s wrist. “I am the Royal Family’s physician. I serve the Royal Family. At the head of the Royal Family is the Fire Lord. I served Fire Lord Azulon, Fire Lord Ozai, and now I serve Fire Lord Zuko. I answer to them, and I keep the secrets they tell me to keep.” 

While it wasn’t a direct answer to the question Katara asked, it did help her understand something. It helped her understand that if she wanted answers, she couldn’t tiptoe around Zuko. He needed to be as involved in this as she was. 

“You want me to order our physician to disclose Azula’s complete medical history?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I just have a hunch.” 

“What kind of hunch?” 

“I don’t think you’re the only one your father hurt,” she admitted. 

Zuko stopped eating their dinner. “My father would never hurt Azula. Azula was his prodigy. He was proud of her. He didn’t resent her the way he resented me.” 

“Knowing your father, it’s worth investigating.” 

“Do you think my mother would stand by and let him abuse one of her children? He didn’t even do this--” he pointed to his face “until after she was gone. What do you hope to gain from looking into this?”

“We need to know what she’s fighting inside of herself. We need to understand what she’s been through before we can even think about rehabilitating her.” She added, “If you don’t think anything will come of it, what’s the harm?”

“Fine. I’ll have the physician write me a report.” 

“Thank you.”

“How’s your wrist?”

“A lot better.” 

He reached across the table where her hand rested in a fist and gently flexed one of her fingers out. “Does this hurt?”

“No. It doesn’t hurt when I move it anymore.”

He flexed another finger. “How about this one?”

“Nope.” 

By the third, she realized he was playing with her when she saw the faintest hint of a smile. “Still no,” she replied knowingly, and despite everything weighing on their minds, she smiled back. 

Zuko showed up at her bedroom door two nights later with a stack of papers in his hand, knocking furiously at her door. She threw a robe over her nightclothes and opened the door. 

“Zuko, what’s wrong?”

“You were right,” he said heavily, shoving the papers towards her. Before she could read them, she invited him to sit at the tea table in her guest room, an offer he refused. The last time she saw him so angry, they were on opposite sides of the war. 

“Can you light the lamps? I can’t read this.”

He obeyed, and continued pacing while she read the physician’s report. It was a detailed record, beginning with the princess’s birth. She was sick as a baby with an illness that made it difficult to breathe; the physician treated her with eucalyptus oil. At eleven months, when Azula was learning to walk, she stumbled and hit her head; the physician bandaged the wound. All of Azula’s treatments were relatively normal until the princess was four years old, and she began her firebending training. 

Burns to the legs, shoulders, back. For every burn, she was brought to the physician by Prince Ozai, who insisted they were from her firebending lessons. Each time the physician healed them with the most expensive burn salves available to the nation so that the wounds would not scar. Each time Prince Ozai oversaw the treatment. 

“He was hurting her,” Katara whispered. 

“She never said anything. All that time, I never knew...and my mother…” He angrily pulled his hands through his hair. “She always spent so much time on me to try to balance out how much Father favored Azula. Now I find out it was Azula who needed that protection the most!”

Katara folded the papers and placed them on the table, rushing to Zuko. She wrapped her arms around his waist. The action calmed him slightly. 

“Do you know how many times I was burned in firebending practice? Never. We had the best instructors, and none of them would dare burn anyone in the Royal Family. It couldn’t have been one of her teachers. It was him. He was always hurting her.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” she assured him, gazing up at his face as she said it. She wanted him to look at her and see her sincerity himself. But he didn’t look at her. He looked straight ahead at some wall while his arms tightened around her.

“I should have. I should have realized the second he burned my face that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to us to get what he wanted.”

“I’m so sorry, Zuko.”

“I am too.” 

He went with her to see Azula the next day. The guards locked them in the cell as always. “Zuzu,” she said. Then Azula’s eyes flitted to her. “Katara.” 

“Hi, Azula,” Katara replied steadily and set to work combing Azula’s hair. Inside, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. It was the first time Azula ever recognized her. 

“I know what our father did to you,” Zuko said softly, without preamble. He reached his arms out to her, maybe to hold her, but Azula shrank back from him. 

“Where is he?” she shrieked. 

Zuko pulled Katara away from his angry sister and positioned himself as a barrier between the two of them, just like he did at the agni kai. “He’s gone. He’s locked away deep underground, and he’ll never see daylight again.” His breath caught. “I always thought you were just like him. But you’re not. You’re just like me.” 

“I’m not like you!” Azula shouted in protest.  “He loves me. Everything he did was because he wanted to teach me. He wanted me to succeed. He loves me. He loves me.”

“No, he doesn’t!”

“Yes, he does!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “He loves me.” 

“When he burned you all those times when we were kids, did it hurt?”

Azula flinched but otherwise gave no indication she had heard him.

“Mine hurt,” Zuko added.

“It smells bad,” she said airily, sounding less coherent. 

“What?” 

“It smells bad. I hate the smell of burning flesh.”

Katara remembered how her own wrist had smelled as the skin melted. It was something the three of them in this cell had in common, she realized darkly. 

“I never burned you,” Zuko reminded her. “I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” she argued back tearfully. “You never did! Mother never did! Uncle never did! Not Grandfather, not Lu Ten, not even Mai and Ty Lee. Only Father.”   

“Father’s defeated,” he said again, taking a step closer. “And he will never hurt you again. Do you hear me? I won’t let him hurt you. And I won’t let you hurt her.” He pointed to Katara, and then with the same outstretched hand, reached for the wrist Azula had burned.

“You hurt her when she’s done nothing but try to help you.”

“I was just playing.” She laughed to punctuate her point, and it sent a chill through Katara.

“Don’t hurt her again.” 

Azula broke down in tears again as Zuko scolded her. It made Katara want to tell Zuko it was alright. Her wrist was completely healed by now, thanks to her work and the physician’s. As she looked at Zuko and Azula--the children of a warmonger, one wearing a crown, the other sobbing against the concrete of her prison cell--she wished all wounds healed so quickly. 

[kirenia15]

Did I interrupt something?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the image and definitely not some parts of the dialogue.

This is just a small part of the fic I am writing with my OC and I just felt like publishing it today. I have been writing for the past few months as a way to cope with my anxiety, which has been really bad since the pandemic started, then quarantine and everything...Well, you all know what I’m talking about. 

Anyway, I am trying to write the fic that I so carefully planned in my head, a Kili *slowburn* love story, and it is actually a “The Hobbit x Skyrim” crossover, but I am not making any progress lately. Therefore, I thought maybe uploading this bit here would provide me with more inspiration or whatever. Hope you like it!

After another exhausting day of riding through the woods, Thorin finally called for them to dismount. [Y/N] leaned back, her hands on the back of her waist as she cracked the bones. It has been almost a month of travelling and, whereas she was now fairly used to riding, the days began to blur together, especially when they ate almost the same thing every day.

Thorin and Dwalin separated from the group as they went to investigate their surroundings, and [Y/N] watched as the Grey Wizard eyed intently some ruins of what looked like an old farmhouse. It had rotten away, although some parts of the roof and a wall were still intact.

“We’ll camp here for the night.” Thorin declared as he returned with Dwalin. “Fili, Kili,  look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.”

Passing her pony off to the blonde prince, [Y/N] sauntered forward to find out what was on his dear friend’s mind. She arrived just in time to hear him muttering to himself.

“A farmer and his family used to live hear.”

“They probably passed on.” The mage suggested, announcing her presence.

Gandalf shook his head, eyes lingering on the broken wood foundations. “No, no.”

“Oin, Gloin, get a fire going.”

“Aye.”

[Y/N] frowned, unsettled by the wizard discomfort, but she couldn’t figure out the reason, so she shrugged and went with the dwarves to help them kindle the fire. She heard Gandalf grumble, moving towards Thorin.

“I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

“I’ve already told you, I will not go near that place.” Thorin spat, crossing his arms over is chest.

“Why not?”. Gandalf pushed, agitated by Thorin’s stubborn nature. “The Elves could help us, we could get food, rest, advice.”

“I don’t need their advice.” Thorin was near glowering.

“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.”

“Help?”. Thorin breathed, becoming more agitated. “A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing! You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father.”

[Y/N] has stopped on her tracks and was listening intently to their conversation. Now she better understood the reason why Thorin despised Elves so much.

“You are neither of them. I didn’t give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past.”

“I didn’t know they were yours to keep.”

Thorin low growl ended Gandalf’s attempt to persuade the Dwarf king. Spinning around, the Grey Wizard marched through camp, leaving [Y/N] with a scowling Thorin. Pinching her brow, she sauntered over the dwarf. “The Elves”, she began. “Did they truly offer you no help?”

Thorin’s gaze lingered on the spot where the Wizard had disappeared before slowly turning to her. “None at all.”

This information irritated her to no end. How could the Elves not help? They had always treated her with respect and care in the past. She knew they liked to keep to themselves, but they were not hidden away from the world. She felt disappointment wash over her and stared at Thorin, meeting his eyes.

“I am sorry. I know I wasn’t even alive at the time, but I would like to think that if I could have helped, I would.”

“I don’t care for your sorrows or sympathetic offers.”

[Y/N[’s eyes dropped slightly but Thorin didn’t give her a chance to respond, as he stalked off as Gandalf did. She knew her words meant nothing to him, but she really wanted him to know that she cared, that she understood  ̶ maybe more than anyone else ̶  their sorrows, and that she truly wanted to help.

His dismissal didn’t sit well in her heart. So, the young mage left camp in the opposite direction and wandered alone for a while until she reached a clearing. She sat on the grass and wrapped her arms around her knees, eyes glancing at the distant bushes in front of her. Unwanted thoughts popped on the surface of her mind, thoughts of vile orcs and dragons, people’s terrified screams and children’s wails. She shut her eyes for a moment, resting her forehead on her knees. At that moment, she missed her parents terribly. She missed her home and the little village she grew up in, a simple life full of joy.

A sound distracted her and she lifted her head, looking around to find the origin of it. Some feet away from her, a rabbit was happily nibbling on some leaves, unaware of her presence. [Y/N] felt the corners of her mouth lift involuntarily as she watched the little animal. She then noticed an apple tree just besides the creature and a rumble emerged from her stomach. She was hungry. It has been many hours ago since the last time she ate, and they only had eaten some dried fruits and breads, not even stopping for a proper meal. A second rumble made her decide, and she stood up, walking towards the tree. She eyed it carefully and spotted some ripe fruits on the higher branches. Scratching her chin distractedly, she tried to jump and get hold of a lower branch with little success. After a few more tries, she stepped backwards and, running towards the trunk of the tree, she used it as leverage to jump higher. In the air, she turned and got a hold of a branch. With both hands tightly secured around it, she tried to toss her legs up, but it was a harder task to do than she originally had thought.

In that moment, a certain raven-haired dwarf emerged into the clearing, founding the mage hanging from the tree, legs wriggling about. He smiled to himself at the sight and sauntered over her in silence. Suddenly, [Y/N] felt something wrapping both her legs and immobilizing her pathetic attempts of climbing up the tree. When she looked down rather startled, dark eyes that she knew very well were staring up at her, a bemused twinkle hiding behind them.

“Are you trying to climb up or down?”

“I was trying to get some apples.” Embarrassed, the mage looked at Kili, who was still holding her tightly just below her butt, his chin upwards to face her.

“It looks like you need some help.”

“I can manage.”

“You sure?” Kili raised his brows, his usual teasing tone back.

“Well, I climbed the tree just fine.”

“But you didn’t get any apples.” His smile widened, a mischievous look that she knew well hiding behind his gaze.

“Then you try, if you think you can do better!”

“I will. Now, come down so I can show you how it’s done.”

The mage huffed at his remark, although it also hid a soreness that had started spreading through her arms.

“Let go of me so I can drop.”

“No need, I got you. C’mon, drop now.”

“I weigh too much for you.”

“My sword is heavier than you, [Y/N].”

“Fine!”

The young woman let go of the branch, arms landing on either side of Kili’s head. She gripped his broad shoulders for balance, while he emitted a low growl, now supporting her whole body. The prince slid his arms up her sides and clasped his rough hands on [Y/N]’s waist before finally putting her down on the ground. Their bodies were still pressed to each other, their faces mere inches apart. [Y/N] could feel the slightly ragged breath of Kili over her nose, and a crimson colour reddened her cheeks. She hoped the prince couldn’t see how flustered she has become.

The sound of Fili clearing his throat and announcing his presence into the clearing startled both of them, who immediately separated from each other, as if their mere contact burned their skin.

“Um, shouldn’t you be looking after the ponies?” [Y/N] asked to no one in particular, consciously avoiding eye contact with the brothers.

“Bofur went looking for you. Said you were supposed to help Bombur with the vegetables but you had vanished.”

“Oh, no… I completely forgot, I am sorry.” She started trotting her way back to camp, head dropped apologetically.

When she was out of range, Fili looked at his brother, arms crossed over his chest and a brow raised inquisitively.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“Of course not!” Kili’s face was slightly flushed as he stalked back to where the ponies were, trying to avoid his older brother’s gaze.